Dear John,

Dried flowers hang above floating books while fresh ruby sunflowers dress the space below. Coffee wafts in the air from a candle I lit while cleaning as I dance and sing along to my current playlist. For a moment I forget about the stresses in my life that climb onto my back like a live action caricature. I haven’t developed some new tactic to control the fear and darkness flowing through me but rather I found something worth much more than surviving simply with masking or restructuring who I am for the rest of the world. I found the one who makes me believe in magic, the way I did before the universe beat me down. I may struggle and panic myself into another galaxy but I feel safe when you’re near. To fight my demons, to dream, to hope and to love. So fuck you for that, but also thank you.

P.S. Does this count as writing?

listening to Tenacious D from The Croods a new age

Risk adverse

She hid away once again as the pain was far too great to bare and though she longed to feel joy, it made her skin itch and her bones ache. Her scars continued to bleed, drowning her hopes and fears. She began to fade into the warm comfort of darkness because her gift was for others and they craved it but each time it killed another piece of her and would continue to do so until she was merely ash and memories. She wondered if then the evil in her nightmares would finally set her free. 

Starting over… again

I am about to get real honest with my little ‘summary of the last year’ as I start over… again.

I didn’t go to my graduation. I couldn’t afford the regalia. I regret it a little now, not being able to walk across the stage and have my hard work acknowledged because it truly was grueling. My GPA dropped below the 3.7 I had held throughout my 3 years at university, after the incident. Yet, I managed to finish my bachelors degree. Even through the interrogations from my now ex, boyfriend. I felt unsafe. Around others, alone, out in public and even in my own home. I was terrified of people but especially any male friends.
“What were you wearing?”
“How drunk were you?”
“Are you sure you told him he couldn’t stay there?”
“Are you sure nothing happened?”
Others were shocked and asked, “are you sure you’re not interrupting the situation wrong?” Adding, “that doesn’t sound like him.”
I stopped writing. Turned down acting jobs. I didn’t apply to the nursing program after completing my psychology degree with a minor in public health and all of the prerequisites required, even though that was the plan I had been working toward for years. I felt unsafe, unheard, ignored and the normal feeling of “are you over this yet” leeching off of people was suffocating. Over a decade of therapy, 4+ years of trauma therapy dealing with my bipolar, CPTSD, ADHD, anxiety and severe depression. There I was in another hole like trash trying to fight to get out of it. I’ve cut many people out of my life. People I cared deeply about knowing I will never be anything more than a survivor if I don’t drastically change my life. I know I take some things to extremes to avoid plausible risks and I also know that I have allowed some behavior because I was worried that I was overreacting or just reacting to an extreme. My plans to create a better future for my son were unravel by my own hand and a missed threat assessment and plainly, poor character judgment sandwiched between all the stress from my overflowing plate. Nobody is perfect so just be honest and real. Fuck people’s potential. Fuck my potential. Just be who you are.
I will keep working on how to trust again, mostly I mean myself. Which reactions are good instincts versus those that are a trauma response. Until then, I’m not available. To anyone, for anything. Those I chose to be in my life, are. There is no confusion. Everyone else, Godspeed, I hope you’re healthy and happy. Don’t contact me. I need to heal. I need to feel safe. If that wasn’t fucking apparent by now.

Still here

One of the worst parts of having CPTSD is knowing a conversation is too much, being incapable of saying that and just experiencing it like an extension of trauma. All while going through therapy to deal with whatever trauma caused the shit in the first place. All while loud sounds have you jumping out of your skin. People who thought you knew they were walking up to, seem to suddenly appear before your eyes, startling every fiber of your being. Your memory is blank for so much of your past that you clutch on to random memories trying to find yourself lost in the matrix. Then there are the nightmares, which fight through your ambien because the one thing you need is rest, to feel safe, to unclench every muscle in your body and breathe for more than just survival, but not tonight because they scream. They scream twisted versions of everything you’ve survived, every night. Everything you might have to survive in the future. 

And disassociating, is somehow the worst of all. You’re not present for the trauma (incident/s,) maybe you remember or maybe you don’t. Maybe you just remember the stories of it, or rather the stories told to you. But the guilt. The consequences, of whatever may have happened during the time you disassociated, they live on, they replay, fester and torture. 

And all of that makes being bipolar look like a walk in the park. Because hell, it’s just a handful of manic days where you have a really good time being yourself and everyone thinks you’re amazing and a long string of depression filling up the space in between. The ADHD, is simple and barely worth mentioning. With no ability to focus and the constant dread of being overwhelmed while simultaneously bored, because you just go really fast in your head while your body remains cocooned in a blanket like a hostage negotiating burrito blanket.  And when you sandwich all of that together, you get me. A walking, talking disorder pamphlet just trying to get through the day without blowing up her own life or anyone else’s. Pretty, smart, talented are an irrelevant bonus feature. Survivors  are just victims who are still here. 

Aunt Flow

Experiencing a menstrual cycle is basically like, a bunch of teenage demons are trying to do a seance to steal your “life creating” magic. Because it feels like gravity is trying to drag your uterus down to hell. But, with a blood sacrifice, you get to keep it! And those pesky demons have to wait a month to try again. Every month for years until they finally lose and for winning this battle you get to experience “the final period” with hell fire hot flashes and more. 

vulnerability – lack of control – trust – love

I always walk into the face of danger, into the chaos and any other storm many may shy away from with an unbreakable fearless strength. I dare it to test me, I’m ready to fight and do whatever it takes to defeat it; to defend others and even more so if they are the ones I care for. To protect those I love, those who will not stand up for themselves and those who do not feel worthy of that sort of love and kindness seems as interchangeable as the blood in my veins as it pulses behind the skin wrapped around this damn meat suit I’m trapped in, inside of this shell they all claim to admire or even love.

Chaos is simple. The storm and the fight is simple. This is where I feel the most alive. This is where I feel whole. The thunder in me beats like a drum and I thrive and move with its rhythm. It is where I feel worthy.

It ends there. It has always been a struggle to hold the same sort of savior complex it seems I bare for others; when it comes to my own heart, soul and mind. I’m not even sure when or why I decided I was unworthy of such decency. Truthfully, that is what it boils down to isn’t it? Compassion and human decency on your worst of days, the days where your true character is challenged and all you are and have been taught what you are worth comes to light like a supernova, and everyone’s perception of the event is clouded by their own experiences, including your own.

Continuously plagued by nightmares and I still can’t understand how my own brain is capable of putting me through such terror, nearly every night. Reliving traumas that some nights I can no longer tell if they have even happened in real life or if they are only wicked fantasy horror’s far worse than most could even imagine I have thrusted upon myself as some sort of penance for still existing. Often wondering where the line of horrible truths and the relentless combination of horrifying theatrics and creative viscous genius; actually lies.

In the day, I am always fighting for a better a future for my son and for that to include me in his life as someone worthy of that extraordinary imagined existence. Each morning I wake I fight for my right to love and be loved and setting goals to earn such love by being better in all aspects of my life. Yet, I fear I am not fighting for it in a way that shows I believe I truly deserve it. Deserve love, peace and even joy. The words I recognize and the rational part of my brain knows I do, cause fuck, we all do. We all deserve so much more than we ever give ourselves credit for. I don’t know how to believe I do. To truly believe it and feel it when in the depths of me this poison has taken hold of me over the years. Seeping in slowly and steadily, in the shadows of all of my best intentions and valiant failed efforts.

So, why does this nagging cruelty nag at me that I am meant to suffer and to endure for the rest of my days? Why is being vulnerable the fasted to trip to numb or dissociation without a moment to correct this ridiculous notion thrust upon me? Why does the lack of control drive the deepest anxiety I have ever felt in the marrow of my bones where I swear I will drown in it and feel as if I am drowning regardless? I am often asked to trust only as swiftly as I am reminded not to. Then there is love, if and when I feel what I associate the feeling of love it is accompanied by a nagging question of is this a risk worth taking? Am I even capable of breathing in love and all the good reaching toward me from it knowing all the while a million fragmented images play behind my eyes like some sort of madness of all the ways every situation could go drastically wrong if I succumb and relinquish control, trust, exhale, try and allow myself to feel love?

Someday I hope the thought of being vulnerable isn’t quite so exceptionally painful. That the word control, is associated more with driving a car or a single turn playing a board game than this intricate woven waking nightmare of reality where every molecule of surviving this life is what life is. Someday where the idea of love shoots a calming recognizable warmth throughout my cold clenched vessel, filling me with peace, happiness and relentless joy. Where the idea of trust isn’t a trigger but rather a matter of fact welcomed component of my life. Where life is about balance and not about preparing and accepting the worst but truly allowing myself to hope for the best and maybe accepting days will be good and bad and how it goes is about how I react to it rather than some cosmic retribution.

Fear is a powerful force.

Be kind to others and please be kind to yourself.

Hindsight and Peace

Talking about my past with a nonchalant viewpoint is either proof I have moved beyond my past or that I have buried it so deeply into the depths of my being from the realization it doesn’t serve me to dwell. There comes these defining moments in your life where you have to make seemingly hard decisions (at the time) about the future, about your own future and about what you are willing to accept and what you are not. Whether you are willing to suffer or to hurt someone else. When I started to look at things in the perspective of “does this serve me?” and “is this the person I am?” or “is this the person I want to be?” as well as, “Is this what I deserve?” Everything changed as I imagined who I am, how far I’ve come, who I wanted to be and admitted to myself I do deserve more out of life than the sentence I gave myself so many years ago. When your mistakes haunt you past the point of forgiveness because you in fact do not forgive yourself, is it the price you deserve to pay or is it as simple as you not believing you deserve more? Making mistakes is a natural part of being human but I have found when you find your people, find someone you care deeply for, even love beyond your own normal comprehension; and they forgive you for something you deem unforgivable, well it is far more difficult to accept. Far more than any suffering I have endured and far more than I had ever imagined was even possible.
I have busted my ass for years working toward a better future, for myself and my son. To be worthy of that sort of forgiveness and to return that to those that have wronged me. I find myself more mentally, physically and emotionally stable and continuing to work hard in all aspects as we all are works of art in progress. I’ll admit it’s been a shit show of hard work folks but I am getting through it and isn’t that the point? We can all get through our struggle and face anything if we can find a way to believe in ourselves a little more. It’s important I see how far I have climbed from the belly of the beast that tried to consume me, feeding on my darkness. Each day I take a little more effort into believing I deserve more and sometimes I say it out loud and cringe in disbelief. Each time I say it, though I know it has begun to break the walls I erected around me a little more each day, I feel the cringe as my body clenches in the muscle memory scream of “No!” Each day it turns the volume down a fraction, the strength behind the response is less severe and releases me sooner. I put these walls up to protect myself from outside forces because I had learned that people break your trust, break your heart and break you. That particular venom that spreads and festers begins with trust, hope and love. Sure, being the one who loves a little less than the other protects you when things crumble to the ground but when starting anything with this sort of foundation it becomes a self-fulling prophecy of “see I told you” when things crash or burn or on the bad days when it feels as if everything is and will go wrong. In the end being right does not result in wining, in happiness or becoming the best version of yourself. You can’t really be a part of something magical if you’ve got your heart on the safety eject button. There has been too much pain in my life that I have experienced and witnessed in more fashions than I would care to admit and have felt in ways I wish I had not that I can truly understand anyone unwilling to be vulnerable enough to surpass those fears because hell, I am terrified of that. Sometimes I even think I am incapable of it. Anytime a true feeling emerges from me it feels as if every cell in my body treats it as an infection it needs to fight and it goes to damn war. I used to revel in the idea of being a jaded, cynical pessimist. It’s not that I feel its an entirely mistaken point of view but rather closed minded, a view of someone who from experience has been hurt. It’s one sided and the universe is nothing if not in a constant battle of balance always working toward some version of harmony. In those terms I can relate, as I had always felt the struggle to balance those parts of me at war. As I experienced joy and happiness a flicker of terror surfaced instantly just below my skin with warning of pain and hollowness that will infect me when whatever it is that is making me feel, is gone. Feelings are contagious terrifying lapses in judgment. As much as my rational mind knows it’s not true, some days thats more difficult to remind myself than others. Feelings ache in my muscles and joints, burn my skin, swarm in my mind, revoke my sleep and plague me until I succumb to them, numb from them or allow them to consume me. As I grow older; listen and watch more versus reacting, I have found my defense mechanisms do not serve me and I’m not going to lie, this is a hard pill to swallow and even more so to change.
Here’s the thing though, I still dare to try. To risk my sanity, my heart and as terrifying as it always is there are these moments where things do actually work out. (Also terrifying btw) That is where you find yourself, where you find your connection to others, to love and to hope. To be more vulnerable is scary as fuck and a gigantic struggle for me but I will continue to try.
To live, to love, to be open to all the alternative versions you can be if only you allow yourself to be the best version of yourself and strive to better than the version of yourself yesterday, is a purpose I can stand with.

Hindsight teaches me the lessons I needed to learn and peace, it comes from letting going and learning those lessons.

Be kind to each other and be kind to yourself.

Triggers, defense mechanisms and relapse, oh my!

Psychological and emotional triggers have been a plenty in 2020. Sometimes it is hard to see the good in your life, in yourself or in other people. One of the most difficult things about my progress is how I look and seem “good”. I have survived for so long that attempting to do more than only survive has brought up an infinite amount of challenges. This year has muddied the waters on what defense mechanisms and coping mechanisms I still cling to and which I need to let go of. The eery truth is though the world basically looks like it is on fire, I am more at peace or at least closer to reaching it than I ever had been before. I am more calm in this chaos as there is a tangible reason or explanation for it, and so I am less stressed. Stress has been eating at my insides, dancing between my skin, seeping into my bones for such a long time. I still struggle with distressing and the actual concept of relaxing is still nearly impossible for me to put into practice, so much so that if I feel relaxed at all you can bet your ass, I’m passed out within seconds. I know most of my triggers and I work hard to not react to them. To not fall into my defense mechanisms and relapse. It’s my son and I against the world, or for it. You can be damn sure I will do everything in my power to give us the best life I can. A happy, peaceful life where we can be proud of who we are, love with open arms and feel safe to walk away from things and people who do not align with our needs at living a good life. The only way for my son to understand this, is to show him. Because actions or lack there of always speak louder than the sharpest or hollow words.

I am on my first break between semesters since winter break at the end of 2019 going into 2020. The worst I have been emotionally and mentally has been on this month break, the lull in my exponentially busy schedule. I have completed my first year in the mortuary science program with an overall GPA of 3.50. I was always a C student but between WSU and OCC I have from Fall 2019-Summer2020 earned; 6 A’s, 3 A-‘s, 2 B’s, 3 B+’s and 1 B-. So I suppose I am not a C student after all. I wish I could say it is because I am passionate about what I have been learning this year and for a few classes that may be true but for most, it isn’t. I suppose I didn’t realize how much I needed to be busy both physically and mentally to stabilize my mood. In the spring I began a huge project of clearing the yard for a garden. I grew from seeds and planted small starter plants and now in August, everything is lush, producing food and gorgeous flowers and looks a little like a scene from Jumanji at times. I had no idea gardening was such hard work! It is and my body and my mind absolutely have loved every second of it. I put up an above ground pool for my son (and let’s be real, for me too.) We’ve spent the summer on hammock’s, the swing set, in the dirt, in the pool, under the gazebo, bbq’ing most meals all while surrounded by fairy lights I put up along the fence, the trellis’s and some trees. It’s our little slice of summer heaven.

My son has had quite the adjustment period during this pandemic. His routines stolen, school’s closed, lack of socialization, inability to go shopping and so much more has been extremely difficult. Being able to spend so much time outside has been our greatest alley but I know another horrid Michigan winter is coming and they last often for 6 months and neither one of us likes that garbage. 

So here we are world. Learning, changing and growing like my crazy garden, together. Looking for some peace in a time of chaos and uncertainty because together we can make it through this and I know that means we can make it through anything.

Be kind to one another, we are all scared and unsure of what’s to come.


Trigger: Cause (an event or situation) to happen or exist.
Examples of Emotional Trigger: someone rejecting you, someone leaving you, someone blaming or shaming you, someone being unavailable to you, someone ignoring you or discounting you, someone being critical of you, someone too busy for you, someone trying to control you, someone being needy or trying to smother you and helplessness over painful situations.
Psychological triggers: A trigger in psychology is a stimulus such as a smell, sound or sight that triggers feelings of trauma.
Defense Mechanism: a mental process (e.g., repression or projection) initiated, typically unconsciously, to avoid conscious conflict or anxiety.
Relapse: A deterioration in someone’s state of health after a temporary improvement.
Coping mechanisms: are strategies people often use in the face of stress and/or trauma to help manage painful or difficult emotions.
Stress: a feeling of emotional or physical tension.

Rant

All I really want is some balance. Balance between much needed alone time and time spent with creative adventurous people who are still unflinchingly kind on their darkest of days.
People who make you feel safe while seemingly doing nothing at all. People who love animals, nature, books, hot summer days, time in the water, random creative outbursts, adventures, traveling, nights on the town, nights in, late night conversations, being crafty, etc. People who love to try new foods and break bread with passionate conversations (and a little bourbon or wine.) People who support other people’s dreams, who are filled with compassion and confidence in who they are. People who put other people first without expectations.
My time and energy is valuable and I’m all for spending it with like minded souls. Especially with all that has transpired in 2020 and all that has yet to come.
Enough of the energy vampires, negative lusters, refusal to change or grow people, what about me people and whatever other soul sucking mantra people feel the need to live by walking around with their blinders on because true growth, change and happiness is actually hard work you have to do yourself but sweet fucking damn the reward is everything to love yourself, your life and the people in your life. It is like living in a place filled with magic.
End of rant.
Stay safe all. Xoxo

Home Stretch

As I near the end of this semester with 5 finals looming over me, I stopped and took a moment to appreciate how far I have actually come. This year I have made huge strides in trauma therapy, though I know I still have so far to go. I FINALLY finished my associates degree this year, something I began working toward back when I duel enrolled in high school (circa 2002). My son is growing up and his personality in all its growing pains is emerging and for the most part he seems happy and is healthy. I applied, interviewed and was accepted to WSU and the mortuary science program there.
I finished the first book Jezebel, in my new series early on in the year after working on it for nearly two years and even began the second book. Two months ago I finally joined a gym again and I am even working with a personal trainer twice a week.

So I sit here before one of my last classes, attempting to study for finals, to take a break and just breathe. To remember how far I’ve come and how much I’ve survived. I’ve met so many people in the last few months and all of them seem surprised to find out I am Bipolar, have PTSD and suffer from anxiety. I wear my scars well, I’ve been told. Surviving doesn’t come without great self sacrifice. I have buried myself in my studies, my son and often Netflix and its time to live a little a more. Or at least try to. Truth be told, I don’t know who I am without the darkness I’ve carried around with me my entire life. As I progress through therapy I find I am much more easily triggered. Triggered by things I couldn’t see coming. Triggered by shows I watch, people I love. The truth is, my truth anyway, I haven’t been okay in a long time. “Fake it until you make it,” was drilled into me during my more prominent acting days and it seeped into real life. I’m not a fan of explaining what I want or need especially because the safety of doing it myself and not needing anyone quiets the noise in my mind, quiets the shake in my bones. I will as always keep fighting, keeping pressing on, keep chasing dreams old and new alike, keep pretending until I no longer can bury it and it explodes into a supernova of sorts. I will keep going to get through, to survive until I find some relief and can exhale again. But, I am not okay. I haven’t been in a long time. I have bursts of okay and better. So if I haven’t been there for you the way you wish I was or needed me to be just know I wanted to be so badly it hurts but in order to survive and one day truly live, I can’t be what you need. It’s time I am what I need.

Invisible

Invisible. Invisible illness, invisible pain, invisible struggles, invisible sacrifices, invisible compromises. My mind roars violently as it whispers things to me, things to me it always has. Things no one should hear from their own mind. Nightmares brew and rumble with agony and vengeance, echoing throughout the day. Exhaustion is just life sometimes when your own mind wages war upon you each and every night. Restful sleep is as much a fantasy as understanding , patience and reprieve.

Perform my dear. Perform the greatest performance of your life that all is well and you are strong and content. Perform so well you fool yourself while you snuggle into darkness and finally feel safe and when you faulted all you love will punish you, ridicule you and deem you selfish. My mind is a wicked, cruel beast.

Dreams have been mistreated, broken and lost. Hope is for other people and once again I am left to survive and endure when my mind wins yet another foolish battle I refused to court.

The more I smile with mascara laced lashes looking confident and proud, the more I am losing this war. Each hand that reaches toward me, the more I recoil and clench.

One soul keeps me grounded, existing, trying. Forever I will fight my demons for them but that is all it seems to be anymore. Fighting the hungry demons from crushing my bones to protect you.

Perhaps, some day it will be more than that. Perhaps some day I may lose.

 

Choices

 Circumstances do not change unless we change them. If we do nothing then we accept those circumstances. If the path changes we cannot bury our heads in sand and think of only the past. We must always move forward as the sun continues to burn and when it no longer can and all is over we will all see complacency was a mistake we all chose a time or two. 

 


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A thought

It’s hard when you have a diagnosed mental illness. Even if it is a neurological chemical issue. Some people may be more understanding than others. I’ve learned over the years it is nearly impossible to fully comprehend the depths of a mental illness for some even if they themselves suffer from one or another and I too am guilty of this. Though I struggle with bipolar disorder, anxiety and I struggle with admitting to myself, PTSD, I find it especially challenging to deal with the continuum of others mental illness’s. Something I never have wanted to admit. Even with the frustrations I have watching those I care for struggle to deal with my own, I never wanted to react in the same matter but I know sometimes that’s exactly what I do. It hurts when someone you care for can not understand your illness or struggles and becomes frustrated with you but I do understand why it happens, if only simply it being human nature and self preservation. Some times you just cannot see past your own trauma and turmoil to another’s. Sometimes it’s about the way they cope or don’t while you fight to battle your own conditions. It’s not fair. To any party involved. No matter the depths of my despair and suffering I always think of these people I care for regardless if I cannot help.

I cannot be what they need and that hurts. It hurts me deeply and it hurts them. In the end I try to remember most that we all fight our own battles and we do so in our own ways. Some want you to need them while you may need them to want you and not need you, and this can be volatile. I do not wish to hurt anyone and if I have, I am truly sorry. I always will admit or at least try to, my part in how things transpired to where we stand, even if they cannot.
Sometimes people are in your life for the duration and some for only a short time. Neither is wrong, as life continues and remains fluid carrying on with or without us. I feel no ill will to those who are gone, those who needed space, who have walked away or I have walked away from. I hope the same things for them as I do for myself, for happiness, health and some peace.

 

Remember, be kind.

How do I?

It has been quite a while since I have allowed or even tempted to have my fingers dance upon the keys of my trusty laptop. I am continuing to fight through life in a way that brings purpose to it and with many goals that show light at the end of the tunnel. After busting my ass I passed my last semester of community college, finished my first draft of my current book and after a terrifying long two weeks a medical test result came back normal. You would think I would be more at ease but the emotional rollercoaster of the last few weeks, hell the last few months has been taking its toll. I look strong and I am but I struggle or I shut it all down and away into the darkness unable to live through it otherwise. I take the blame, the guilt, the hurt and swallow it. I lost. I can admit that but I could not survive going through the motions any longer, repeating the same miserable day. I have had diagnosis after diagnosis and I offer them as an explanation and not an excuse because depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety and PTSD; they are all real. I’m not sure why people think they are exception to the rules of my life. The disappointment dripping from their everything kills a piece of me each time.

So I will continue to do all I can to provide the life my son deserves, the life I deserve. I will take the blame for the sake of those I love but I will no longer stay complacent in this horrid fantasy they have for me. Alone is just fine. After all, it was the one thing I asked for that no one has ever been willing to give me.

 

Goodbye

Life has been a whirlwind roller coaster of chaos lately. I’m not sure if I haven’t written because I had nothing to say or too much. My life shifted in some extremely uncomfortable ways and as I purge through the trauma of my past blindfolded, the emotions and feelings tied to them erupt seemingly from nothing.  I have been attempting to make choices in my life that effect my life in a manner towards what I want or need for myself and as always when it effects others in a way not pleasant or simply not what they want or need, let’s just say it hasn’t been going well. I am so exhausted of putting others ahead of myself and simply surviving. Though at the moment all of the consequences of my choices have not been evoking warm and fuzzy feelings either.

My morning dove, Precious, past away last night. I had decided I would not share publicly as I did not want pity, sympathy or attention but I changed my mind if only because I wanted people to know that he was an amazing member of our family for twenty years, he was loved and he matters.

When I would sing (karaoke) in the back room (aka his bedroom), he would get excited for the company and he was a critic! He would coo and bow when he enjoyed the music and the vocals whether it be myself or a karaoke girls night. Times when my voice would strain or crack or in other way not do a song justice, he would laugh and laugh.

Years ago when we still had my brother’s bloodhound husky mix, Blue, and Precious was in his prime he would chase her around the house. Attempting to land on her back and hop up to her with his best mating call and sing his love of her. She was not interested but it was always adorable to watch.

Life is always happening and as much as we all wish it wasn’t, so is death as it is the balance of life. Precious’s death, knowing it was near still hit me with shock and unreadiness. I don’t know if there is a way to be at peace with it. As I continue to raise my autistic son, write my books, work my job, work on my studies now that I am back in school and all the other million things I attempt to get done on any given day, I must remember that pain, grief, and all things that leave our mark on our lives and soul do so, so that we may recognize the wonder and magic in the world. Honestly, I could use a little magic right now and I think we all could. This world we live in, seems so cold and cruel so much of the time.

I will not quit even if I falter. I will not hide away inside of myself for longer than I need to because it feels easier at the time. I will not put myself last. I will not let my diagnosis’s define who I am. I will grieve and search for peace. I will love without conditions. I will try to forgive, those who have hurt me and myself for all the things I have refused to because of feelings I am not worthy of forgiveness.

Precious, I buried your body with care and marked your grave so I may sing out to you as I once did. I hope your wings have spread wide and you are soaring above all things with peace, and joy in your heart knowing you were loved and we will all be okay.

 

 

Well… That was different…

My nightmares usually consist of post apocalyptic times always with a lot of running and fighting. Sometimes hostage situations of just myself, sometimes loved ones or a combination. Last night, I was surrounded by people who care about me. No matter what I said or did no one could hear me and though it felt all too normal yet, it was different and even more infuriating. All around me people I knew and some I didn’t dressed in dark clothes with red skin around their tired eyes and that was when I saw myself laying in an ugly wooden box. At least I saw my shell or vessel anyway. Dressed in something I would not want to wear for eternity if there was a here after. My best friend and sole god parent to my child walked in with my son in her arms, anger and sadness swarmed her face while he looked confused and seemed to be searching for me.

I listened to people say things such as, ” I didn’t know it was that bad.” “Why didn’t she ask for help?” “How could she do this to me?” With each sentence I grew more angry with their consistent oblivious selfishness until the last question where I only cried. “How could she leave her son?” Once again being overwhelmed by feelings I never could or did good enough for him.

I walked around attempting to poke people or trip them, annoyed I had to attend my own funeral and hear the same stories over and over again. Listening to how great I was or how selfish depending on the private conversation I was listening in on. I sat on my casket looking at my shell thinking, I hope I’m better at this than whoever this mortician was. Picking flower petals and throwing them in the box hoping to freak someone out, mostly out of boredom and on the ground where my son picked them up smiling and naturally chewed on them.

I woke up at the same time as I do every night no matter the context of the nightmares. The first feeling I had was disappointment. I was madly disappointed I had to not only be present in such a nightmare but recall it completely as anything would have been better. Fighting battles, chasing monsters, running from evil entity’s, surviving apocalyptic time and post. The second was a feeling of being filled with an ocean of sadness for my son in. Last, I was angry my brain would have me experience such a thing.

I went back to sleep quickly, no dreaming or nightmares. Shortly after awaking for the next days list of “to do’s” I needed to complete. Still unsure which was worse.

 

 

Hurricane

Have you ever heard a song and felt it in your bones? How could this complete stranger understand exactly what I am feeling? Yet, those closest to me can not.
One of the problems of being someone trapped in survival mode for nearly two decades, is time and time again people remind you the only one you can truly count on is yourself. No matter their intentions. Some people I don’t have to speak, they just know what I am trying to say, when I truly need a hand to reach out. While others, don’t.
I have been enduring one of the hardest years of my life and this week has nearly broke me. If I didn’t have my best friends I honestly don’t know if I would have survived this long, or if I would even be alive today. One, offering to take care of my child for a couple of days so I can get a much needed mini vacay up north to see another of my besties. One showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of bourbon and a few hours later another showed up with a jar of her apple pie moonshine. I am so insanely lucky to have these people in my life.
I don’t know how to find the words to make it clear what I want or need for those who just can’t understand, to not only understand but put action to it. Sometimes a girl just needs to be heard and sometimes a girl just needs to be rescued. When you’re not actually Wonder Woman, there is only so long you can rise to those sort of standards.
It had been a long time since I have felt so hollow. When life and people again proved my cynical jaded pessimistic viewpoint as what is and always has been true, how the hell am I ever going to change it? I am not enough. Not enough to change it, not enough to deserve what I need or want. Not enough to be the parent I want to be, friend, spouse, daughter, sister. I fear I am not stronger than my depression, my anxiety, my nightmares. At least not to be a whole person, if that was ever something I even was as I may be that good of an actress. Fooling all of you and even myself.
Don’t hug me and say you’re sorry, I love you too and I already know. Words are not enough, if that wasn’t clear.

When I say step up or step back, it is because I am breaking and trying to breathe under water. Water no one else can see and perhaps doesn’t actually exist. What I want, is for you to step up in all the ways I did say but you couldn’t hear me and if you truly cannot do that than what I need is you to step back so I can get one last breath to fight, to live, to survive.

 

 

 

This is the song in my bones.

Suffocating and Surviving

Maybe I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing but I am trying to figure it all out.  I lost a part of myself I was told I wasn’t allowed to be, leaving me hollow chasing a feeling I couldn’t imagine to be real. A life I never felt I deserved. I fantasized of a life more than this and far worse too. It wasn’t about an unwillingness to risk, more so it has always been the willingness to sacrifice my wants and needs for others to only find it was never enough. It always takes pieces of me and I’m not sure who it is that is left.
On no more than two to three hours of sleep a night for weeks now (or longer honestly) I find it difficult to raise to the standards some are used to. It’s much harder to pretend I am alright with little sleep, being awoken by horrific nightmares that continue to haunt me for days. My gypsy soul wants to wander, explore and feel alive but these things are selfish so I push them far from me.  So I work toward a better life for the one who needs me most regardless if that is the life that would make me happy. I’m not sure if my happiness has ever been a primary focus in my life though sometimes I’m sure it seems this way to others. I have been trapped in survival mode, enduring so much for such a very long time now. I’ve fooled so many into this strong version of myself unable to rely on anyone the way I truly need I’m not sure who I am anymore or if this is me. If a version of myself free exists some where or if that version is lost forever.
All I can think now at 1 am is, have I stayed up late enough to avoid these traumatizing nightmares? Will there every be a reprieve for me?

self portrait ©Andrea DiGiglio 2017

I soar out of bed grasping onto hope that what I endured was not real. It wasn’t but it feels so real my body and mind in fact believe it was and so I carry it with me always. The nightly nightmares I bare increasingly more traumatizing and horrific the worse my waking state seems to be. The more fighting or arguing, the more lack of support and help, my dreams feed on it and love to rub my nose in it. It’s strange to me how some people think because the words of support pour out of them without action that is sufficient. Claiming interest in the things you care most deeply about with little to no investment if it is not a shared interest with the expectation of a return on their own passions. Putting in ten percent while lying to themselves they are one hundred percent invested and expecting undivided attention and when its not given turning harsh and cruel. For someone with PTSD (and those without), it adds to the stress and when that person has spent more than half of their life enduring this suffocating existence trapped in survival mode continuously made promises however true at the time that cannot be and never are fulfilled it makes the enduring of this existence much more difficult to bare. This isn’t a blame game, regardless if my bipolar diagnosis is warping the chemicals in my brain to make me two different people shoved in this one broken shell, this shell everyone speaks so kindly about, that isn’t really me is it? With a constant fluctuation of moods and personality traits how am I to know who I am anyway? I was told the darkness within me was evil but it’s the only constant and safe part of my life. It takes a hold and comforts me when I need it most when I am at the point of quitting it all, washing away my tears and sometimes my pain if only for a short while. It never judges me and I wonder if denying it’s existence is the part of me missing that makes me feel whole. I am beyond damaged and more alone than I ever could have imagined trying to pretend I’m something I’m not for the sake to not cause discomfort to those I care most about. At some point they all claim I do not have to do that with them but if time proves anything at all, it proves the fallacy of what they can endure and the fact I can endure almost anything, but with great cost. 
How could I possibly trust or rely on another being when time and time again it is proven I must be the strong one? I am so very tired of asking for what I need only to be let down and challenged with the notion I should be grateful for what I have. Unwanted assistance in nearly an opposite fashion to what my mind is screaming for. I so wish that I was loved because those want to love me and not because they need to love me or need my love. I’m tired of being needed. In the beginning of all things I am wanted, chased and at some point I become some burden who is no longer giving them all the things they want. Eventually never enough all while draining the life within me while striving to be what they want me to be with no return.

Here’s the hardest part of all of this, I need help. So do many of you. I have a psychiatrist, therapist, trauma therapist, neurologist etc. Helping me fight for my right to not only endure or survive this life but perhaps live it. This isn’t the help I mean but clearly the help I do need will never come. I wish others would do the same, fight for themselves rather than live in a different sort of darkness they refuse to climb out of, playing the blame game attached to an idea that life or people owe them something when they don’t.  If only they took care of themselves rather than adding their baggage onto my back and wonder why I’m breaking and unable to help them, they may heal and maybe I could too. We are here to love, to live. “…All I’ve ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you…” To live… what a beautiful fantasy like three moons shinning over a clear blue sea, and sand between my toes. I am suffocating and trapped and every step forward I fight through the chains and weight of a thousand worlds attached at my ankles and yanked yards backward. I need my own space, I need more time than most to myself by myself, uninterrupted and not to be treated that what I need and want is not valid because it hurts someones feelings or offends them because fuck that bullshit. Learn to love yourself, be alone with yourself, survive on your own as I have done. To many being alone is a curse or the worst punishment of all but to me as a survivor I can always rely on my self to endure, to survive to fight through every god damn thing thrown at me. It’s people who break me. With intention to do so, without intention to do so. Does that part even matter? Being alone is where I can find peace in a world so horrible and filled with chaos and selfishness. I haven’t been alone with myself in so many years, taken from me just as the control over the chemicals in my brain has taken my control over my emotional and mental state. Taught wanting such a thing is wrong and cruel to those who surround me, smothering the light inside of me wondering why I feel so vacant. I have a gypsy soul and that was snuffed out too. So we are left with this shell, the shell everyone seems to love and I despise. Somewhere in the darkness I am screaming and clawing my way out, if only I had help. If only it mattered more than…

 

I’m Tired

I don’t remember the last time when I spoke the words “I’m tired,” and that was all I meant. Whether it was to someone or to myself. I’m tired has replaced I’m okay, I’m all right, I’m fine which often was retorted with, “Are you sure?” Sometimes followed with unsolicited advice which honestly was never much help in climbing out of that headspace. I’m just tired has replaced I’m exhausted. It’s replaced I’m sad, I’m depressed, I feel broken. It’s replaced I feel hopeless. I’m not sure at what point I am tired became so much more in those two words. It creeps in the darkness of the night stealing sleep or causing nothing but sleep. It has no shame on a warm sunny day and still keeps coming at you with clenched fists. Frankly, most times talking about how I feel traps me there and I want to escape it and I have therapists for that sort of thing anyway.

I suppose I may not just be tired and after so many years like this it feels as if this is who I am now. It’s not all days but it’s closer to that being true than not. Sometimes saying I’m tired, is to not burden those you care about with something you can’t help feeling. And after so much time has passed and those feelings are still there the compassion dissipates from the ones you need it from the most. It is not intentional to hurt but the truth is, sometimes it does.

Maybe I don’t have anything positive to say and I am a jaded, cynical pessimist. And life experiences and jacked chemicals in my brain created the monster I feel I am now. So no, I won’t complain about my day, the physical pain I’m in I try to ignore and fight through or for the mental warfare inside of my head just to be told to chin up or buck up or to play the one up game with people I’m not trying to compete with, especially a game where every one is the loser. To be asked how I am and for the response to my reply to feel like nothing more than a brush off, an obligation to ask but no substance behind it. And yes, I already know that someone else has it worse than me but I still have to live this life in this body, in this mind.

I miss truly enjoying things, things I used to or even new experiences or even something so simple as chasing after dreams. To be trapped in survival mode only because the chemistry in my brain is faulty. Some days, not all days, I go through the motions only to get to the next day and only to do it all over again like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day or Sammy in the “Mystery Spot” episode of Supernatural. But I haven’t given up yet and that should count for something shouldn’t it?

So yes, I’m tired.

 

Is there a difference between being supportive and understanding?

The short answer? Hell yes.

There is a difference between being supportive and understanding. Someone can tell you they support you and even mean what they say without putting forth much effort into understanding where you are coming from. The problem which lies in this is without the understanding of your dreams, goals, trauma, illness (etc.); is their support will never be fully committed if those things inconvenience them. For example, if your time for this supportive person becomes less so you may focus more on any of the list above or others. The inconvenience to them may make them act less than supportive and although they want to support you they do not want to sacrifice or have anything taken away from them. When someone does not understand your illness or even your dreams you might assume they would look further into it. Order a book on kindle explaining it in more details so they can actually have an understanding on a level closer to your own and help ease their own feelings about the situation or future situations that may arise. It amazes me how a little empathy can go a long way and how many people do not know the true definition of the word. I find people who suffer from empathy (as that is how it feels for me) often have a clearer understanding of what someone else is enduring or even enjoying. True empathy is a gift and a curse.

We all have to live our own lives, needing to take care of ourselves and sometimes others too. We all have dreams, goals and aspirations and some may never come to be. Many of us struggle; it’s hard to endure and it’s often hard for others to watch. Sadly, we live in a world where “I” and “me” trumps all things. A world where people care more about power, greed and social media like’s. A world where other people’s problems and struggles are an inconvenience to our own lives. A world where it sometimes seems is filled with the Violet’s and the Veruca’s of Willy Wonka’s, who think “I want” is the same thing as “I need” and won’t compromise such things for what someone else may need. We live in a time where people want things easy and do not want to work for anything, even if it would be worth it in the long run.

Which brings me to another heartbreaking point, when no one notices you fading away or your love for things dissipating. When you are too exhausted to sleep and respond with doing the bare minimum and it still seems to never be enough. When someone makes you feel worse because, “they are not enough to make you feel happy or better.” When you are told someone supports you or wants to help you but their actions do not correspond.

Just know, you can survive anything and you are enough. Though people may not like it, you have the power to change your circumstances. I won’t say it’s easy as it rarely is but it is within your power to change yourself and your circumstances. Waiting for help, relying on other people is a fairy tale or a day dream. People can change of course but if you wait for them to change for you, you will be waiting a very long time. People change for themselves.

Endure. Survive. Endure.

Endure. Survive. Endure.

I looked at the ground, my heart broke. It took a deep breath in and tried to retain all the pieces it seemed to be in now. It didn’t. It couldn’t but be damned it still tried. Sometimes in life you are sitting still as the world rushes by you. Others, you don’t have enough time for all the things you need and want to do. Sometimes you are in motion at a steady speed until something hits you like a boulder knocking your ass back to the start line. Similarly, I had been struck with a still force across my entire being. I mourn the loss of something dear to me and feel as though I always have and will again. So many times I have roared back to life and tried again and again to reach a goal I fear I will never achieve. In this, my illness wreck’s havoc on me as it is the only constant in my life. It is cruel and meticulous. The noise in my skull is chaotic most of the time, especially this moon phase. You fear the darkness but its deep within me and all around me and feels like, home.  Many don’t get it and I didn’t expect you too. Yet, I was hopeful. Something that has never, not one time, ever paid off. Time and time again, the girl who thought Westley and Buttercup’s story was what true love really was or could be, reminds who I am today of the possibility, it could. So incredibly cruel. Another cycle burns through the night and I play a game within myself of Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. No matter who wins, this sliver of my heart in my hand cuts me, deeply. A reminder of what happened here as to never forget, as if I could. Another toke, another drink, another pill. Numb. Wanting numbness to take hold, to give ample time to heal before I feel. My will laid at the waste side, unable to help me now. Endure. Survive. Endure. Repeat. As I reach up and feel my wet cheeks I know what I feared all along was true. My soul is in love with the idea of true love and I am far too jaded to play along anymore. As I am now as alone as some days I feel, I have the ability to do as one does when this sort of thing happens. For now I will recoil to the darkness that stalks me as it is always the same, always safe no matter how bad it is for me. Never lost I glide through the darkness until I catch the corner of a dresser. I open the top drawer and slide the shard into it, gently. I close the door and let the darkness absorb me until I am no longer present in this moment.  Silence. Endure. Survive. Repeat.

Ramblings From an Unusual Mind

Archive: The joy of a sleepy child

I rock my son in my arms as if we were listening to a sweet melody. His cries bounce of the wall begging for me not to coax him into sleeping. He loathes napping and bedtime as if I were kicking his favorite little puppy. He whines, pleading that I stop trying to make him as sleepy as he actually is. I lay him down in bed with a bottle and his favorite blanket, whispering sweet words to him. He fights, arguing every step of the way as if sleep was his mortal enemy. His eyes grow heavy and in reaction his hand reach up to rub them. Will he sleep? I wonder.

I hold my son gently in my arms reminding myself that this is just one of the many gifts that come along with children. Exhausted my hair lay a disaster, high above my head. My eyes are surrounded by a dark blanket, a sign that I have been without sleep for far too many days in a row. A nap could change my entire day and the only thing standing in the way of that is the perfect bundle of joy wrapped in my arms screaming bloody murder. My socks are mismatched and I was sure the substance on my shirt was either spit up or formula but not entirely sure to which one it was.  Reluctantly, I lay him in his bed as my arms feel as if they will fall right off of my body from the length of time I held his weight in them. I tried to hold him until he fell asleep, but I was in no condition for an endurance run against this little man.  I glanced in the mirror to see my disheveled appearance knowing this wasn’t the first nor the last time, I wasn’t going to give two shits about my reflection, mocking me. I sat waiting for him to tire himself out and fall asleep into the much needed nap he deserves, I deserved. As I am just about to give up and free him as he wishes the space around me silences and I know he has finally passed out. I dance in celebration. I debate on taking my own much needed nap or one of the other million things I could do while he lay sleeping. I peer into his crib to see his sweet angelic face, at peace. I crawl into bed and close my eyes, excitedly. Minutes pass and there I lay awake. “No, no, no.” I growl at myself. After I had made a mental note of my future to do list and had dwelled sufficiently on the past twenty-nine years of my life, I begin to drift asleep. “Momma.” I hear from cage that holds my son. My eyes snap open fearfully and as his soft voice begins to babble I sigh and pull myself from my bed and approach my son. I find him siting, staring up at me with a smile that could melt the coldest of winter’s. Even his baby blues were smiling, as if to say, thank you mom. I needed that. I reach in and lift him up into my arms and he holds on to my neck before I bring him to the floor to escape and cause whatever havoc he will, on the house. His laughter fills the house as he plays with his favorite toys and though the circle’s around my eyes darkened slightly from the ordeal I throw my hands up in defeat. There’s always bedtime, I think to myself. Who needs showers?

 

Drea

Archive: Conversations about writing with youthful ears

Conversation with a small group of youthful ears. “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.”

I was standing in front of a small group of youthful ears answering questions about how and why I chose to write. I said, “I didn’t choose to write, it’s something I just have to do.” The teacher smiled and asked if there were any techniques I could share with her students or words of wisdom and I looked around at the room and said this,
~“I want you all to think about the worst day you have ever had. Some might say, you’re worst day…” I pointed at a student. “Was worse than say yours,” I said as I pointed at another student. “This though technically on someone’s scale may be true, it is not. No one has the right to tell you your worst day or any moment is not worth as much as or worth more than someone else’s.
When you write a sad scene in story don’t write careless emotionless words on a page and hope it hits. You need to pour your soul out, pluck your sorrow and bleed on the pages you create. Moments such as those are then directly tied to your work. What you felt that day twists and turns and erupts in the sad moment you create. Experiences in life impact your work as they often do to your own lives.

Let’s say the main character is a young man or a young lady and her best friend or his mother has died and the funeral has just begun. You’re not going to say, “oh mom died, damn.” Perhaps he is being strong for his sister and father, trying with all his might to hold them up. Begging himself not to cry as he watches the box that holds his mother’s shell, lower into the ground. His palms sweat and he tries to force a smile as people in her life pay their respects, numbing him to the core with each empty hug. He waits behind after everyone has left and he curses at the sun to himself, that the world has no right to look happy and joyous when he felt as if something was being ripped out of his insides. Long after the dirt and sod had been thrown onto the casket he remained standing, silently. All day he stood there, late into the nightfall. Staring in such disbelief that it all was real. A middle-aged man with scraggily gray hair approached him. The man said, “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.” The young man felt his throat closing up on him, threatening of a possible breakdown. He sighed shakily before leaving on unsteady limbs to his car. He climbed in and as the door slammed shut, he faltered. His eyes rained despite his protest and as he let the loss consume him a new feeling of intense rage began to painfully boil in his blood. Soon guilt of all the things he never had the chance to say or do attacked him relentlessly. His mind was at war with his heart and soul and he was weak from the battle. If you listened quietly, you could actually hear the sound of his heart shattering into tiny pieces, slipping through his hands. A bang on the glass jogged him back to his numb state he had prior to this, grown accustomed to.~

Each student connected with a different aspect of the short story and had a million questions. I smiled as one asked, “Who was at the window?”

“Well,” I said, “Whoever you want it to be. It could be his father or sister or perhaps a high school sweet heart or new love interest even the old man. Someone who may break his heart far worse or may heal it. Each of us would write the next scene completely different and none of them would be wrong. When you tell a story a piece of you, however small, leaks into your book or story and that is not a bad thing. Your reader wants to feel something and to be taken on a journey. The point here is this, every moment in your life matters. As does every moment in a book. What you have felt, enjoyed, suffered through, its shapes you as a writer and as a human being. Live your life and don’t be afraid to allow your past experiences to linger in your work. The story you have to tell matters and your life is an asset to storytelling. And your life experiences are a part of what makes your own writing style unique. Good luck, keep writing.”

Drea

Dreams: Crazy portals in our brain

Dreams can be crazy little portals into what the hell is going on in your brain. I just wish I could feel rested the next day instead of exhausted as if I physically endured what unfolded in my mind. It was a wild ride last night and honestly, I’m not sure how I feel about it all.

 


It always feels as if I dozed off and suddenly even violently awoke in my dreams. This was no different. I looked around at a room of family and friends in a strangely large house as it seemed to have many floors. Maybe it was a hotel but it felt more as if it was someone’s home. We were about in the middle on the maybe ten story house watching a movie or something, (which was odd in itself.) A tornado siren wailed outside and everyone jumped up and headed to the stairway.  Someone yelled this stairway only went up so we would all have to go up and then across to another stairway to make it to the basement for safety. I was in the back making sure everyone was there when I couldn’t find my son. Panic raged through me and I called him, searched for him and everyone else was just gone. Saving themselves. I ran up the stair way and checked every floor screaming for him. He’s non-verbal so I don’t know what I was expecting.

On the tenth floor, having trouble breathing I searched the floor and in a bedroom I found him crying holding his blanket and tablet. I couldn’t figure out why he was up there so far away? I scooped him up in my arms and cried with relief that I had found him. My little dog barked at the window. Until I wiped my eyes away and saw outside the tornado nearing us. I slid my boots on, grabbed my large overnight bag and quickly grabbed what I could. I threw my climbing gear on my back, a sling bag over my shoulder with ropes and a grappling hook and a bag that strapped around my waist and thigh. I picked up my son and ran out of the door, the siren screaming or maybe it was the wind? The building shook fighting for its life as well as I ran down a stairwell. My dog followed but was terrified and stopped in a corner. I scooped her up and threw her in my bag, we didn’t have time and I wasn’t leaving her behind. I ran carrying my son, his most precious belongings and my dog down stairs until the ended and into another hallway.

We never made it to the basement. The house was hit by large debris ruining much of it but was still standing. I remember letting my dog out of the bag while clutched on to Aiden, walking up to a nearby window seeing so much destruction. It looked as if everything had dropped ten feet below the house. Out to the left there was a deep crater where a few dogs where attempting to climb out. On the right it now looked like a hill of the transferred soil and debris. People in swat gear were climbing it being led by a handful of german shepherds which made my dog bark relentlessly. At least they knew we were here. I thought knowing the way we came, the stairway was destroyed and the house felt unsteady at this point.

I watched the people working to free the survivors in the basement. I set my son down to pull out my rope and tools and put my dog in their place. I hooked the grappling hook onto something sturdy nearby and attached it to one rope as we were still quite a ways up. The other rope I wrapped around my son and myself, making sure he was secured to me. I dropped the large bag out the window, climbed out and began our descend. My dog barked unhappy about her circumstances but my son smiled at me and enjoyed the ride, holding me tight with so much wonder and life in his eyes and I lowered us to safety like Fessik in reverse.

 


I woke up in the middle of the night. Well it was the middle of the night for me I suppose. It was about five a.m. and my son had woken up and needed to use the bathroom and wanted something to drink. Feeling a little more centered going through the motions of 5 a.m. motherhood. I laid back in bed and surprisingly I quickly fell asleep. Usually I would start the same dream over or perhaps partly through to learn another piece of the puzzle of what happens next. I dreamed, just not the same one. It seems I dream like this most often when I argue with my family or my stress levels increase throughout a single day.


I was in a building much different from the first. This building was cold. It felt like it was underground of a hospital or something similar. It felt as I was not suppose to be.

I was walking into a door in what looked like white scrubs with a large white hood thinking, almost there. “Almost where?” I mumbled to myself under my breath. I walked into a large room with 30-50 people with my head down as my feet led me (as if they knew where they were going) toward a glass door with a key swipe fab. I waited until someone else exited and squeezed through, locking it behind me. Two girls laid strapped to tables in similar attire. I pulled my hood back recognizing them though I couldn’t say who they were. I grabbed a large silver bed pan nearby and slammed it against the man’s face leaning over the first girl’s bed. He crashed to the floor unconscious causing alarm outside the door’s. Guards were yelling, people were running and lights began to flash wildly. I removed the IV’s and unstrapped each girl. “Can you stand?”

“We will manage. Thank you.”

“Where is she?” I asked looking at the empty third bed.

“They moved her, out of the facility I heard.”

“Time to go.” I said with such sadness as whoever I intended to save was not there. We armed ourselves with nearby items as I stole the man’s swipe card. We unlocked the door surrounded by a few guards, rushing them barely making it passed them. We ran through the screaming people nearby and excited the first door the sunlight came through with the key card.

We ran through woods and walked along a strange deep river filled with strange whales which resembled bass fishing lures with large bumps on the top of them that looked like giant purple carnations in a mass group on the front top of their heads. I thought they looked misplaced but I could feel them traveling with me the way the crows always do on my walks and it felt comforting somehow.

We ended up on a beautiful street in the city on a large from lawn in front of an even bigger house, painted in tans and browns with large pillars in front and a wrap around porch. It felt oddly familiar. I stared for a while until one of the girls brought my attention to a tree on the front yard the furthest from the house. Magnificently gigantic with branches as elegant as a dancer. Balloons were trapped in it all over, their ribbons wrapped around branches and tangled in its leaves. The balloons seemed to have names on the them but I couldn’t make them out. A light breeze rushed me I closed my eyes until I heard a branch snap and watched a balloon begin to fall, catching the breeze. I chased it, tackling it to the ground. I turned it over to find it was my name on, “Happy Birthday, Andrea!” I turned back to the house as two women I recognized with love in my soul echoing back, came walking down the front steps of the house. Except, these women looked to be at least 30 years younger than they are now, rushing to embrace me. We changed into something more comfortable, jeans and black shirts or tanks and boots. I wanted to stay but I couldn’t and i don’t really know why. It felt like home but my mission was to save this girl, I didn’t even remember. We embraced, cried a little and the red head whispered into my ear something and my eyes lit up. I can’t remember what she said but it felt important.

We returned to walk down the path near the river. We came upon a little town and when we saw the words “Bar” and “Food,” the girls insisted we go. Reluctantly I agreed. Inside our eyes met with a man, the same man that had exited the door at the facility where I snuck in to save them. He smirked at me. Floored I launched at him, taking him to the ground. “Where is she?” I demanded.

“She’s gone.” He paused before saying, “They killed her.”

“No!” My soul felt as if it caught its breath for a moment. I grabbed a nearby beer bottle and smashed it against the floor near his face and held it to his throat, “You mean you did?”

“No. I tried to save her. Sure for myself but I did try. The worst part is, they will do it again. They will do it again tomorrow and the day after.” I dropped the bottle. Rocked him in the face as hard as my fist would allow, crumbling onto the ground.

It was in that moment I realized the girl I was searching for, was me.

 


 

 

Thanks for reading my blog! Subscribe if you would like to know when I post another blog post. Check out my website for links for all of my current available novels for sale and other fantastical stuff about me at www.andreadigiglio.com

 

XO

 

Drea

When nightmares feel all to real

Most of my nightmares consist of me running, forever it seems. Being chased or chasing someone or something. Thankfully in my dreams I have stamina and the endurance to keep running. I often wake up with my legs feeling sore at times. I also tend to get into these grand battles, always fighting. Winning some, losing others.

Last night this was not the case at all, there was no running or fighting. Just panic and blood. It felt so incredibly real it took several minutes this morning to come to terms with the fact it was not real at all.

 

*Warning: Not suitable for all ages*


THE NIGHTMARE
I did not feel well and I couldn’t really explain how but it was different than my everyday pain and mental & emotional struggles caused by the 8 x 11 page list of disorders I bare. My heart was racing, my stomach turning. I stared into the mirror in the bathroom attempting to rid the awful taste of something horrible about to happen, out of my mouth. I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash and as I spit five teeth coated in thick blood mixed with Listerine, fell from my mouth into the sink with a clank which seemed to echo. I covered my mouth with a shaky hand, attempting to bare my weight on the counter with the other. I coughed, choking on the blood and in reflex spit more blood into the sink. Followed by more teeth. My eyes widened. I gathered the pieces of myself I had just lost and I ran out into the house barely audible saying, “ER, watch him.” Referring to my six-year-old son. An argument or barter system would have played out if the blood had not been all over the outside of my mouth, leaking out into my hands as I spoke.

I drove myself to the ER as I always did in such situations. Salt stinging my eyes, begging a being I don’t believe in and even hate not to let this be it. My son needs me. My mind screamed, pulling into the ER, nearly colliding with a parked car parked over the line as people who drive SUV’s and other large vehicles always seem to do. I stumbled out of the car and into the emergency room doors nearly collapsing on the security guard. He caught me and partially carried me to the check in desk. I attempted to check in but when I spoke my words were colluded with blood and more teeth flew into my hands. I could only painfully stare into the woman’s eyes with trembling lips. Begging for help through my glossy eyes.

They took me back steadfast and most of the doctors in the ER came to see my strange condition. A specialist of sorts with sleek blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail, tugged at her white coat while examining me. Her demeanor was cold and she made no effort to ease my discomfort or mental turmoil. She walked away to speak with the attending claiming my “infection” of sorts was due to a drug I most likely injected. So much judgment leaked out of her skin. Injecting myself was something I had never done and as I attempted to explain no words fell from my lips, only red and white. Unfortunately the only way to treat this insatiable infection was to know the specific strain and I had taken no such injectable drugs. For a moment death would be imminent. I began to thrash unwilling to accept this carved out fate. They attempted to hold me down and as ordered searched my body for needle marks anyway. I tried to tell them but was unable to speak clearly and so while they searched my skin I wrote in my own blood on the white bed sheet, “no injections, only medical pot.” Something I use to treat my disorders.

At this point my family and friends had begun to start showing up at the ER demanding answers on my condition. It seemed to always take something extreme for a response of care by action and not only empty words. I am not sure who it was who was actually able to speak with the doctors and chose to race back to house I live in to find my “stash,” as the doctor called it. Maybe my lack of faith to believe someone would think to do so. By some wave of luck the medical team was able to test the contents to find one of the glass mason jars of marijuana was in fact laced with a deadly substance causing rapid decay in my body. They began inserting the treatment into my IV and I felt it burning inside of my skin. Now I needed major surgery to remove the infection in my mouth and replacing all of my now missing teeth. They claimed they were optimistic in which the infection hadn’t spread anything further. At this point, I was not.

Assuming the treatment was working, a elderly woman with a limp wheeled a computer on a cart slowly and a stack of paperwork since I could not speak, into my room as naturally I had to apply for a medical credit card to pay for the expenses before they would start anything as they already screened that my insurance would not cover the “cosmetic” tooth replacement.  I filled out the paperwork. Twice, because I kept dripping blood accidentally onto it.

I handed the paperwork to the woman, suddenly dropping on the edge of the bed clenching my stomach as a sharp pain followed by cramping erupted through me causing me to vomit. I puked up some strange large mass of sorts that I honestly thought was an organ I might need. Finally, the doctor decided to start the surgery regardless of the status of my potential medical credit line. She up’d the dose of the treatment as they rushed me down the hall.

It was a strange feeling watching them as I felt myself leaving myself in a way as they put some sort of mask on me to help knock me out while someone else injected me with something but from my point of view it just felt like the ice queen specialist was putting a pillow over my face to smother me and I wondered if that would be so bad? I choked trying to talk through that mess, trying to say my sons name. I tried to smack the bed to draw anyone’s attention to it but I’m sure it only looked as if I was tapping at what I had already written as they were wheeling me down the hall toward the OR. It read, “single mom, autistic son. All he has. Please.”

I woke up in the dream alive, in a panic after the surgery. Wanting to see my son, to hold him.

Immediately I shot out of my own bed, actually awake. Not sure if I was in reality or not. Not realizing for a while that I had been dreaming all of those horrible moments.

Unsure which was worse.

Today was a hard day

Today was a hard day. Days similar to today have tried to break me and sometimes I think where I find my strength is keeping it all deep inside of me wrapped up tightly with all the other things I bury for the sake of others.

I often write about how being bipolar feels to me. How depression binds me. I tend to shy away from sharing the part of what it is I actually go through to heal, to survive. The experiences themselves I hide only showing the pretty words strung together in a useable quote. To protect myself, to protect other’s maybe. Not today. Today I had to start over with a re-assesment of my mental health and well-being. I have come quite far from when I started my self-care just over five years ago. Yet, I cannot seem to do more than survive. 

I walked into the office feeling the same I do most days though it’s hard to describe. I mostly go through the motions of what needs to be done to get to the next day only to repeat the cycle. Lying to my brain that tomorrow, we can breathe, we can relax, we can have a good day and maybe we can do something we want to do without criticism, without guilt, without a time limit as my time has not been my own for such a long time now. So, I walk in and sit down and BamBam the therapy dog climbs up his giant stairs onto my psychiatrist’s desk and sits right in front of my face waiting for his pets.

Isn’t he adorable? So sweet and seemingly concerned of my well being. Throughout the session I would watch this look overtake my doctor filled with sadness, concern and so much empathy for what it is I endure. I was uncomfortable, I didn’t understand why? It seems that look is gone from so many familiar faces it was unrecognizable. Conditioned that what I endure is not as bad as it feels or not as severe because I am strong, because I survive, because I am a talented actress and the best performance of my life, is my life and because I am shown that I am selfish making such an experience feel unworthy. I fought tears during the 90 minute season as if crying was painful, or not allowed but really when I start I often cannot stop. Sure sometimes I want to be held, in silence but mostly I prefer these moments are when I am alone. I feel myself betraying myself by doing such a thing in front of another human being. Every part of my being screams to stop, Stop, STOP! I do temporarily, at least until she pokes another trigger.

I have control issues. Anytime I have “let go,” the consequences have been astronomical and I carry them always. They are as much a part of me as my bones, skin and blood is. The things that break me in session, are the same things that have been slowly killing me, making me sicker physically and mentally. It is part of who I am, to feel everything so intensely or feel nothing at all. I’m not really sure if that is part of my personality at this point or just a combination of Bipolar Disorder and all the other labels slapped on my chart. The main triggers, are naturally things I am not in control of. I drift while she types, watching BamBam now in his tiny dog bed, belly up and snoring louder than something so small should be able to. The third time she mentions how difficult my situation must be due to my son’s autism, I correct her firmly. “He is not a trigger.” My love for him and his for me is unconditional. WE accept each other exactly as we are. No one else does that. Maybe that is why the bond between mother and son or father and daughter seem to be so strong. I explained and she accepted.

After adding another diagnostic issue to my chart she asks cautiously if I would be wiling to see a trauma therapist. (Meanwhile I can still see my regular therapist.) Now of course how far I’ve come seems minuscule at this point. She says something along the lines of, “I know to you, you may not think what you have experienced is trauma but it doesn’t have to be physical to be considered trauma. You show classic sign of PTSD from the trauma you have experienced (specifically these 2 instances, including the sudden seemingly random onset of your disorder almost 18-19 years ago) and you have been in survival mode ever since.” My eyes filled quickly and suddenly. So much truth is, hard. I answer her questions, telling her things I would never tell another soul (but I want to feel better, so I do.) Telling her things I have told other’s but had received no reprieve or true help besides empty words, disinterest, judgment, etc. Blah, blah, blah.

We make a plan of action, the best we can with the hand we are dealt. BamBam wakes and comes over to me to say his goodbyes. I leave physically exhausted, mentally drained. Today was a hard day.

I left to pick my son up from school and we went home. Continued with all the things I am supposed to do, have to do to survive. Did all the things I can muster the strength to do with a smile; so my son is happy, healthy and feels loved for being exactly who he is, every single part of him that makes him who he is and allowing him to exist the way he needs ands wants to. My turn isn’t a real thing. It’s a wish list my doctor has on my chart and on this list there are other things she wants for me that I won’t allow myself to dwell on, to want (when I can help it), knowing there is always a barter to be made for a fraction of what I may want and sometimes a punishment of sorts for thinking about myself. Fighting for things I should have a right to, well I do not have the energy, will power or time for such silly things.

Tomorrow I will feel a little better, until I don’t again. Back and forth. My mental illness is a neurological (and genetic) condition I did nothing to aquire and no longer can tell if I deserve. But don’t worry, in a few days I’ll gather myself and be back to the approved version I have been shown, I am allowed to be.

Today was a hard day.

_____________________________________________________________________

 

“I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel absolutely worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel like that.”

― Robin Williams

Words and stuff

Poetry from my past often shows me I am still the same person dealing with the same things. As someone with Bipolar Disorder has to. With how much the people in my life have changed over the years I wonder why not me? Do I know who am I? Is this why I am so much the same?  Strange questions I ask myself though it may be the bourbon talking.

I digress, here’s two poems while I continue to situate this blog.

 

____________________________________________

 
In the nights last breathe
you may sit alone and cry
nothing left but hopeless dreams
that you are to imperfect for
no one cares to hear your voice
to see your sweet lipped words
but even in your loneliness
your light shines somewhere in this world.

 

_____________________________________________

 

Wandering questions
circle in my head
are they really questions?
were they really said?
too flustered
to consumed
by every rambling thought
to give a damn
about these questions in my heart.

 

______________________________________________

 

xo
Drea

Cinderella isn’t Dressed in Yellow, She’s Dressed in Black and She’s Depressed

© RussTurnerphotography
Cinderella isn’t dressed in yellow. She’s dressed in black. And she’s depressed, in pain, ill and exhausted but still getting the damn job done. She’s on mood stabilizers that don’t help nearly as much now that she quit smoking cigarettes. She doesn’t live with step relatives but blood and her dad isn’t dead but he’s not there. Her time doesn’t belong to her and if she attempts to steal any of it she is punished for being selfish. When she asks for help there’s always a price to be paid. Prince Charming brings her home (back to the house) at midnight when she can get a sitter. She sleeps a lot or not at all. She forgets to eat. She’s dying and she doesn’t even care anymore. All they think is, how selfish what about me?

© Andrea DiGiglio

This is what depression looks like

This is what depression looks like:

© Andrea DiGiglio
© Drea DiGiglio
This is what depression feels like (to me anyway.)
It’s more than the really bad days of not being able to get out of bed. The idea of getting out of bed is exhausting. Not showering for days on end and not giving a rat’s ass about it. Not eating for days or perhaps the opposite and shoveling food mindlessly and probably guilt tripping yourself for it every step of the way. Its not just the days where you cannot muster the strength to get out of bed. It’s the days where you feel like that but you do get out of bed, too.
If you have kids, you still have to get them ready for school and take them to their appointments. Sure, maybe your in sweats instead of actual clothes but who cares. You clearly don’t. If you work, you work. You don’t socialize, you don’t count the minutes. You just work and you’re not entirely sure if you’re grateful it’s over because you hate working but now what the fuck are you going do with your time? Every activity takes effort. Every activity. The world looks as if it is tinted in a lower temperature color. Food doesn’t taste as good. You drink, whether it’s to be numb or shut the noise in your head up or just to feel, settled. Or perhaps some other alternative to cope.
Your body and you argue. You’re sore for no reason or just tired all of the time. Or both.
At first you say how you feel. Then you feel like a burden. Maybe you are. Maybe you aren’t. You take care of everyone except yourself because all you are trying to do at this point is survive. This is usually the point when people bring up the things you do (or don’t do) because you’re depressed, because you seem to always be depressed and yes you’re already aware of them. When people bring them up a feeling erupts, a cross between; feeling guilty and angry. Guilty for your behavior or lack there of and that they noticed and want you to know they noticed. Anger because you now feel as if your feelings are no longer valid and only their feelings are and why not just do it instead of making me feel bad about it because obviously on this day I am struggling?
People who love you try to understand and maybe they really do. But let’s be honest it’s annoying when a family member isn’t contributing or is grumpy, sad or angry all of the time.
So you stop saying how you feel. It’s too hard to continuously repeat yourself and it’s not going away, it just keeps coming back. So you smile. You laugh. You try to, fake it till you make it.
Then people like us see these smiling photos stream across social media. Smiling, happy. All the while suffering. Enduring. Fighting. They don’t know they aren’t alone.

So, apparently. This is what depression looks like. We put makeup on so we can feel normal, look normal and maybe to fake it. Maybe it’s so the people in our lives will stop asking if we are okay because no, we are not okay. Maybe we don’t wan’t the shame and guilt of feeling how we feel. Maybe we are just too damn depressed to have another conversation about it. Today I am not okay and that is okay. Just maybe, tomorrow I will be and that smile might be real. If it’s not? I suppose you might not really be able to tell because we live in a world where those who carry the burden of a mental illness feel like a burden. It’s not just the words people say it’s their actions time and time again. Actions which do not say, “I understand you are suffering.” Rather say, “When will this end this time so the ‘real you’ will be back” (For them.) The longer someones struggle is with their disorder, the longer they suffer. The less patient I find people to be. It’s a sad world I find us to be in. Where those who always have the kindest of hearts are often the most broken.

Much love to you all, be kind to one another. Keep fighting through the darkness and know you are worth fighting for, your life is worth fighting for. The good days are worth it. Don’t give up.

XO
-Andrea

From my personal journal during a bipolar episode

I’m sharing this again because for me, it’s important to share my struggles. In hopes that other’s will see there is still reason for hope. I still have bad days. Hard days. Now, my good days are filled with so much love and joy and kindness, it truly makes these bad days easier to survive. I’m still that girl and I always will be. That’s the nature of my disorder, but I am so much more than that and now I can see that.

Here is an entry from my private journal. Honestly it’s on the lighter side, not sure what that says about my inner struggles.

October 2013:

I feel as if I’m floating through a sea of shadows. My mind is as tired as my body. I try to find the lighter side of things but the irritation of doing so is nauseating. I dream sometimes of a little house with an ocean view on a private beach where my mind can finally relax and I can enjoy my time here in this world. I dream of a body I feel comfortable in with no self loathing. Sadly, all of these things aren’t real and they leave me longing until I break down from the loss of something I never even had. As I cycle through waves of yet another bipolar episode I reach acceptance if only for a short period of time. Acceptance for who I am, baggage and all. For who I’m not and never will be. Allowing myself to dream even if it will never come to pass. I float between angry, depressed and a calmness I refer as the calm before the next storm. I wonder if I have the right to want more for myself. I try to be thankful for those moments of eerie calmness and quiet contemplation. It’s always so difficult to do so as I know if I wait a few hours, a day, days even I’ll be back to singing the blues and crying myself to sleep. My wonderland is a wasteland for broken souls. Once again the calmness before the storm settles on my skin like an itch I just can’t scratch. I will always continue to fight this nearing episode with what little strength I have. The air is crisp and inviting me to soak up the sun. As if the darkness wasn’t calling out to me. It’s moments like this I crave to be alone, yet a piece of me reaches out to those I love for comfort, for acceptance. The things I love to do hold less meaning in times like this. A hollowness erupts inside of me, taunting my rage and sadness. There’s no real rhyme or reason to feel this way. I know my life is far from horrible. Like a warm blanket the darkness comforts me as it usually does, inviting me to let go and cry about everything and nothing at all. The sad truth for me is, this battle is everlasting. Light may win today but as a new day dawns the fight starts over. I sit in shambles of a former version of myself. Oddly with hope that it will all be over soon and I will yet again bask in the light and enjoy a fragment of this life. How have I become such a jaded and cynical creature? I sigh deeply and prepare for another drop into sadness and utter grief. As if each time a piece of me dies I must mourn the loss. With shock plastered across me I can admit I am far better now with these modern poisons than many moons ago when I laid adrift in my depressing solitude. I accept this fate as much as I fight it. Always hiding this enormous side of myself from everyone. Knowing they couldn’t take it, knowing I couldn’t take that look upon their face or their response as heartfelt as they meant it to be. It feels as if I am living two lives all of the time. Except once in a while, like a full moon, where both sides of me collide and the true version of what I’ve become comes into full view. I don’t always hate her, the girl looking back at me. Though her voice is like poison in my mind. I would never wish this inner struggle on a single soul, it is far to cruel. Yet the calmness washes over me carrying a wicked grin. Even it sees what comes next. It feels pleasure with a nearing episode and yet it feels sorry for me too. I stare into the dark night’s sky wishing this episode would pass me by for once. So hopeful in my suffering. Now that is blind faith. Ridiculous as any other. I am but a shadow dancing through my life. And to be whole is but a dream.

Andrea
XO

Win a copy of my book to celebrate the 4 year anniversary of my first novel, Finding Alice!

Win a copy of my book to celebrate the 4 year anniversary of my first novel, Finding Alice!

I can’t believe it has been 4 years since I first published Finding Alice! In a few short months the original first edition of Finding Alice will be pulled from the shelves and replaced with the newly edited version. For now, let’s just remember how far Alice has come. Honestly, how far I have come for that matter. Here’s a little giveaway in honor of Alice. Sometimes, I think I knew her better than I ever knew myself.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Surviving with a Bipolar disorder diagnosis

Surviving with a Bipolar disorder diagnosis
I am not my illness. No matter how many disorders they slap on my chart, they do not define me. They do not own me. I can only take care of myself the best I can and hope for a little compassion on days it’s hard to get out of bed. Having been diagnosed with Bipolar Type I disorder; rapid cycling, was horrifying initially, but also a huge relief. All of the hardships I had endured over the years at times where there was little wrong in my life finally had a reason, an answer to the question, what is wrong with me?
Simply, it is a chemical imbalance in the brain that greatly affects mood and behavior. With extreme highs (mania) and extreme lows (depression.) It took three different doctors over the span of seventeen years to diagnose me correctly.
         Depression with or without the bipolar component is no laughing matter. It drags you down by your ankles and holds you under water. You may feel as if you’re drowning but it won’t seem to end and you want it to desperately.
I will tell you from experience, “Why can’t you just be happy?” Is the cruelest sentence one human being can say to someone who suffers from depression. We do suffer. To me, it has its own identity living inside of me. I call it, the Darkness. Similar to Dexter’s Dark Passenger, I suppose. (Except for the entire murder part of course.) I don’t know if labeling it is healthy for everyone or not but it gave me some power over it.
Every human being is unique therefor no treatment is one size fits all. Don’t give up hope.  I suffered without treatment for fourteen years. It took three years of treatment and a lot of trial and error to find what worked for me.  Finding a psychiatrist I could feel comfortable with and trust was the biggest step in my recovery. Though I should use the term maintenance as all people who suffer from bipolar disorder will in fact relapse. (This is not failure. Pick yourself back up and keep trying to feel better, to be better.) With proper treatment, often through medications (commonly a combination of mood stabilizers, anti-depressants, anti-psychotics and “talk” therapy,) these relapses can be less often and less intense in nature. There are many treatments out there. The key is working with your doctor to find what works for you, as not all will. I personally work with an Integrative Holistic Psychiatrist, (combination of alternative and conventional care.) For me this was the only thing that worked. Stay strong.

Remember, you are not alone. I am not alone. Say it with me.

Potty training my autistic son

We all know potty training can be a nightmare. There are memes floating around much like this one that we have all seen our friends and family posting on social media.

We all hear about how much better all lives involved, will be once our little one’s are potty trained. Potty training isn’t easy. Potty training an autistic child is an extremely difficult job. You can do this! Your child can do this! I decided to share what is working for me and my son in hopes it may help someone else.

Now, let me state that I am currently still potty training my 5 year old autistic son. This will be our third attempt. I’m happy to say we are making so much more progress this time! For many reasons, he is more ready this time around, so am I and I did countless hours of research to figure out ways to make it easier on not only him but on myself. Parent’s of children on the spectrum have all heard hundreds of times how no two kids with ASD (Autism Spectrum Disorder) are alike. Trying an approach that works for someone else’s kid may not work for yours. So, keep that in mind. Do your research, decide on what techniques you want to try. Try them and if one doesn’t work don’t be afraid to tweak your potty training program but most importantly once you commit to a regimen, do not quit. I know for my son he is all about his routine’s and isn’t a fan of me changing them up. So he argues with me when we do, but eventually he accepts that this is a part of his routine and we begin to make progress.

When your child begins to show signs they are wet with gestures or by removing wet or soiled diaper, this is a perfect time to begin potty training. My son is non-verbal so we use a pecs board or a board in the center room in the house with images he can hand me to request something. As we potty train, we hand over hand grab the picture and help him hand it to me and then go to the bathroom. (Until he learns to do it on his own.) So he has a clear understanding this is how to ask to use the bathroom. He has asked a few times to use the bathroom but we are in the beginning stages of potty training so I am prompted more than he is asking. This the universal picture that we use, as does his ASD preschool teacher, ABA therapists, etc.

·      I recommend starting on a weekend you don’t have any plans or appointments. I put him on the toilet first thing in the morning. I make sure to tell the teacher when I bring him to school, if he went and what time. It is so very important that everyone is being consistent with your child.
·      We use pull-ups during the day (no pants when at home, so it is easier for him to remove his pulp and so I can tell if he has already gone)  and diapers at night.  I take him to the toilet every 30-45 mins. Setting an alarm on your phone helps with this. Have him pull down his pants (saying, “Pull down your pants <child’s name here>”) and he sits on the toilet for about 10 minutes. We have ABA therapists (from Easter Seals) come to the house five days a week and they are doing a slightly different potty training regimen. When they are here they put him in underwear (no pants)  and they put him on the toilet every 15 minutes for 10 minutes. The also encourage him to drink more so that he has to the need to pee more often. More successful times using the toilet/potty makes the process easier.  (I don’t do this because it’s not practical for us but I’m sure if we could he would be potty trained much faster.) My son gets rewarded for using the toilet, we use grape suckers because they are his favorite and the only thing that seems to feel like an actual reward to him. Also, I allow my son to play on his iPad while sitting on the toilet. It keeps him calm and in good spirits when sitting there for so long. I have tried many potty seats. The cars one is cute. It has the ring that goes on the toilet and it’s a potty chair, however in my research I found teaching them to use a potty chair and then trying to teach them to use the toilet is difficult. Because he is 5 years old and 37lbs, sitting on the seat for long periods of time becomes uncomfortable as the cushion seat flattens and leaves a red imprint mark on his skin.

 

This one worked really well. No mark and he would sometimes sit for up to 20 minutes with no complaint but he is a boy and the shield just wasn’t quite high enough.

The one that is the winner in our house is the thomas the engine one. The shield in the front is the tallest I’ve found. You can buy it from amazon, here.

Okay it’s time for my major tip. This tip is primary for potty training boys. There is this company Tinkle Toonz, who makes the musical potty chair. The idea is you hear the music playing once your little one has used the bathroom. The sensor plays music once wet. The owner began selling the sensors from his toilet training chairs on their own once he found out that using the sensors on their own in underwear or pull-ups (cutting a slit in the pull ups and inserting the sensor. This works but the clean up is a bit messy for me.) was working wonders for parents trying to potty train autistic kids. 
This trick I came up with, with the sensor is helping us with potty training on such a huge level I had to share. This is the sensor, the metal part should be facing out. Put super glue on the back in the center circle part (plastic side). Place it on the potty seat centered where the “shield” is. Hold it for several minutes until the glue drys. Let the glue set over night. 

When your little guy begins to pee (even if an iPad is sitting on his lap and you can’t hear or see) the music will begin to play when they do! Don’t forget to praise your child! “Good job going pee in the potty!” or “You’re peeing in the potty, good job!”
Here is a video of how the sensor works and what the music sounds like. 
Another tip: When your child soils their diaper/pull up. Walk them to the bathroom and hand over hand dump the “poop” into the toilet out of the pull up/diaper/underwear and say, “This is where poop goes. Not in your diaper. Poop goes into the potty and then we flush it away.” 
Accidents will happen. If you opt for the underwear route, if they have an accident leave them in their soiled underwear and tell them “this is not where we go potty.” Take them to the bathroom and tell them, “This is where we go potty.” Repeat this three times and make them help clean it up. Hand over hand if needed. They will not like this at all and it gives them more incentive to use the toilet. When the ABA therapists are here I have noticed he has minimal messes at those times as he does not like having to clean it up.
Last thing, no one wants to carry around a giant potty ring when leaving the house. My son is afraid of the normal seat. I think it scares him that he might fall in and he isn’t sure how to sit on it. I found this fold up potty seat that has worked great for us so we don’t have to remain house bound. He will actually go when we are out because he feels secure on the seat. With certain toilets I do have to to hold onto it, so be aware of that. I have this one.

Remember, don’t get mad. Don’t yell but be stern. If they wont sit there for 5-10 minutes it might not be time yet. Give it a month and try again or even 6 months. No one knows your child better than you do. The first time we tried to potty train was a year ago. He was showing the signs of being ready, wanting his dirty or wet diaper off.  But he had no patience or ability to sit on the toilet for any length of time. It was a huge fight and he was often hysterical. So just breathe. Don’t get discouraged. I hope that any or all of this helps you moms and dads out there with potty training! Good luck and Godspeed. 😉

·

You are not alone. I am not alone.

The truth. Something we all seek yet sometimes it’s more than we can bare. Here’s my truth, or I should say, truths. I am 31 years old. I’m a single mother of an amazing little boy. I have a strong support system so that I can go out into the world and do the things I love to do. Wether it be; writing novels, acting, cooking or whatever else my fingers outstretch to grab onto. When I was a teenager my dentist told me he suspected I had TMJ. Around the same time my doctor told me my gallbladder was bad, but if I ate healthy and stayed away from fatty foods I would be able to manage it well without surgery. My “female zone” doctor aka the gyno, told me she believed I had endometriosis. All the while I found myself in a dark place in my mind wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I went on for many years before my most difficult diagnosis was reached. Bipolar type 1. Here I am staring at those words on my screen and for the first time in God knows how long, it doesn’t make me angry. Over the years many more diagnoses appeared. Bipolar disorder type 1-rapid cycling, depression, anxiety, psoriasis, eczema, ADHD, severe acid reflux, abnormal mens. cycle, PCOS, IBS and hypothyroidism. (I honestly could have missed something here.) I was also told I could never have children. You can imagine my surprise when an ER doctor told me I was pregnant. Every single thing a doctor has told me I have, comes with its own list of symptoms. Every medication I take to rectify these things comes with their own side effects. Such as my mood stabilizer (lithium) caused my hypothyroidism and it is a permanent condition. I once had a doctor tell me if she didn’t see my age on the chart she would have assumed I was 40-50 years old. I was in my mid 20’s at the time. That was not a good sign. After searching high and low and trying things that didn’t work, with help I’ve found supplements that help with a huge amount of my issues and I am grateful I found them.

Why am I talking about all of the things “wrong” with me? Truth. My truth. The truth that no matter how many disorders they slap on my chart, they do not define me. They do not own me. I can only take care of myself the best I can and hope for a little compassion on days it’s hard to get out of bed. Having these issues has in part shaped me into who I am. I know from my mental disorders aka invisible illnesses, that you never know what someone else is going through. It’s possible that day at the grocery store where a stranger was rude in passing, it was just their “hard day” and who am I to judge? As if I haven’t experienced such a day. Sadly, for a very long time those were all of my days for weeks at a time. On the other side of that I do get very frustrated with the human race. Why is it I have all these things pulling me down and I can still offer a smile in passing, or a hello? Just be kind. You don’t have to agree with another’s POV and sometimes they are wrong but you can still treat them with respect.

Depression with or without the bipolar component is no joke. Seriously. It sucks. It drags you down by your ankle’s and holds you under water. You may feel like you’re drowning but it just won’t seem to end and you want it to desperately. I will tell you from experience, “Why can’t you just be happy” is the biggest asshole move you can make when talking to someone who suffers from it. We do suffer. That’s why all the books I write are very dark. To me, it has its own identity living inside of me. I call it the darkness. Similar to Dexter’s dark passenger I suppose, except I’m not a murderer! I don’t know if labeling it is healthy or not I just know it works for me. I know as quickly as it arrived and as short or long as it stays it will eventually go away. Truth. people who suffer from bipolar disorder will relapse. Period. With proper treatment (medication and therapy usually) it can become less often and not as severe. I’m proud to say that after 4 years of treatment that is true. I also know a lot of my creative talents are strongly linked to me being bipolar, so I suppose I wouldn’t want it gone completely. Getting used to it being less frequent was actually difficult. I know what you’re thinking, why on earth would she want to be depressed? That is not what I’m saying. Since I don’t have any other option, I’m glad I can use it for good. To help like-minded people. To use it and what I’ve gone through having it, in my work and be able to share how strongly I feel emotion. Rage, sadness, love. Everything is intensified during a swing in the cycle. Those who suffer from bipolar disorder know the one plus side to it is mania (at least for us.) It’s dangerous and can cause major issues but it’s almost like a high and once you’ve tasted it it’s hard to let it go. I could go on for days about being bipolar but I won’t. If you want an insider view, I did write a book of quotes that I published in May 2015 called, Ramblings From an Unusual Mind. All of the interior images were taken by me and all of the quotes are original by me from my personal journal I write in when I’m suffering from depression. It’s raw and honest and I decided to share it for two reasons. One, so that other’s like me may find comfort that they are not alone. Two, so that those who know someone who suffers from depression can see from an inside perspective what that truly feels like. There no longer is a reason for me to feel ashamed about how I feel. Especially when it is caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain.

When my son was only 1 month old he had to have emergency surgery for pyloric stenosis. I was a new mom, single and at the time not in therapy or medicated. It was brutal. He had surgery on Thanksgiving Day. To any parent having to watch your child go through something like that and feeling helpless is absolute torture. When my son was diagnosed with autism between 1 or 2 years old, my world came down hard. I was not taking very good care of myself, being I was 100% focused on my son and my well being was the last thing on my mind. I don’t regret that now but I am glad I’ve found balance to take care of both of us. I wouldn’t say I was shocked when they told me but I was definitely in denial for a little while. I now find it to be a blessing. He is the happiest kid I have ever seen and as we learn new ways to communicate the more excited and happy we both become. Truth. My bipolar swings were ruthless during that first year after his diagnosis. I finally broke down to the point that I said I needed help. How was I strong enough to do that for myself after living with it all of these years? There’s only one answer, my son. I wanted to be a stable force in his life. Not the bat shit crazy mom everyone wondered why she was aloud to have a kid in the first place. Any parents to a child knows it’s not all rainbows and butterfly’s when raising a kid. Parent’s of autistic children know that a meltdown from their child is like a major war being waged as opposed to a battle. There are days my darkness comes back and I fight it as long as I can while it tries to consume me. Reminding myself that I can get through this for myself and for my son. My loved ones stay strong for me which is a huge reason I am doing so well. Having a strong support system of family or friends or a combination of the both is vital in my opinion. Then there are those moments where I think I can’t pull myself out and then my son laughs this belly laugh and then I’m laughing and sometimes that’s all it takes to pull me up out of that damn water. I had no idea when I was pregnant that my son would be the one to save me.

I guess my point to this entire thing is this, just because it feels like a curse it doesn’t mean there isn’t some sort of silver lining or gift from it. Anyone could look at me at the corner coffee shop I like to write at and never know I have suffered, I do suffer, from a long list of things. Just because you can’t see it or feel it does not mean it isn’t there hiding under the skin. Treat each other kindly. Treat each other in a way that makes you proud of yourself. Actually, treat other kindly because your own child is watching you. You show them what is right and wrong and what you can get away with when no one is looking. Let’s raise our kids the right way. Take care of yourself, you deserve it. Also, you’d be amazed at how much a friendly hello, a smile, or a honest compliment to a stranger can change their attitude for the entire rest of the day. Hell, it does for me.

Remember, Simba… just kidding. Remember, you are not alone. I am not alone. Say it with me.

-Andrea

Ramblings from an Unusual Mind

Ramblings from an Unusual Mind,
Is my new book, it releases for kindle on May 7th, 2015. It is now available for pre-order. Can’t wait that long? The paperback is currently available via amazon.com and if you can swing, I recommend the paperback as the images in color are much more pleasing to the eye. The price is higher than I would have preferred for print but the cost of printing the images in color ended up a lot higher than original quoted. The images and all of the quotes and poetry in the interior of the book are all original works by me. The cover was done by Russ Turner Photography. He is amazing and has done all of my covers from the Alice Clark Series, including this one and I am beyond grateful!

What you can expect:
All of the quotes and poetry are from my personal journal I only write in during a depressive episode caused by my bipolar disorder. They are dark and above all honest to what it feels like for me during these trying times of my life. The images I took myself and paired them with what I felt was the appropriate piece. I chose to do this project for many reasons. Having any of my work out their to be loved or criticized, is scary but I wanted those out there who feel as I do to know they are not alone. For those who don’t feel as I do, I hope they may find some insight as to what it is people like me go through. Everything can be going great in my life and these episodes will still happen. So, to those who are like me, always keep fighting. As Jared Padalecki (Sam Winchester) says. And FYI, he is running a great campaign for awareness and support
 for those who suffer from depression, etc. https://represent.com/jaredjensen is the current campaign.

So a big thank you for taking the time to check out my blog and any of my work. Live. Love. Read.
XO

POST Recap

I haven’t been able to write. No time, no will to. I’ve felt quite well the past few months. Spent some time on my own which is not exactly possible in my situation. Maybe it’s the years of therapy or a perfect pharmaceutical cocktail, but i’ve been feeling good. Really good. It’s bizarre and terrifying as one knows relapse is not an ‘if’ but a ‘when’. The trouble here is i’m incredibly frustrated with myself for not being able to write at all or at least in the few moments I have available to me to write. And I don’t want to. I hate that, and this feeling of loss over one of my most treasured feelings. The physical and emotional need to write, anything and everything. It just seems gone. That breaks my heart. Sure I’m better, for everyone else, to everyone else. Everyone prefers this ‘version’ of me. I know this version is the responsible choice, and I will stick to that choice knowing it is best for all parties. But, I miss feeling so intensely i’d cry. I miss reading something I wrote always as if I was reading it for the first time, as if it was my soul writing it and not my head and I could feel what those words were saying and sometimes others would read it and feel it too. I miss that. I don’t even know if it’s ever coming back. So I mourn the loss of my will. I morn the fractured heart beats. Though I am angry and upset at this my brain won’t let me feel that either. I’m just this shell of what I once was shifting different versions of myself around. Normally this would devastate me but today, I’m good…

Endure. Survive. Endure.

I looked at the ground, my heart broke. It took a deep breath in and tried to retain all the pieces it seemed to be in now. It didn’t. It couldn’t but be damned it still tried. Sometimes in life you are sitting still as the world rushes by you. Others, you don’t have enough time for all the things you need and want to do. Sometimes you are in motion at a steady speed until something hits you like a boulder knocking your ass back to the start line. Similarly, I had been struck with a still force across my entire being. I mourn the loss of something dear to me and feel as though I always have and will again. So many times I have roared back to life and tried again and again to reach a goal I fear I will never achieve. In this, my illness wreck’s havoc on me as it is the only constant in my life. It is cruel and meticulous. The noise in my skull is chaotic most of the time, especially this moon phase. You fear the darkness but its deep within me and all around me and feels like, home.  Many don’t get it and I didn’t expect you too. Yet, I was hopeful. Something that has never, not one time, ever paid off. Time and time again, the girl who thought Westley and Buttercup’s story was what true love really was or could be, reminds who I am today of the possibility, it could. So incredibly cruel. Another cycle burns through the night and I play a game within myself of Dr. Jekyll and Mrs. Hyde. No matter who wins, this sliver of my heart in my hand cuts me, deeply. A reminder of what happened here as to never forget, as if I could. Another toke, another drink, another pill. Numb. Wanting numbness to take hold, to give ample time to heal before I feel. My will laid at the waste side, unable to help me now. Endure. Survive. Endure. Repeat. As I reach up and feel my wet cheeks I know what I feared all along was true. My soul is in love with the idea of true love and I am far too jaded to play along anymore. As I am now as alone as some days I feel, I have the ability to do as one does when this sort of thing happens. For now I will recoil to the darkness that stalks me as it is always the same, always safe no matter how bad it is for me. Never lost I glide through the darkness until I catch the corner of a dresser. I open the top drawer and slide the shard into it, gently. I close the door and let the darkness absorb me until I am no longer present in this moment.  Silence. Endure. Survive. Repeat.

Love and Autism

I love my son more than I thought was ever possible. From the moment I found out that I was pregnant my life changed forever. When I first saw his steel baby blues looking up at me I was swimming in his love. We had a terrible scare when he was only a month old resulting in him needing surgery on thanksgiving day of 2010. I was a wreck, there was nothing I could do to ease what he was going through and he was too young to explain that everything would be okay, and it was. I remember the first time I played peek-a-boo with him not knowing at his age he would think I disappeared forever but in time he learned to love the game. I watched him hit milestones so proudly all while terrified if I was doing all I could for him. One day I noticed, others noticed really, he wasn’t looking at us. Down the road I found out he has autism spectrum disorder. It was the second scariest experience of my life. He has made such amazing progress through early child development and autism programs. I love him, just the way he is. The way he laughs with every part of his being and smiles as if the world is the most amazing thing he’s ever encountered. Sure he won’t even try this sippy cup idea and loves his bottles as if they are the most important thing in the world, next to his IPad. His iPad that has shown us all how incredibly smart he is though he doesn’t have the words to tell us. He amazes me every day, and drives me crazy as toddlers do. Most days I am only grateful for the blessing he is in my life. Sometimes I see kids his age, tell their mother’s they love them and a piece of me cries for that moment. Its possible I may never hear those words from his lips. My new terrifying thought that wanders my mind. If he never does, he shows me, everyday. I know he loves me. So no, I’m not sad that he is autistic and please don’t aww and give me a pitiful look in response. He is amazing and I will continue to do all I can to give him all the tools he needs to exceed other’s expectations and reach incredible goals he has yet to set for himself. I will shower him with love and kindness so he knows how to treat others. I will set rules and boundaries for his safety and well being and not because I’m scared of the what if’s in life. Just as I was taught, I will teach him to be the best he can be and give him the room he needs to achieve it and the help when he wants it. It’s true when they say your children become your world. They are our world and one day they will be the ones running the world we live in. Isn’t it only fair we do all we can to make it the best possible life they can live? As he hands me his bottle requesting more with that breathtaking smile, I smile back and kiss his forehead. In that moment I feel his love and that is everything to me.

Proud momma

A dream: Conversation with a small group of youthful ears. “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.”

I was standing in front of a small group of youthful ears answering questions about how and why I chose to write. I said, “I didn’t choose to write, it’s something I just have to do.” The teacher smiled and asked if there were any techniques I could share with her students or words of wisdom and I looked around at the room and said this,

“I want you all to think about the worst day you have ever had. Some might say, you’re worst day…” I pointed at a student, “Was worse than say yours.” I pointed at another student. “This though technically on someone’s scale may be true, it is not. No one has the right to tell you your worst day or any moment is not worth as much as or worth more than someone else’s. When you write a sad scene in story you don’t write careless emotionless words on a page and hope it hits. You pour your soul out and pluck your sorrow and bleed on the pages you create. That moment is directly tied to your worse day. What you felt that day twists and turns and erupts in the sad moment you create. Experiences in life impact your work as they often do to your own lives. Let’s say the main character is a young man or a young lady and her best friend or his mother has died and the funeral has just begun. You’re not going to say, oh mom died, damn. Perhaps he is being strong for his sister and father, trying with all his might to hold them up. Begging himself not to cry as he watches the box that holds his mother’s shell lowering into the ground. His palms sweat and he tries to force a smile as people in her life pay their respects, numbing him to the core with each empty hug. He waits behind after everyone has left while he curses at the sun to himself, that the world has no right to look happy and joyous when he felt as if something was ripping out his insides. Long after the dirt and sod had been thrown onto the casket he stood, silently. All day he stood there, late into the nightfall. Staring in such disbelief that this all was real. A middle-aged man with scraggily gray hair approached him. The man said, “You only know you’ve truly loved someone by the hole it leaves in your heart when they are gone.” The young man felt his throat closing up on him, threatening of a possible breakdown. He sighed shakily before leaving on unsteady limbs to his car. He climbed in and as the door slammed shut, he faltered. His eyes rained despite his protest and as he let the loss consume him rage began to boil in his blood. Soon guilt of all the things he never had the chance to say or do attacked him relentlessly. His mind was at war with his heart and soul and he was weak from the battle. If you listened quietly, you could actually hear the sound of his heart breaking into tiny pieces, slipping through his hands. A bang on the glass jogged him back to his numb state he had prior to this, grown accustomed to.”

Each student connected with a different aspect of the short story and had a million questions. I smiled as one asked, “Who was at the window?”

“Well,” I said, “Whoever you want it to be. It could be his father or sister or perhaps a high school sweet heart or new love interest. Someone who may break his heart far worse or may heal it. Each of us would write the next scene completely different and none of them would be wrong. When you tell a story a piece of you, however small, leaks into your book and that is not a bad thing. Your reader wants to feel something and to be taken on a journey. The point here is this, every moment in your life matters. As does every moment in a book. What you have felt, enjoyed, suffered through, its shapes you as a writer and as a human being. Live your life and don’t be afraid to allow your past experiences to linger in your work. The story you have to tell matters and your life is an asset to storytelling. And your life experiences are a part of what makes your own writing style unique. Good luck, keep writing.”

A

The Joy of a Sleepy Child

I rock my son in my arms as if we were listening to a sweet melody. His cries bounce of the wall begging for me not to coax him into sleeping. He loathes napping and bedtime as if I were kicking his favorite little puppy. He whines, pleading that I stop trying to make him as sleepy as he actually is. I lay him down in bed with a bottle and his favorite blanket, whispering sweet words to him. He fights, arguing every step of the way as if sleep was his mortal enemy. His eyes grow heavy and in reaction his hand reach up to rub them. Will he sleep? I wonder.

I hold my son gently in my arms reminding myself that this is just one of the many gifts that come along with children. Exhausted my hair lay a disaster, high above my head. My eyes are surrounded by a dark blanket, a sign that I have been without sleep for far too many days in a row. A nap could change my entire day and the only thing standing in the way of that is the perfect bundle of joy wrapped in my arms screaming bloody murder. My socks are mismatched and I was sure the substance on my shirt was either spit up or formula but not entirely sure to which one it was.  Reluctantly, I lay him in his bed as my arms feel as if they will fall right off of my body from the length of time I held his weight in them. I tried to hold him until he fell asleep, but I was in no condition for an endurance run against this little man.  I glanced in the mirror to see my disheveled appearance knowing this wasn’t the first nor the last time, I wasn’t going to give two shits about my reflection, mocking me. I sat waiting for him to tire himself out and fall asleep into the much needed nap he deserves, I deserved. As I am just about to give up and free him as he wishes the space around me silences and I know he has finally passed out. I dance in celebration. I debate on taking my own much needed nap or one of the other million things I could do while he lay sleeping. I peer into his crib to see his sweet angelic face, at peace. I crawl into bed and close my eyes, excitedly. Minutes pass and there I lay awake. “No, no, no.” I growl at myself. After I had made a mental note of my future to do list and had dwelled sufficiently on the past twenty-nine years of my life, I begin to drift asleep. “Momma.” I hear from cage that holds my son. My eyes snap open fearfully and as his soft voice begins to babble I sigh and pull myself from my bed and approach my son. I find him siting, staring up at me with a smile that could melt the coldest of winter’s. Even his baby blues were smiling, as if to say, thank you mom. I needed that. I reach in and lift him up into my arms and he holds on to my neck before I bring him to the floor to escape and cause whatever havoc he will, on the house. His laughter fills the house as he plays with his favorite toys and though the circle’s around my eyes darkened slightly from the ordeal I throw my hands up in defeat. There’s always bedtime, I think to myself. Who needs showers?

Cover reveal of Keren Hughes debut novel, Stolen


I’m super excited to be apart of the cover real of Keren Hughes’s book Stolen. She is an amazing woman who I met when I was searching for someone to review my first book Finding Alice. She is a breath of fresh air and I know from speaking to her on many occasions that her book will be outstanding and breathtaking. Yes I do have that much faith as I was able to read a small fraction of the book while she was still writing it! So check out the beautiful cover that I know will make you want to read it as much as I do!

— 

Keren Hughes

Author of Stolen, book one in the Freedom of Souls series.
Owner of ‘Gothic Angel Book Reviews’ book blog.

— 

Keren Hughes

Author of Stolen, book one in the Freedom of Souls series.
Owner of ‘Gothic Angel Book Reviews’ book blog.
There it is folks! Make sure to check out her links and tell her I sent you! 
XO

Personal journal entry

Here is an entry from my private journal. Honestly it’s on the lighter side, not sure what that says about my inner struggles.

October 2013:

I feel as if I’m floating through a sea of shadows. My mind is as tired as my body. I try to find the lighter side of things but the irritation of doing so is nauseating. I dream sometimes of a little house with an ocean view on a private beach where my mind can finally relax and I can enjoy my time here in this world. I dream of a body I feel comfortable in with no self loathing. Sadly, all of these things aren’t real and they leave me longing until I break down from the loss of something I never even had. As I cycle through waves of yet another bipolar episode I reach acceptance if only for a short period of time. Acceptance for who I am, baggage and all. For who I’m not and never will be. Allowing myself to dream even if it will never come to pass. I float between angry, depressed and a calmness I refer as the calm before the next storm. I wonder if I have the right to want more for myself. I try to be thankful for those moments of eerie calmness and quiet contemplation. It’s always so difficult to do so as I know if I wait a few hours, a day, days even I’ll be back to singing the blues and crying myself to sleep. My wonderland is a wasteland for broken souls. Once again the calmness before the storm settles on my skin like an itch I just can’t scratch. I will always continue to fight this nearing episode with what little strength I have. The air is crisp and inviting me to soak up the sun. As if the darkness wasn’t calling out to me. It’s moments like this I crave to be alone, yet a piece of me reaches out to those I love for comfort, for acceptance. The things I love to do hold less meaning in times like this. A hollowness erupts inside of me, taunting my rage and sadness. There’s no real rhyme or reason to feel this way. I know my life is far from horrible. Like a warm blanket the darkness comforts me as it usually does, inviting me to let go and cry about everything and nothing at all. The sad truth for me is, this battle is everlasting. Light may win today but as a new day dawns the fight starts over. I sit in shambles of a former version of myself. Oddly with hope that it will all be over soon and I will yet again bask in the light and enjoy a fragment of this life. How have I become such a jaded and cynical creature? I sigh deeply and prepare for another drop into sadness and utter grief. As if each time a piece of me dies I must mourn the loss. With shock plastered across me I can admit I am far better now with these modern poisons than many moons ago when I laid adrift in my depressing solitude. I accept this fate as much as I fight it. Always hiding this enormous side of myself from everyone. Knowing they couldn’t take it, knowing I couldn’t take that look upon their face or their response as heartfelt as they meant it to be. It feels as if I am living two lives all of the time. Except once in a while, like a full moon, where both sides of me collide and the true version of what I’ve become comes into full view. I don’t always hate her, the girl looking back at me. Though her voice is like poison in my mind. I would never wish this inner struggle on a single soul, it is far to cruel. Yet the calmness washes over me carrying a wicked grin. Even it sees what comes next. It feels pleasure with a nearing episode and yet it feels sorry for me too. I stare into the dark night’s sky wishing this episode would pass me by for once. So hopeful in my suffering. Now that is blind faith. Ridiculous as any other. I am but a shadow dancing through my life. And to be whole is but a dream.

Andrea
XO

The family Buggy’s Marty salad and cheese bread, recipe

I grew up on this salad and bread combo as it was my families favorite restaurant. It’s still a favorite to this day.

The Marty’s salad and cheese bread from The Family Buggy (which sadly went out of business recently after a long many years)

The salad:

Romaine Lettuce, 1-2 heads
red onion thinly sliced, 1/2 onion
cheddar cheese, shredded (1 cup)
bacon bits, (from fresh bacon) (1/2 cup)

marty’s dressing:
equal parts white sugar and miricle whip, mix in mixer for min 2 minutes (usually use 1 cup each)

Mix all ingredients and serve immediately.

The Bread:
Use french bread (cut on angle) or italian
equal parts (1 cup each) shredded (not grated) Parmesan cheese and Mayonnaise

Put cheese mixture on bread slices about 1/4″thick and broil until cheese is bubbling and orangish brown. Serve hot.

Enjoy!

~Andrea

Stolen by Keren Kiesslinger

Keren is such a doll and I adore her, I cannot wait to read her debut novel Stolen! I am so proud!  
Roshanna O’Dare had the perfect life. Everything was as it should be until the day she wakes to finds her parents murdered in their own home.
Roshanna doesn’t have any other family in Cypress Hill so she has to leave her best friend Marissa behind to move in with her last living relative, Uncle Joe, who lives in Texas, Austin. It’s where she meets Bodhi, her uncle’s chauffeur and a kind loving man who understands her and helps her through her parents deaths.
Before moving away, Roshanna is confronted with a shocking secret that Marissa has kept from her—a secret that changes how Shanna sees life and the people in it. A secret about Roshanna’s parent that makes her take a journey to free them from the fate they’re in.
Will she succeed? And will she find love along the way?




My gift to you all an excerpt! Enjoy!


Excerpt 1
“Bodhi, what we have is special to me. We have a sort of connection that for the life of me I cannot explain. I’ve told you before how your touch feels like a sort of gravity. As for your kisses, they give me butterflies in my tummy like you wouldn’t believe. When we’re alone together, I don’t think about anything except for us. I… care about you.” I faltered those last 3 words. It had come to feel like more than just caring about him, but I wasn’t willing to admit that yet.
“Wow. You really do care about me? I had hoped you did and what we had wasn’t just a bit of fun while you were figuring out where your head was at. I feel the same, you know?! When you kiss me, it sends shivers down my spine and when you touch me, it’s electric. I feel alive. Not just living but truly alive.” he confessed.
I looked at him and saw the smile on his face as he spoke. We had time to figure out exactly what we had, but for now, I knew he cared for me as much as I cared for him. That thought made me smile inside and out.
We got home and as we stepped out of the car, Bodhi took my hand and led me to the pergoda where we lay on the floor with the blanket underneath us. We lay encircled in each other’s arms and Bodhi kept trailing light kisses from my lips, to my jaw, to my arm.
As he came back up to my lips, I kissed him with such fervour. He drew me closer to him and the kiss deepened into something I had never felt before.
I couldn’t admit it to Bodhi but if I was falling in love with him, if this was what love felt like, I was happy to be feeling something so special for such a great guy. Not only was he hot as all Hell to look at, he was an amazing person underneath the surface too. If this really was love, then so be it.  



Author Bio
Keren lives in the UK and is an avid bookworm; she has been since she read things like Black Beauty, What Katy Did and The Hobbit as a child. Her first real memories of reading are the summers she used to lie on her bed and re-read What Katy Did and What Katy Did Next.
Over the years she has come to realise that she is a bit OCD about books. They have to be in perfect condition without the slightest bit of damage.
She is a book reviewer and has been for the past 18 months or so.
The idea for Stolen came to her one day but she never thought she’d actually write it let alone publish it. If it wasn’t for her author friend Kira Saito, the idea would still be stuck in her head not on paper. But constant love and support from Kira is why you are now able to read Stolen.
Stolen is her first novel but now that she’s written one, she knows she needs to write more. There will be one sequel, called Freed which will be from Bodhi’s POV. This will be set a couple of years on.
Then, the plan is for her to write either NA or Adult Contemporary Romances. She has a big crush on Lady Antebellum’s music at the moment and their songs have inspired a few book ideas.
Keren loves hearing from her readers and if you want to contact her, you can do so at any of the following places:
Twitter: @Gothic_Angel28


Summer book blast!

The Summer Book Blast runs from May 24-27 and is THE hottest and largest ebook sale to date for today’s best selling young adult, new adult and romantic fiction.We’re giving away over $1,000 in prizes!ad

In addition to all books being priced at .99 for the four-day sale, there will be:

  • a Kindle Fire raffled off DAILY;
  • ebook bundles raffled off DAILY; and
  • paperbacks and swag raffled off DAILY.

To participate in giveaways, visit the Summer Book Blast Facebook event page!

To see the incredible books on sale, check out the Summer Book Blast web page!

The Blast features books from over sixty authors, all of whom came together to lower their prices and offer their readers incredible deals to stock up for the hot, lazy summer months.

A special thank you goes out to our sponsors:

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The event has been arranged and coordinated by the following wonderful people on the Summer Book Blast committee: Lisa Markson, Leanne Jacobson, Stephanie Shaw and Jennifer Pringle.

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Book Swag Shop

Teaser from new novel tentatively called, Jezebel. Paranormal Romance

A small teaser from my new book temporally titled Jezebel.

      Miss Jezebel walked up to the vanity and began pulling pins from her hair letting her dark long locks cascade like an evil river down her back.
“You have a beautiful place.”
Jezebel laughed loudly in response, she was enjoying Henry’s company more than she should. “Why thank you Henry, please make yourself comfortable,” she said pointing to the over sized oval bed she had custom made when she first arrived in town. She finished with her hair and began to unzip her dress when she smelt the tension rise in the room. “Is there a problem Henry?” She said dropping the bustle skirt to her feet.
“I think you may have the wrong idea.” He back peddled.
She walked towards him. “Do I?” She asked letting her legs bump into his.
“I said I wasn’t looking for any…”
Jezebel interrupted him with her finger to his lips. She slowly crawled onto the bed above him knocking him to his back. “You chose to come to my room, where I do not allow most. If you didn’t come here for that than it is as I feared and you have come to meet your maker.”
“You are very beautiful and I would love nothing more than to enjoy your company but I can’t do something with you when you are the only one that…”
“Knows what happened to your brother?” She whispered.
  Henry launched her off of him sitting himself back up he stared at her on the floor where she landed on all fours. She stood up and stared into Henry’s eyes once more. “I do not wish to kill you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t myself.” He said.

Release Alice’s Sacrifice, #2 Alice Clark Series

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Born and raised in Michigan, Andrea has always been a writer at heart. Over the last decade she has written, starred and directed in many screenplays. A few years ago she decided to venture back into writing novels. “I haven’t looked back since,” giving her work her full attention. “I am very excited to share the worlds I create, with all of you dreamers.”
Book Title – Alice’s Sacrifice
Genre – Urban Fantasy
Formats – Ebook and Print
Publisher – CreateSpace
Release Date – March 29th, 2013
Book Trailer for book 2, Alice’s Sacrifice http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=uQuVGXyEXJs
Trailer Link – for book 1, finding alice  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1x_DvGx4CA&feature=youtu.be)
After the fight of a lifetime, Alice and Cole return home to live a life they were never meant to live. Fallen Angel fathers choose to stay, protect and get to know their nephilim children. Now that everyone knows where to find Alice, the real question is who is that information pertinent to? One single traumatic event sets Alice’s true destiny into motion. How each of those she cares for reacts to this event; has enormous consequences for her.
What will Alice have to sacrifice and for whom?
Excerpts:
EXCERPT # 1 ALICE’S SACRIFICE
The breeze caressed Alice’s face from the open window as they flew through the winding roads that led them back to their home. She felt Cole’s hand clutch hers, loosening only to brush his fingers gently along her arm. They had won this unfathomable fight against God’s Angels for now, but for how long, only time would tell. She felt him lift her hand to his mouth, giving it a tender kiss before returning it to her lap.
“How is your back?” Cole asked.
“Sore. I knew it would be painful, but this is more than I could ever have imagined.” She flinched slightly from the memory of her new-found wings collapsing into her back. “I’m sure it’s worse than child birth.”
He chuckled, “Well, that is something I will never be able to know.” His laugh faded as they made eye contact.
Alice twisted uncomfortably, having never really considered having children herself. She sat torturing herself, conflicted between comparing whether she even wanted to have kids and how much worse she’d feel if he did.
“I think that is something we can talk about down the road. We’ve had quite a night,” he said.
He was right. The last few months had changed her life in every way possible. She now knew what real love was every time she looked into his beautiful amber eyes as they reached deep into her soul. She had finally known the truth of why such bizarre things had happened to her in her life when she met her biological Fallen Angel father, Penemue, or Paul, as she liked to call him. It was then she was brought face to face with her destiny. The topic of children was not something she was even remotely up for talking about, though a part of her couldn’t help imagining what their children would be like. She leaned over to rest her head on Cole’s shoulder. As she did, he lifted his arm, holding her tightly to his chest. We really did make it, she thought. He kissed the top of her head, Yes we did,he said. She would never tire of hearing his voice in her head or knowing he could hear her voice in his.
After arriving home she looked back at the flood of cars that trailed behind them, letting a smile crawl up her face. Everyone was camped outside around a victorious campfire except Cole and Alice, who had excused themselves and ventured back to their home to shower and relax. The overwhelming emotions that had run through her were gone and all that was left was adrenaline and passion. Cole barely shut the door behind them when she jumped into his arms and pressed her lips to his, slamming his back into the door. He wrapped his arms tighter around her, returning her kiss with the same raw passion. She needed this, and she knew he did too.
EXCERPT #2 FINDING ALICE
“This should be easier,” Alice said glaring.
“It will be, at least between the two of you. Try again.” Sariel directed.
Coffee. Coffee. Coffee. Alice aimed her thoughts at Cole alone. Cole, of course, laughed so loud it echoed.
“Coffee, really, Alice?” Sariel asked. “Maybe you should try something more – intimate. It might give you the motivation to keep it between the two of you.”
“You might regret that Sariel,” Cole said.
I hate this. Okay, I want you to… Sariel flinched in preparation for something he did not want to hear. She paused, took a deep breath, and the world ceased for a moment as she focused in on Cole’s heartbeat. She exhaled and tried again. I want you to kiss me and carry me to our room and make love to me. She watched the look on Cole’s face change from amusement to hunger. Sariel cringed slightly. “Damn it, it didn’t work.” She rubbed her temples in frustration.
“Alice, it did in fact work. I did not hear what you said, and I can assume by the lust in Cole’s eyes that you took my advice.” He laughed at Cole’s awkwardness. “Cole, dare I test you?”
I’m going to kiss every inch of your body until you can no longer stand. She felt her breath catch in her throat. She watched him grin triumphantly when he saw from the corner of his eyes that Sariel had not heard him. He stared deeply into her eyes. She almost blushed from the intensity of the entire thing; he had never spoken to her like that.
“Alright you two, keep practicing. I think we are done for now,” Sariel said.
Without another word, Cole lifted her into his arms and carried her towards the house. She laughed and fought to get down, Cole! He joined her laughter and set her down. Arm in arm they entered the house and ran up the stairs into their bedroom.
Barely through the door, Cole pounced on her, and they nearly missed landing on the bed. A normal girl might be frightened by his aggressiveness, but she was far from normal, and she was enjoying every second of it. She wrapped her legs around his waist and rolled them until his back hit the floor with a thud and she was straddling him. She was enjoying her strength, and so was he. She pulled away from him to remove her shirt. He reached up and pulled her ferociously back into him. Hunger for him was taking over all of her senses and she let it, willingly.

Cover reveal for Firewall by C. G. Powell

Cover reveal for Firewall by C. G. Powell

That’s right folks I am privileged enough to bring you the beautiful cover of Firewall by C.G. Powell. Isn’t it stunning!?

Here’s a wonderful excerpt for you to enjoy:
Firewall (book 2 No Uncertain Logic Series) by C.G. Powell
“I hate to cut things short, but the sooner we get down to business the better.  I’ve made arrangements for a transport to take us to the Atlantis which is sitting in the Meranna Sea.”
Before Sarik could finish, Jael interrupted, “When did you move the ship?”
“Shortly after you left for Ibis Prime.  Orion felt he needed to keep an eye on me once Aphrodite arrived, so he sent a team to assist the move closer to the capital city.”  He looked to Neria and Aphrodite.  “Ladies, if you will follow me.  I will take you to the transport.”
They walked to a smaller docking area where a transporter ship was awaiting them.  Neria’s bags were already on board, as was Captain Ross.
Sarik raised one brow.  “How did you get here so quick?”
Captain Ross cleared his throat and rolled his eyes towards the cockpit where Tal sat.
“I thought you didn’t trust mist traveling?”  Sarik laughed.
“It took a while to get used to, but it has its benefits if you can get past the nausea and the whole cellular disintegration reassembly thing.”
Sarik nudged the captain with his elbow.  “Are you sure it has nothing to do with quantum entanglement with a certain Jinn?”
Speechless, Captain Ross’ reddened face spoke volumes.  He excused himself and joined Tal in the cockpit.
Looping her arm in Sarik’s, Jael frowned and continued towards the passenger area of the transport.  “Why do you tease the poor Captain?  I think it quaint that he has taken a liking to Tal even if she doesn’t return his affections.”
“What kind of friend would I be, if I didn’t acknowledge his obvious fondness?”
“Do you really want me entertain your question with an answer?”
“No, not really.”
Over the intercom the captain’s voice boomed, “Good morning, this is your captain.  Today’s flight should be a clear shot to the Meranna Sea area.  We have favorable atmospheric conditions and low level winds upon approach.  Our estimated arrival is 14:80 standard atomic time, that’s half-past lunch for those of you who still struggle with the local atomic conversion.”
Jael, Salima, and Aphrodite all turned and looked at Sarik.
Pursed lipped, Sarik stood and yelled toward the cockpit.  “Okay, you win.  Now get us the hell out of here.”
Coming Summer 2013

Journal of a manic bipolar

Day three of my bipolar and mania episode. Sigh. It’s far harder than I anticipated to control my rage and depression these days. Sometimes I feel myself succumbing to the darkness, swallowing me whole. Constantly I’m told how proud and amazed people are that I’m doing so well with the hand I’ve been dealt. Gee thanks. I’m fighting clawing at the walls closing in to break free of this depressing cloud hanging over my head. Fucking rain already. These “episodes” are impossible. Imagine feeling numb no connection to those you care for in your life. Sure you know you love them, you remember feeling it you just can’t feel it most of the time. It’s fucked up is what it is. But that’s not where it ends, everything gets on your nerves and you’re afraid you might deck the snobby bitch in line at the grocery store if she rolls her eyes at you one more time and you are honestly physically restraining yourself. Next add waves of soothing depression. Dark seas of hate, sadness, lust, emptiness and loneliness. Jumping back and fourth at a rapid pace between caring too much and not at all. The consequences of your wake wait patiently for when life turns around. Even if it feels impossible deep down you know it will turn around if only for a little while. Until then you wallow and hope no one strums your triggers, causing a far worse reaction then wallowing in your misery. You’re already kicking yourself for every mistake you’ve ever made, that you can’t remember. Of course your memory has some sort of sad break and moments you’d miss you can’t remember. And what the fuck are you doing with your life? Can you see it? I can but I’m living it. So stop asking me if I’m okay, clearly I’m not fucking okay. I’m hanging on by a thread, trying not to lose it, lose everything and everyone. Remember to pretend to be okay. Is my condition the result of life or was I predestined before I was born?

I can’t even face my past, it’s locked away in some dark corner of my mind. I can hear its laughter though, echoing throughout my ears. Rattling my anxious mind. Knock Knock “Are you all right?” A voice asked through the fog. No, I’m not all right I’m losing my fucking mind. I never say that though. Lost and broken I tread through the filthy waters at my feet. Where does this drive to survive come from? I feel numb and hopeless. Depressed and angry but yet something pushes me onward. My world constantly feels like it’s tumbling down around me and yet I choose life every time. Remarkable. Truth is the pain though unbearable at times is easier to endure than the mental battle i’m having with darkness closing in. Priming its teeth to sink deep into me to feed my sadness and steal my joy. Breathe. I demand attempting to slow my ever beating heart. Everything in me screams life! Love! But why can I only feel anger and loneliness? Wrath builds in my veins, emptiness fill my tear ducts and I begin to melt like snow on a warm spring day. I reach out and feel no one nearby, even if they are there they are only but a ghost haunting the good in me. I cry against my will. The darkness dances triumphantly while I squirm inside my own darkness as it consumes me. Let me go, my mind shouts inside my skull. Barely alive I fight, I win. I’m left in my lonely broken state staring out at those I care for with nothing more than a nod. Unable to express the hell I’ve just endured while missing… What the hell did they just ask me? Labeled, an asshole. Not the survivor I barely am. No one feels my struggles. I wander with no where to release my wrath. Only able to grip a hold of it and hide it from the world. No where to release this depression for the effect it has on others. Bottled up. Ready to explode always. Alone.

Cover release for Endless by Tawdra Kandle!

ENDLESS, The King Series Book 4, will be released at the end of this month! Just to get you ready, here’s the official cover release!

This beautiful design is courtesy of the incredibly talented Christine Powell Gomez.

Enjoy. . .and get ready for the final chapter in Tasmyn and Michael’s story!

After the tumult of her high school senior year, all is right in Tasmyn Vaughan’s world. She’s attending college with her boyfriend, and she’s learning to control her powers. Everything is finally perfect, until it isn’t.
When her new part-time job leads to more than she bargained for, she is thrown into a deadly fight against forces of evil that she didn’t even know existed. Mastering her extraordinary gifts—along with the strength of an endless love—may be the only weapon that can guarantee her a happily ever after.

Don’t miss the first three books of The King Series:

Read FEARLESS (only 99 cents right now!)

BREATHLESS

RESTLESS

Follow Tawdra on Facebook and Twitter

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The authors of “When Darkness Rises” (Coming soon) Jessica Gibson and Andrea DiGiglio each have their latest book available for free on amazon for January 22nd and 23rd. Go download your copy now and fall in love with Jilly and Alice, some of you can fall in love all over again.

Support indie authors!!


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Chasing The Witch

After the events of Mark of the Witch, Jilly at last begins to breathe easier though her powers are still growing. But can she harness them in time to confront a new chain of events that threatens to change everything?

Caroline has finally accepted her life as a witch, but when a stranger comes into her life she’s forced to question her family loyalty.

The sisters are thrown together to protect a young girl from the enemy determined to hunt her down. Can they save her — and themselves?

Purchase on Kindle / Paperback

Purchase Jessi’s other books Mark of the Witch / Love and Blood / Blood Lust

Follow Jessi on Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads / Website / Blog / Book Blog

***************************************

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Finding Alice

Cursed with an intense version of empathy Alice runs from a wasted life to start a new one somewhere no one will know her; Hell, Michigan. Alice works at a hole-in-the-wall bar in the middle of nowhere mostly keeping to herself to avoid the overwhelming emotions of those around her. Alice allows her best friend to convince her into taking a few college classes without realizing it would drastically change her life forever. From her first day of class she was hooked on him; his scent, his eyes, the way he talked to her inside her head.

Throughout her struggles she learns about true love, true pain and the truth of her own heritage. Alice must quickly find out who she is because after all everyone else is out to find her. With Angels and Bounty Hunter’s in constant pursuit she finds protection within a group of Fallen Angels. These Fallen Angels vow to do anything to protect her; for it is their belief she will save their kind and all of mankind.

Purchase on Kindle / Paperback
Follow Andrea on FaceBook / Twitter / Goodreads / Website

Happy Reading!


Cyber Monday Freeapalooza!!

Kick off your holiday shopping with FREE books!

This Cyber Monday, some of your favorite indie authors are offering FREE ebooks! Don’t miss this chance to feed your new ereaders–or those you’re giving as gifts!–with the best reading around.

 

PLUS, enter for a chance to win a GRAND PRIZE of signed paperbacks and swag from these talented authors!

 

 

Spread the news and download ALL the books below! Happy reading!

GRAND PRIZE!
Signed paperback of GIVE ME, Pocket Mirror and Paperback of CUPID PAINTED BLIND, Paperback of UNNATURAL DISASTER, Signed Paperback of SPELL CHECKED, Signed Copy of FINDING ALICE, BEND-BITTEN-SHIFT Swag, Bracelet,
UNBOUND ebook, Signed paperback of RESTLESS, Bookmark from THE BOOK SWAG SHOP
Contest open 11/25-12/10/12 US/Canadian Residents Only, Must be 18 or over to enter

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 

XO
Andrea

Rambling and News

I have been lost in a world created by the imagination  all the while fast asleep in dream land. 

I have a habit of dividing my time up between many things at once. Taking piano 1 and acting 2 at the local community college takes up a large chunk of my time between homework and attending class. I’ve been writing book 3, editing book 2, I am my families personal chef (for dinner,) rehearsing trying to keep my voice in top shape, scheduling photo shoots (with the amazing Russ Turner) left and right all while taking care of my adorable monster aka toddler (who turned two this October.) It’s strange that being overwhelmed pushes me to do better than I would have if I only had one project in the works. So I’m one busy woman is what I think I’m trying to say. No complaint here just wish there was more time in one day!

Enough rambling from an unusual mind. (Honestly I could go on for hours.)

I do have some actual news to share to those who are listening (reading, obviously) I have decided to release an audiobook version of Finding Alice. It’s currently at the baby stages and I currently do not know how long it will take from start to finish. If all works out well I will continue doing this with the rest of the series.

XO
Andrea

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter and Facebook
and thank you all for your support!

*I appreciate the inquiries about giving reviews in exchange for copies of Finding Alice, however I am no longer able to mail paperbacks at no charge. If you are out of the country and unable to purchase a copy through Amazon or B&N, please feel free to contact me at www.andreadigiglio.com and fill out the form including your email so I can send you an appropriate invoice. Once paid I will gladly ship internationally as well as nationally. It’s amazing to feel so much love from my fans and I am thrilled that so many want to read my series.*

Alice’s Sacrfice

I wanted to keep you all in the loop on how The Alice Clark Series is going.

Finding Alice is chugging along and I’ve continued to receive great feedback on it VIA Amazon, B&N and Goodreads. I honestly try not to look, reviews terrify me! (I still peek on occasion.)

Alice’s Sacrifice comes back from the editors this week and I am beyond excited to get started going through the edits and start my final revisions. Where do we go from here? Well after the final revisions are done, you guessed it, one more final edits. Once the final edit is completed and I go through the edits it will be time to announce the release date of the sequel to Finding Alice! Keep in touch and check back to see what’s going on. This book will be getting a few virtual book tours, virtual book parties to when super fantastical Alice Clark Series swag and a local book launch in Michigan that will be open to the public (ticket purchases in advanced required.)

Until the edits come in I will continue to write my soul off into book 3.

Thank you for your support talk to you soon!

XO
Andrea

Truth

There’s something to be said about honesty and truth.

I was recently at a high school speaking to some students about being an author and actress. Some found the combination strange while others were excited that they too could pursue many different dreams at one time. I always encourage the students I meet when guest speaking to chase their dreams. Not just chase them but to run full speed ahead and tackle that dream to the ground and make it your bitch.

A student asked me how to make people believe in a character that I write or portray. I answered simply, tell the truth. If you are honest with you writing or performance the reader or audience will see and feel that. It’s the one thing that makes our far fetched stories real. If you write with honesty and let the story tell itself, succumb to it and don’t force it then you can really be apart of something amazing. My love of all things supernatural and paranormal is key to my writing about creatures and beings such as Fallen Angels. When I write I believe these characters are in fact these beings and I sit back wishing I was one of them, enduring with them. So simply, I said tell the truth and then did explained what I meant.

When I fall deeply into a book like Craved by Stephanie Nelson, Mark of the Witch by Jessica Gibson or The Reaping by M. Leighton, it’s because I’m lost in the truth they have created. I believe in their characters, I want to be with them or even be them. I have a long list of favorites but these authors are so honest with their work that I am never disappointed. That’s the sort of writer I strive to be and the sort of writer I hope to inspire these students to be.

XO
Andrea

Finding Alice available now through Amazon and Barnes & Nobles

Cover reveal, Leigh Fallon’s Shadow of the Mark

Well I am super excited to be in on the cover reveal for Leigh Fallon’s sequel to Carrier of the Mark, Shadow of the Mark! Before we jump in on that I wanted to share a bit about Leigh, who in my personal interactions with I have learned is a sweet quirky woman and amazingly talented author. Here’s Leigh’s bio below.

Bio

I started out life in South Africa. A year later
my parents moved home to Dublin, Ireland. When I was older and realized my
parents had moved me from exotic Durban, to sedate Rathfarnham, Dublin 16, I
was rightly ticked off.

Giving up lions for sheep, I grew up in the foothills of
the Dublin Mountains where I went to a convent school and had to contend with
uniforms, gabardines, and nuns. When not dodging the beady glare of  the Sisters
of Mercy, I was devouring every book I could get my hands on.

I traveled all over Europe while working in banking and
treasury, but I gave up my calculator in favor of a keyboard and haven?t
stopped writing since. My first book, Carrier of the Mark, was published by
HarperTeen in 2011.

Our home is in Cork in the south of Ireland, but we?re currently on loan
to Massachusetts in the US where I continue to write books about  magic, ghosts,
and romance, with a bit of Irish flavor.

About the cover

I know, there’s no mistaking it. This is definitely a Carrier Series  cover, but that was the intention. After the amazing reception to the  cover of Carrier of the Mark, HarperCollins wanted Shadow’s cover to  be instantly recognizable. And it is, but the new darker color palette  reflects the darker tone that this installment brings, and the pink  and purple really make it pop. I love it and think HarperCollins have  done another amazing job. I hope you like it too.

Shadow of the Mark

Life for Megan Rosenberg just got a lot more complicated.

While she evoked the air element, and her feelings for Adam
intensified, a web of lies, deceit, and betrayal has been spun around  her.  With the Order tightening its hold, and the
reinstatement of the Mark Knights, Megan has more questions than  answers as the
Marked Ones grow in strength.

New people arouse suspicion, the DeRises start behaving
strangely, and Megan begins to unravel a destiny shrouded in mystery.   It?s a destiny the Order has struggled to hide,
and a destiny someone from the past?far in the past, has already laid claim to.

Alliances will be made, and friends will be lost, as the
Order?s dark secrets are revealed by the very thing they sought to destroy.

Links
Pre-order on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Mark-Leigh-Fallon/dp/0062128000/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1350828346&sr=1-1&keywords=shadow+of+the+mark+by+leigh+fallon

My website
http://www.leighfallon.com

Giveaway

Here’s the embed code to the giveaway that I’m running along side the reveal.

<a id=”rc-388e392″ class=”rafl”  href=”http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/388e392/”  rel=”nofollow”>a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><script src=”//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js”></script>



Here it is!!!! So beautiful! 


THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!


For the love of writing

For the love of writing I finally finished Alice’s Sacrifice book 2 in the Alice Clark Series. I’m relieved, I’m excited, I’m terrified, I’m panicked. *sighs* What an emotional roller coaster writing that book took me on. I’ve grown so used to these characters being a part of my life and at the end it’s always so bittersweet.

I haven’t updated in a while so you all missed the announcement of the books completion. So SURPRISE! 🙂 In all seriousness you can go like my Facebook page and always get up to date information. Or not you know do what you want. FB Author page

It is true I have been working on a couple other books and just added book 3 in The Alice Clark Series to the lineup. To say I’m busy, eh maybe a touch but I love every second of it. Except the editing stage which is where Alice’s Sacrifice is, it is off to the editors and I am attempting to not act like a sissy while I wait for the red pen.

So wish me luck and I can’t wait to continue sharing Alice’s story with you. XO

Coming Winter of 2012

First draft of book 2 is complete!!

I am super excited to share that the other day I finished the first draft of Alice’s Sacrifice, #2 in The Alice Clark Series.

I’m already doing my first round of edits and revisions before i send it off to my first editor.

I’ll keep you all up to date!!

XO

Random Interview

I was asked to do an interview over on Facebook and thought I would share it will my blog followers, so here you go!

Jenny- So you are pretty much obsessed with Fallen Angels and black feathers right?

Andrea- You could say that. I’ve always had this pull, this need to know more and drown myself in a world where they exist on level much different than most people paint them to be.

Jenny- I heard that you often have feathers appear out of no where on your clothes or in your car, is that how the idea about Alice’s feathers came to you?

Andrea- Yes, it’s weird that it happens and I often blame it on my down comforter. It’s funny now friends will get in my car pick off a feather and stare at me saying, “Here you dropped this Alice.” With narrow eyes. It’s hysterical.

Jenny- How is book two coming along? I feel like I am waiting forever to read it!

Andrea- *smiles* Alice’s Sacrifice is coming along rather well. It will be much longer than Finding Alice was, which is what is taking me so long. In good news the cover will be released in early July to at least give you something to drool over.

Jenny- Is Cole going to be on it!?

Andrea- Oh yes.

Jenny- One last question, are you currently working on any other novels not related to the Alice Clark Series?

Andrea- Yes I am, myself and the talent Jessica Gibson (author of Mark of the Witch, #1 Boston Witches Series) are co writing a Paranormal fiction. It’s still in the early stretch due to us both putting are efforts into our own series. Though we do not know if this will be the title of the book we are currently calling it, Demon Apocalypse. The treatment of this book is defiantly not traditional and as soon as we get pumping on it I will give you all a taste as well as to what exactly we are doing with this novel.

Thanks!

Blog about me

It’s been awhile since I just wrote in my blog about the nonsense that is my life. About a week ago a self-portrait photo shoot turned rogue and my mom did the shoot for me, majority excited. I sent the images to my fav photographer Russ Turner and he edited one of the images for me, so far that is. I thought I would share. I know you all will not be surprised at my dark concept, especially if you have read Finding Alice.

Came out pretty badass huh? It was super fun to shoot and I love doing my hair and makeup creative and crazy. This shoot spun my creative mind like no other and I wrote another 2k in Alice’s Sacrifice!! I just got mono too so I’m pretty impressed with my ability to not back down to any cold. Though it is kicking my ass a bit this week. So that is my deal these days, fighting an evil cold, raising a toddler, working on book two and doing random crazy photo shoots. Just an average day in the life of this author.

Till next time.
XO

Contest update, say what?

So the contest I’m running is still going strong. You can find it here the may 30th entry everybody-loves-free-stuff-contest-time . I just wanted to give a quick update, I finished the first of two plates being given away for the contest. One with a Finding Alice excerpt and signed by me. You can eat on it or even display it. I hand wrote the excerpt onto the plate and it is ONE OF A KIND. There will be a second plate with an Alice’s Sacrifice excerpt on it. Both plates are one of a kind and hand painted by me.

So again, this contest is completely free to you. It’s my thank you to my fans. All you have to do to enter is share my Facebook info and spread the word about my series. Simple and there are even more cool items in the list of the giveaway. So go take a look, enter and share. 
Thank you all!!
XO

Demon Vampire by Virgil A. Moore

Virgil A. Moore


Virgil:
Virgil Allen Moore has been writing for seventeen years. He began as a poet and eventually turned to long fiction. In his words “My pen wields visceral morality as I write. I use my poetic knowledge to woo and satiate the minds of the world.” His books are written for their vivid imagery and well defined storytelling. He blends old world refinement with a modern feel in a way that gives strength to the core of his novels. With his books, you are left not just with a sense of accomplishment, but a moral choice. The reader has choice over how they feel through the story. The ordeals of the characters are transmuted to the reader, lending a direct sensation of emotion that only the best novels can evoke. When you read his words, you will be rewarded. As he says, “If you enjoy vampires, you will be enthralled by mine.”
Publisher
Erudite Small Press
511 Redground Dr
Ruther Glen, VA 22546
http://eruditesmallpress.com/

Genre
Epic Paranormal Dark Mystery

Release Date
October 30th, 2011

Purchase links for Demon Vampire
USA Kindle  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0062F60O2
USA Print  http://www.amazon.com/dp/1937438066
UK Kindle  http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0062F60O2/276-7960540-8806063

Links for Demon Vampire: Special Science Report 1192
USA Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00615IRCG
UK Kindle http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00615IRCG/276-7960540-8806063

Websites
http://demonvampire.com/ 
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/12717966-demon-vampire


Demon Vampire asks the question, if given the choice to have power, grace, and immortality at the cost of your soul, what would you do? What if the choice was easier than you think? Small incremental segments of you childhood for a boost in strength? The ability to protect your loved ones for the corners of your mind that you don’t often use? Regeneration for the traits that make you who you are? If faced with a grave decision of morality, what would you choose?
Excerpts from the book:
_____________

Excerpt one

_____________

  His eyes closed. The red apparition somehow soothed and calmed him. It was speaking directly now. It was murder. He could hear it above the raging storm coursing through him. It forced upon him glimpses of her dead body, a sight of torment.  “The vast ocean of power I can grant you. The encompassing absolution of being I offer, to walk without equal as an abomination among monsters. To be feared as no other.” The voice sighed inside him. It’s breath warm on the back of his thoughts. “Am I truly so disgusting? Is this not what you asked for? Do I not tempt you? Offer you what you need? Do I not wet your tongue with my invitation?”
 Fear swept him, his choices were not sovereign. His gut knotted in indecision. The hot blanket of seduction that had cloaked him was convincing. It was generously welcoming. He hesitated, not knowing the demon’s destination or his own. He could feel his soul slipping, a grip once tight, now failing him.
 “Let it happen, give yourself to me. All you ever have to do, is acknowledge me. Your soul will satisfy my desires, my requirements.” The voice was commanding. It spoke as a god dwelling in the recesses of his senses. It continued. “Rip, tear, rend, and swallow the blood like milk.” The demon inside beckoned with a sadistic suggestion.
 He was unsure, the deal was tempting, even acceptable in a sick flight of fancy. The power was enthralling. His confliction was disturbing, he was not a murderer. He knew as much, as he doubted his own integrity. It was tempting, wet in his mouth, keen on his fingertips. Absolute strength on a level unrivaled. The knowledge that no other being would ever be able to contest him. It was a spectacular promise. It was seductive.
 The voice posed its question a final time. Its confidence was unrelenting. “Is my simple price so steep, so dire, costly, that you would die a fool’s death to deny me the path fate has allowed me to etch in the stars?”
_____________

Excerpt two

_____________

 “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER!!!” Rebekkah screamed at Fear. She was crouched over Love’s eviscerated body. She had been flayed open. Her chest cut down to her left hip. Her clothing was ripped open, she was dead. Her long blond hair was stained in her own red blood. Besides holding Love’s soaked hand, Rebekkah was unscathed. She was fine, unhurt, unharmed.
 “I don’t need to argue with you.” Fear stood proud. He increased his fear aura, forcing Rebekkah to stop talking. “I will do whatever I want with her. It was her bargain, not mine.” Fear approached Love’s rendered body. “Look, she’s already coming back.”
 Love’s hand began to twitch, she gasped for a breath. Her open wound started to close, sealing itself as her life returned.
 “She is strong. That makes 7,289 kills. She is amazing, Rebekkah. You should be thankful I made her.” Fear surveyed Love’s beaten, bloodied chest. “It’s been many years since I’ve sired anyone. I’m surprised that I can make someone this strong.” Fear smiled as she opened her eyes.
 Love said nothing. She had become laconic. Her situation had become ambivalent. She got up, Rebekkah helped her. Love’s dress was completely destroyed. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Love asked Rebekkah as she limped to one side.
 Rebekkah held Love tight, embracing her. “No. I’m fine.”
 Love’s eyes welled up with silent tears. “Good.”
 Fear walked to the window. He peered down. The town was bustling with people. It was dark out. This was his time to work. Fear smiled again. “I expect ten tonight.”
Schedule:
May 8 – Introduction at VBT Cafe’ Blog
May 10 – Guest Blogging at Beauty In Ruins
May 14 – Guest Blogging at AZ Publishing Services
May 16 – Guest Blogging at From The TBR Pile
May 18 – Guest Blogging at Wise Words
May 20 – Character Interview & Giveaway at This Author’s Life
May 22 – Review & Giveaway at Ereading on the Cheap
May 24 – Review & Interview at A Book Lover’s Library
May 26 – Guest Blogging at Natalie Nicole Bate’s Blog
May 29 – Guest Blogging & Review at Waiting On Sunday to Drown
May 31 – Guest Blogging & Giveaway at Book Reader Addicts
June 1 – Guest Post at Behind the Scenes of an Unusual Mind
June 2 – Interviewed at Brenda & Steve’s Blog
June 3 – Reviewed at Reviewers Helping Authors


 Originally I was supposed to do a review and my life went all bat shit crazy on me and I ran out of time. I have begun to read this book and I am already hooked. When I do complete it a review will follow here and I will add it to the books goodreads page. 



Mark Of The Witch debuts June 1st 2012

Hello there! I am super excited to share some info on Jessica Gibson’s novel Mark of the Witch. It is book one in the Boston Witch’s Series that will be available for ebook and paperback on June 1st 2012 aka tomorrow. First of let me tell you I know Jessica first hand and she is the sweetest soul I have yet met. Her work is amazing and I can say that honestly as I was a beta tester for this book (that’s how we met folks!)

So let me introduce you to my dear friend, author Jessica Gibson!

So sassy right? (can’t wait till she reads this haha!) Honestly though she is feisty but in all the right ways.
And here is the gorgeous cover!

Doesn’t the beautiful Jilly look stunning and powerful! I can’t wait till my copy comes in! (*coughs*)
Jessica offered us a sneak peak excerpt and I of course snatched it up like a rabid dog for you guys! So here it is!
________________________________
Oh, and Jilly, you really shouldn’t be in the habit of meeting strange people at night. I could have been a strangler for all you knew,” he said with a hint of reproach in his voice.
    “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about me, William; it’s the strangler who should be worried,” Jilly said with a viscous gleam in her eyes while she vigorously rubbed her palms together until they glowed brightly in the moonlight. “Care to shake my hand, Mr. Strangler?” she asked with a laugh as she stuck her hand out to him.
    “Ok, I’m game, let’s see what you’ve got up your sleeve,” he said as he grabbed her hand. Almost instantly he was on the ground, writhing in pain. “Well, I will say that tonight I’m glad that I cannot die; that sure packs a punch. I think I could feel my heart stop for a second,” he said, a little winded, as he propped himself up into a sitting position and rubbed his hand.
    “Yeah, I figured I’d give you a real show tonight,” she said as she walked away.
He watched her go, still sitting on the ground, and said, “Until tomorrow then,” almost under his breath.
________________________________
You may not know this yet but William is dreamy and Jilly is fierce, two characters that will draw you in and carry you on a journey you won’t regret indulging on. Available at Amazon in paperback and for kindle. Get your copy June 1st! 

Everybody loves free stuff! Contest time! Alice Clark Series!

A contest to win Finding Alice, # 1 and Alice Clark Series swag!!! Woohoo!!

I just want to say to everybody thanks for stopping by! Now go enter, share and get excited! There will be some fan favorite swag and two new unique items available to win!

ps. there currently is not a Facebook app for rafflecopter(sponsor app) So there is no way to post the contest directly there. Sorry for the difficulties and good luck!!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

XO

Finding Alice #20 in Top 100 Amazon Best Sellers List!

What an amazing weekend! I’m almost relieved to see monday rearing its ugly head, almost.

Well I’ve already told you all about my wonderful adventure at comic con, (minus the story about Dean Cain winking at me and my response being to run in terror. Seriously have you seen him in those lifetime movies, he’s so creepy!? It was over powering my memory of him as Clark Kent.) Anyway!

I have some exciting, amazing, fantastical news to share. Finding Alice hit #20 on Amazon’s top 100 Best selling ebooks!!!! I took a picture as I nearly fell off of my chair.

I mean wow just wow. Thank you for your interest and love for Alice’s story. I am extremely excited and it really gave me the fuel to force the household to allow me to finish book 2. I’m so excited I want to give away stuff, so anyone who has read Finding Alice tell me your favorite line or excerpt. If you haven’t tell me about your love for fallen angels and/or paranormal anything! Will start off with some bookmarks and key chains and maybe even a copy of Finding Alice.

Lastly all merchandise is on SALE! Make sure you check out all the Finding Alice and I <3 Cole Curvus swag! http://www.andreadigiglio.com/merchandise.html

xo

Motor City Comic Con meets Alice…and me

I feel as if I have run myself in circles and my head may fall off at any moment. Who has the duct tape? I may have overloaded my schedule a bit; moving, Comic Con, raising a toddler, writing a sequel, co-writing a novel. (I could go on but really let’s not.)

All day on saturday I was at the Motor City Comic Con dressed in my Rasha wardrobe as Seeretah all while sitting at a booth with a load of copies of Finding Alice and FA swag. Yes folks Finding Alice was at motor city comic con! Big thank you to Iron Core Media for inviting me!

I only got a few pics due to me staying stationary at the booth. I thought I share my badass wardrobe, Sean Patrick Flannery (I took those specifically for my best friend Melissa), Chewbacca and Vader.

Comic Con bound
My booth mate the lovely Erica Blair (also in Rasha and a million other things.)
Rasha wardrobe.
Flannery, yes i know this is blurry but he’s play fighting what can you do?
Flannery’s backside. yup.
Do I really need to say?
My brother makes the Chewy sound. Dead serious.
Fun fact: when I was pregnant my brother would make the chewy noise and
my son would move to which ever side of my belly the sound was coming from.
XOXO

Why do you write so dark?

I was asked by a fan, “Andrea, why do you write so dark?” To which I replied, “I forgot my sunglasses.”

Truth be told we laughed about it, loudly. I mean of course we did that was the best answer to ever roll off my tongue! When I started writing I was told to write what I know; that happened to be a dark world filled with emotional baggage. I’m always filled with sarcasm and as my girlfriend’s and I call it, “the darkness,” both of which have always been a part of not only my writing but myself. The more I plug away at Alice’s Sacrifice, the more I see how true that is. I love that my sarcasm creeps in through some characters more than others. I truly enjoy using the darkness as an advantage or an inner struggle to fuel themselves as apposed to the evil or bad side. Let’s be honest here my characters are technically on the wrong side of a large battle and you are all rooting for them (that was the plan anyway.) I don’t see them on the “wrong side” of good and evil, I see them in the gray cloud of chaos fighting for their right to exist and to love. Well I know i’ve felt as if I was on the wrong side of a battle once or twice and I always hoped someone was rooting for me to making it through.

Life is hard,  just yesterday while packing I found a poetic short journal entry I wrote after a long day of hell and it was sad. The debate between quitting and fighting is a hard choice but I hope that you find strength in what I have overcome as I share more about me as not only and author but as a human. I know you can find the strength too.

When Alice’s Sacrifice comes out I believe you will all be floored as you take the journey with Alice and Cole. Through the gray area of a world I hold so dearly close to my heart.

XO

ps. exciting news about Book 2 Cover coming soon!

Do you know foamy?

I have been trying to enjoy a bagel with cream cheese in all its glory but something or someone interrupts me whenever I make my way to get it. It’s actually become worse than trying to find time to write Alice’s Sacrifice. Seriously it’s been four days and at this moment I could except I just had dinner where I again forgot about my delicious bagel. (Secret news…I am currently working on a new series with a fantastic author and it is coming along wickedly well. More info to come, keep reading my blogs for updates!) In other news my bagel and cream cheese dilemma reminded me of my favorite little guy foamy the squirrel.

So in honor of bagels with cream cheese, I gift you foamy the squirrel in five more minutes.

EPIC. I know.

You’re welcome.

Back to the grind!
XO

How you do what you do and why you do it- Guest Post by Katie Salidas

Before we jump straight in I wanted to say a few things.  First when  read up on Katie and this book release I had to be on the tour. I am often asked how I do what I do and why I do it and how did you self publish? How can I? I am pleased to have an insiders viewpoint and I hope that it help my readers with those questions. So please sit back as far as you can (and still read!) and enjoy! 
Welcome Katie.
How you do what you do and why you do it.
Well, I wish I had some profound thing to say in response to that topic. The short of it is, I have to do it, writing that is. I’ve always loved to write. A little secret many people don’t know about me… I’m an introvert.  Deep down to my bones I am a shy, people-watching, wallflower. It may not seem so if you met me online. It’s easy to seem outgoing and extroverted when you have the anonymity of the internet to protect you, but stick me in a room full of strange people and you’ll see me slowly blend into the wall until I disappear completely. LoL.
That’s why I write. I watch people. I see their interactions, but I don’t have that desire to jump right in with them. And when I try to, I always manage to stick my foot in my mouth. I joke with many of my friends about that. I tell them I prefer writing to talking because I have plenty of time to edit my words and then I’m less likely to say something stupid. So, I may not interact socially much myself, but my characters do. And I love that, writing scenes, making my characters do things I cannot, and seeing them blossom into novels.
Now please don’t think of this as depressing. It’s just the introvert’s way. We’re a different breed, students of human interaction rather than participants. But don’t think you have to be an introvert to be a writer; that’s just why I became one.
Now, on to how that translated into a self-help book for those interested in self-publishing. When I had books I wanted to bring to the public I discovered self-publishing. At that point it was beginning to shed its previously dirty name. Self-Publishing was once the haven for the unpublishable; now it’s much more mainstream. But back then it was harder to do, and not only that, to do it right was a bit more expensive. For me, learning the ropes on my first novel, Immortalis Carpe Noctem, was an expensive process. As I published more and more books I learned many valuable tricks to not only doing it right, but also to keep cost low without sacrificing quality. Quality is key in producing a product that can compete with traditionally published books.
The more I learned, the more I wanted to share the knowledge. I worked for 6 months or more, posting on my blog, offering tips and tricks to people looking to self-publish. After a while, my editor (who is listed in the book, and she’s awesome!) suggested that I put it all together into a handy dandy guide. That’s where Go Publish Yourself! was born. Its years of self-publishing knowledge distilled into no-nonsense tips and tricks to help you see your novel as a published work.
So, back on point, my love and need to write bred books (the Immortalisseries) which then led to a desire to share the behind the scenes work too (Go Publish Yourself!). And that’s why I said in the beginning, I have to do it. It’s part of me and who I am. I love to write, no matter what I’m writing about. And I hope you’ll enjoy what I write too.
Thank you so much for reading, and if you want to check out my other novels, you can find me at

Katie






Go Publish Yourself!
Self-Publishing made simple. Get your polished novel ready for Kindle, Nook, or Print in thirty days or less.
Avoid the common stumbling blocks and get on the road to successful self-publishing. This handy dandy guide, filled with insider’s tips and tricks, will unscramble the world of self-publishing into simple, easy-to-follow steps.
What’s in the book?
Common Misconceptions
The Business of Self-Publishing
Basic Costs & Budgeting
Publishing Formats: Epub, Kindle, Smashwords, & Print
Cover Art
Interior Layout
Pricing
Printing and Distribution
Marketing Basics: Platform Building, Book Signings, Blog Tours, etc.
And much more!
Don’t make rookie mistakes. Learn from an insider!
Katie Salidas is an author with several successful self-published titles. Each of her titles was created in the DIY (Do It Yourself) style, without the aid of author service companies. Through trial and error she has gained the knowhow to successfully publish print and ebooks. Go Publish Yourself! has that knowledge assembled into an easy-to-use format, packed with no-nonsense tips and quick and dirty tricks, so you can take your novel to the next level.
So, what are you waiting for? Go Publish Yourself!
Author Katie Salidas
You thought we were done!!! Never! Here’s an excerpt. (I chose the one tailored to you guys with all the questions!) You are welcome. XO -Andrea

Common Misconceptions of Self-publishing

Because self-publishing is still in the early stages of being recognized as a viable platform, there are still old misconceptions being thrown around. These are used to scare potential indie authors away from taking that leap into the market.
“You’ll be lucky to sell 200 copies.”
This was the first thing I was told when I decided to self-publish my first novel Immortalis Carpe Noctem. It scared me, as it was meant to. But after talking with other indie authors and looking at the sales rankings on Kindle and other online platforms, I realized that this was completely untrue. A well-plotted book that has been edited and has good cover art sells just as well as its traditionally published counterpart. In fact, Immortalis Carpe Noctem sold more than 200 copies (print and ebooks combined) within the first couple of months of publication. It sold more than ten-thousand copies in its first year, and the number rises every day.
 As you can see, the quote above is wrong; however, there is a seed of information there that you should take from it. No book will sell without help. I didn’t just place my book online and hope for sales. To start, I made sure the book was edited, two times, and then gave it a beautiful cover. Those two items are essential to the potential success of your book. Beyond that, to get Immortalis Carpe Noctem to move, I had to market it. Getting the book online to vendors is just part of the process. Do not think that hitting “submit” will be the final step in your publishing journey. That is only the starting point. We’ll discuss marketing in later chapters.
“Self-publishing will ruin your chances of ever being traditionally published.”
Another thing I was told when I decided to self-publish was that it would ruin my chances to ever be traditionally published. That idea is the old style of thinking. Many authors today whose books show great promise are being targeted by literary agents. Instead of the author querying an agent and then waiting months for a response, the agents—after seeing excellent sales—are contacting authors directly to offer representation for things such as print rights, foreign rights, and movie options. In essence, the indie market is becoming a sort of slush pile for these agents.
Now, as with all things, there still is some truth to take from this quote. Only the books that are selling well will attract literary agents. If you are dabbling with both self-publishing and still considering the traditional route, I’d recommend not bragging about your “publishing achievements” if your book has not shown continuous positive sales. Remember that it takes time to build an audience, and you cannot expect overnight success. If you are straddling the fence between these two methods of publishing, keep them separate until you have something that is really worth bragging about.
“Only friends and family will buy your books.”
This quote makes me laugh every time I hear it. In actuality, your friends and family will expect you to give them the book you publish for free. As they see it, they helped and supported you, so the least you can do is give them a free book.
And that’s just fine. Give them a free copy. You’re not marketing to them. As an indie author, you want strangers to buy your book. Focus all of your marketing efforts on building a platform and getting to know new readers. Those are the people you want to connect with and turn into fans.
final note from Andrea:
So friends, family, followers and stalkers alike thank you for stopping by! Katie, thank you for allowing me to be a host on your book tour. I wish you the best and plan to get a copy of your book myself.  

XO

Words Matter! They can hurt and they can heal! Right?

It’s the truth isn’t it? I did a photo shoot I have wanted to do for years, a concept very dear to me. I wouldn’t normally do a shoot where I would be terrified, exposed, vulnerable to the public and use that to prove my point. Well okay maybe to an extent but not like this one. WORDS MATTER. They can heal you, the can hurt you but they never just blindly exist. So I mustered the strength to do this photo shoot in hopes that it might effect someone out there in the way the thought did to me.

I am bipolar, that is a fact and it comes with its trials but I do not let it own me. To be so in-tuned with happiness and depression almost simultaneous is, to me, a gift. I can write because I feel so much and I feel the good and the bad. My writing tends to be more dark and I personally enjoy leaving some mystery, not having all the answers mostly for the fact that we don’t have the answers so how dare I assume my characters do. But the truths I share through my words are so very important.

Hurtful words do just that, they hurt. And healing words heal but all people not just those who are bipolar remember who hurt them, how they were hurt and the scar is always there. So I hope with this you will see a small glimpse into the trials and triumphs I have endured and enjoyed in my life and how I chose to overcome it all.

My followers and fans. <3 you. You give me strength and courageous and remind me someone does care what I have to say.

XO

What’s your birthday wish?

Mine is a night of good times with good people. For the first time ever I’m leaving my son over night with his grandma and uncle. Scary but I have to say the night to come sounds amazing! Casino, hotel, food, gambling, drinking oh my!

So while I am off relaxing in my hotel room and we all know, (working on book 2 even on birthday!) I gift to you my hard work and true love.

Finding Alice.

It will be free in spirit of celebrating my bday, for the next 3 days so please if you have not read it download the free kindle version and check it out. It would mean the world to me to share it with you and I hope you all enjoy Alice’s story as much as I enjoyed creating her world and writing it.

http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Alice-Clark-Series-ebook/dp/B007AVW7L2/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1333111818&sr=8-4

Enjoy and I will do the same! Happy birthday to any fellow aries out there XOXO

Free copy of Finding Alice!? Say what?

That is correct folks, for the next three days my debut paranormal ya/crossover is available for FREE through Amazon!!

Show some love and download my book, hopefully read it and defiantly love it!! Best birthday present an author can dream for.

Well that and for Cole to step off the pages and give me a back massage…. or something… 🙂

http://www.amazon.com/Finding-Alice-Clark-Series-ebook/dp/B007AVW7L2/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1333055989&sr=8-4

XO

What or who is your muse?

I find my muse in many forms but one main one in particular is a close friend of mine. I had recently been plagued with the worst sort of writers block and here is my muse asking me how book two is coming along and asked, “what do you mean your stuck?” I *cringed*

I saw this image the other day and it literarily had me laughing so hard I thought I might piss myself. (Maybe it’s an author thing….)

Luckily before my muse took it this far, (though I may have gotten farther than I did) I did manage to write another 6K(word count) and Alice’s Sacrifice has some major hardships coming up. Anyone who knows me knows, I don’t need no stink in’ muse to write about hardship. 🙂 So I continue to write folks and don’t worry my muse has got your back to help me finish Alice’s Sacrifice for you to read. 
XO

Cool Swag Sunday Giveaway!

Hey everyone! So I was sitting here sipping my coffee watching my toddler throw his uncles football around the house and BAM and idea hit me. Cool swag sunday giveaway! What is that you ask? Well let me tell you.

For today ONLY, I will be giving a signed copy of Finding Alice with every T-shirt purchase through my website! So you can heart Cole Corvus (and you will) or work at Max’s Bar while you enjoy Alice’s story.

www.andreadigiglio.com

But Andrea I don’t know if I’m ready to commit to a T-shirt just yet. No problem, why not head over and check out the other cool merchandise? If you buy a copy of Finding Alice today I’ll also send you a key chain of choice (just tell me which one you want in the comments)

Want to support but prefer ebooks? Show me proof that you purchased your ebook today (receipt with date) and I will send you out a bookmark for being totally awesome!

*Please note there is a limited quantity on all items.*

Did you share my blog post? Are you tweeting about Finding Alice? Are you spreading the word on FB? Well THANK YOU! I heart your face!

XO

Renewed motivation gifted from a fan

You know that moment that just changes everything? Here you are trucking through life at a steady pace and suddenly you decide to do something worthwhile. Afterwards you look around and think to yourself, what rubbish. Why did i do this? You throw your hands up and pout. Eventually you talk yourself out of ending a possible career or moment before it has even happened.

You finally share this dream with the world, baring your soul to all to see. You are tense, you panic! Everyone is going to hate me! Hate it! What in the world, is that a good review? Instantly you feel validated. Feeling fresh and fantastic you push yourself harder and harder until that bad moment comes in. Your life turns upside down; people you thought you could trust, you find out that you couldn’t and you pray that this horrible day you don’t find a bad review. You’re ready to pack it all up and quit, surprise surprise!

So what do you do?

Well I don’t know what you do but I choose to let the dust settle. I will not be driven to make decisions irrationally because of my emotions. I much rather prefer to use it to fuel my work and I do. It’s a scary world out there and we are all in it together. One of the reasons I decided to continue Alice’s story into a series is the small moments where Alice’s story touches someone and really reaches them down in the depths of their souls. It seems whenever self doubt fills me or I am having a bad day there is always someone there to show me the good.

So today, this post is dedicated to Oky Septya. Your kindness and thoughtfulness literally brought tears to my eyes. I was smiling and crying like a dork from my mailbox to my door. Thank you so very much. I’m thrilled you enjoyed Finding Alice. And to your note, if at all it becomes possible I would be glad to travel to Indonesia someday hopefully for a book signing!

For the rest of you, here is the beautiful postcard Oky sent me. (I hope you don’t mind me sharing!)

XO

BE AFRAID!! Radio interview…..

Tomorrow (Monday) I am excited to say I have a radio interview with BK Media Entertainment! It is at 2pm EST Here is the link. www.blogtalkradio.com/bkwalker


page1image3872
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If you are anything like me well… here is the Time Zone Difference:
EST 2PM        PST 11AM         CST 1PM           MST 12PM






So now you have no excuse not to listen! Who knows what she is going to ask me!? 








More exciting things happening this week but I’m going to wait a few days to tell you. 


XO




Not sure what happened! There was a technically error and the radio interview will be rescheduled! I will let you all know when as soon as I do.

Hijacking my guest post

Those who are curious, there was a blog on my blog tour that was cancelled recently so I hijacked my guest post I wrote for it and decided to share with you all anyway. XO




           This has already started off as one crazy year let me tell you. I have been diligently writing away continuing Alice’s story on top of making sure Finding Alice was ready for it’s release day. I chose to self-publish and when I chose this I did not know exactly what that entailed. Finding an editor, formatting the final piece for eBook and paperback were the obvious choices but I had no idea at the time I would be doing book tours, a book launch, contacting book reviewers to review my book, running contests so people would know about it, hire a photographer to do my cover and the list goes on and on. It was terrifying to be completely honest. All I wanted to do was write and get lost in a world that didn’t exist. My world went askew and then my first review came in from a beta tester and all of it vanished. They were sucked into the story and they excitedly told me what they thought while asking questions. It was so amazing to share that moment with someone and that is why I will continue to do it. My work means everything to me but I have found it touches and truly means something to others.

            Really what I am saying is that writing, publishing or self-publishing is hard work. If you love your work and feel it must be shared people will feel that when they read your work. I’m currently trying to go speak at my old high school and the other high school’s in the district. I know that when someone I looked up to or someone who was doing what I dreamed I could looked at me and said, “you can do this and if you want it, work for it.” That is exactly what I am doing and if I can give hope to one young writer or dreamer, well it’s all worth it then isn’t it?

1 day left & counting! Finding Alice!

It is finally here!!! Aren’t you excited!!! Obviously I am if you couldn’t tell. Tomorrow I will be posting link to purchase your copy of Finding Alice, again it is kindle and paperback through amazon, ebook for nook through B&N, and smashwords (which I honestly know nothing about) So make sure you come back for an easy link to purchase your copy. Of course you can always google my name or go directly to my website www.andreadigiglio.com 

What else is happening tomorrow you ask? Well the book release launch party is tomorrow! If you will be in Michigan come on down!

22740 Woodward AveFerndale, MI 48220-1734
This shindig will start at 5:00PM. All youngsters must leave at 9:00PM but are welcome! 
There will be:
Raffle, Meet & Greet, Q&A, Reading, Book Signing and Merchandise Available
Paperback copies of Finding Alice available for purchase at event (Limited quantity available, first come first serve)



After 9? AFTERPARTY!!!
That is where I will be tomorrow! So pick up your copy of Finding Alice for your e-reader, order a paperback or come to the release party! 
What happens after you ask? I get back to the grind and finish Alice’s Sacrifice, # 2, in The Alice Clark Series.
xo

Detroit Live 10AM EST!!!!

Book launch week is here!! I am insanely excited and terrified all at the same time. Crazy fantastical week for me here. Tomorrow morning (Thursday 16th) I will be on the Detroit Live show getting interviewed by Darian Counts about my debut novel Finding Alice.

Curious what I sound like? What I look like in real life? Well the great thing about this interview is it is live at 10:00AM EST and you can listen or watch and listen!! Awesome right!?

Detroit Live with Darian Counts- interview with Andrea DiGiglio

I’d love your support! Watch, listen, and please share!!

XOXO

New, or maybe just going back to my old roots.

I recently got a new cut and color to my hair by the fantastical Nikki Black. I used to sport bright punky colors mixed with jet black hair and really I did that from high school on through my early 20’s. Though the older I got the more society didn’t quite agree with my “loud hair” so I would just stick to jet black. Over the last two years, being a new mom and having that constant urge to mess with my hair I did change it. To brown, and auburn and every sort of brownish color. I loved it and Nikki was able to slowly strip the black away and ease me into my normal hair. It was time to let go of my dark look.

With all the book launch craze coming up, (this week I might add) I was feeling a little lost. One sure way I know how feel home or to feel like me, (as silly as it sounds) is to dye my hair the way I used to when I felt free and felt like me in my own skin. Okay now let’s get a little realistic here when I was younger I bleached and dyed my hair myself. Nikki is an artist.  Okay I know shut up and show you right?

🙂  And it even does tricks! If I part it the other way you can see so much of the red. *sighs* so happy. I can’t wait to play with it and make it all crazy.

Well Happy hum….. I mean happy wednesday! 😉
And remember your happiness IS important.
xo

Do you hate valentine’s day?

Well yes I in fact do. Why? For so many reasons I don’t want dive into at the moment, instead here is some great imagery from a photo shoot I did specifically to scream out into the world ” I HATE YOU VALENTINE’S DAY” My photographer, Russ Turner, renamed it Valentines day massacre.

Enjoy!!!

Guest post with Val Arnold

 Today I have the privilege to introduce you all to Val Arnold the creator of My Best Friends Forks She has agreed to guest post today! I know Val personally and when I say it is an honor and a privilege, well you all know I mean it! Here you go!



My dogs are the only kids that I have, and I treat them like babies .  Which includes, feeding them off forks from time to time.  When I give them their vitamins or medicine it has to be in food.  If I put pills in food on a plate, they will pick them out and toss them on the floor. When I’m done with my plate, they know that they get the last bite.  Anything from my fork is going to be good so they just take whatever it is without any hesitation.  I have been doing this for over 13 years with all of my dogs.  

It was an incident this past June that could have been a disaster for both Griz and myself. My fingers were a little greasy from the chicken that I pulled apart for them, and well…Griz almost inhaled the fork. It was a last second miracle that I managed to grab the fork and gain control of it before it was too late. As my heart was beating out of my chest, I went online to try to find a safety fork of some kind, something for dogs and there was nothing for them.  I did however come across some x rays  of forks in dogs stomachs!! 

I was sick from seeing them, and then knowing that other people fed their babies from forks too!?? That was it, I decided to take action myself. I jumped up, made a fork in my kitchen that dogs couldn’t take from your hands. Its rounded in the front, and the 2 middle tines are shortened for the comfort of a dogs mouth. 



I am now the inventor of My BFF ( My Best Friends Fork). It’s Veterinarian recommended and approved.  My vet said that this happens a lot more than he cares to talk about, and that it is a brilliant invention.  It is also being featured on True Tv in May “World’s Smartest Inventions”.  If you know of anyone that feeds their dogs from a regular fork, please stop them!! You can watch the video and order the world’s first safety feeding utensil for dogs at www.mybffline.com 
 

Thank you!

Val Arnold


The Snow Will Fall

I lean into my window to find the snow falling down gracefully. Sipping my coffee I smile knowing today I will write. My adorable child slams into my leg and hugs me, smiling up at me before running off to play with his toys. It’s moments like these, days like this that I will cherish for the rest of my life. A snowy Sunday afternoon chasing around my toddler, falling to the ground while both of us laugh as hard as we can. Cuddled up watching all the Ice Age films and when he falls asleep I will trade his films for my music. Sit at my computer and write. Alice and Cole have so much more to say and I am their vehicle.

I heart Sunday’s.

XO

Book Launch Party!

I am so super crazy excited to share with you the information to my book launch party!

It is in Michigan so if you are local please come out and say hi! All the info is on the flyer below! See I am excited!!!! Look at all the !!!!! marks 😛

Versatile Blogger Award!

Today I woke up to a wonderful surprise, Keren from Gothic Angel Book Reviews chose me for the Versatile Blogger Award!
This is my first blogger award! *Jumps up and down* Okay so maybe I’m a little excited!
Here are the rules that go along with this award:
1.      1. In a post on your blog nominate 15 fellow bloggers for the Versatile Blogger Award (15 isn’t mandatory, but it’s a nice gesture. Try and pick at least 5)
2.      2. In the same post, add the Versatile Blogger Award
3.      3. In the same post, thank the blogger who nominated you in a post with a link back to their blog.
4.      4. In the same post, share 7 completely random pieces of information about yourself.
5.      5. In the same post, include this set of rules.

6. Inform each nominated blogger of their nomination by posting a comment on each of their blogs.


7 Random things about me….

1. I love shoes, its seriously a problem. These are my favorite three pairs and yes I know crazy spectrum.

2. It’s likely I love coffee even more than shoes.

3. When I was little I wanted to be a singer when I grew up.

4. When cast in films, I almost always get cast as the “bitch” or “goth” based entirely on my look.

5. I produce my best works when heartbroken.

6. I will always put myself between my family; blood or otherwise and danger to protect the ones I love.

7. I see the best in others and the worst in myself. Hell I am an Aries!

Enough about me! Time for my blog award recipients:

1. Compositions  Danielle’s writing is honest, grabs a hold of your soul kind of talent. <3 her.
2. This Authors Life Jessi is such a talented writer and I cherish her dearly
3. A Diary of a Book Addict Tee’s love and passion for books leaks from her in her reviews. I <3 that about her!
4. The Penis Chronicles Because Dani and Megs say shit we wish we could. 😉
5. A Midnight Summers Read Amazing honest reviews. Jessica rocks.

Make sure to check all these blogs out!!

XO

Andrea

Poems from the Past

It has been entirely too long since I have written! I am preparing for my book launch next month Feb 19th at Dino’s Lounge in Ferndale, Michigan. Also I am working on my guest posts for the Virtual Book Tour. There are so many amazing things coming up that I will share with all of you once I have more detail. For now I thought I would share some of my early work. When asked how long I have been writing, the answer was simple I never remember not writing. Here are two short poems from back in day.

In the nights last breathe
you may sit alone and cry
nothing left but hopeless dreams
that you are to imperfect for
no one cares to hear your voice
to see your sweet lipped words
but even in your loneliness
your light shines somewhere in this world.

Wondering questions
that circle in my head
are they really questions?
were they really said?
too flustered
to consumed
by every rambling thought
to give a damn
about these questions in my heart.



xo 
Andrea

Friday the 13th

I love Friday the 13th. I am guaranteed not to have a crappy day if it is Friday the 13th. The world is full of horror stories and panic that something bad is on its way it leaves me alone to kick my feet up and relax knowing everyone is too freaked out to mess with my day.

Shockingly it has been a great day.  I aimlessly went through my daily routine and even with the evil snow fluttering about I made it to all my destinations and home unscathed. I shipped out the contest winners copies of my book along with a couple of choice blog reviewers copies and a few to those I hold dear to me even through the distance that divides us.

Back home, FINALLY, I plan to spend the evening with my son until he tuckers out. That is when the hard decisions must be made; do I watch a horror film or work on book 2?

XO and Happy Friday the 13th!

*sighs*

What an amazing event 🙂 Seriously? The amount of people showing interest and support for Finding Alice is exceptional, heartwarming and humbling. Thank you all. The winners of the contest are, Tia A., Oky S., Jennifer K., and Todd M. Congrats! Once I receive addresses I will send out your ARC’s of Finding Alice.

To continue with all that is good and awesomeness, I woke to find my favorite photographer Russ Turner had been playing with images from the photo shoot for my Alice Clark Series. So I thought I would share 🙂

Come on, really? I mean how badass is Alice?

So happy Tuesday!

XO

Why is it not Friday?

This has been a crazy week for me and yes I know it’s not even over yet.  I had it in my head that today was Friday for most of the day. Yeah… I know, right?

All I’ve wanted to do for days was work on book 2. Sadly I have not been able to but I do see light at the end of the tunnel. I approved the final proof, *crosses fingers* one step closer to publishing! All formats are done; the paperback, kindle, nook and smashwords. I’ve been trying to stay updated on all the social networks also and the interest from book reviewing bloggers, readers and authors alike is absolutely amazing to me. This community of readers and writers is like nothing I have ever seen before. I checked the status on the giveaway for a signed copy of Finding Alice on Goodreads.com is climbing huge in numbers. The book trailer on youtube is getting crazy amounts of views too! You guys rock!! I am so excited for you all to read Alice’s story. The second one, *shivers* oh just wait.

It’s so crazy to me that just a week or so ago I was saying, “February 19th is not that far away, relax people!” Now I’m the one, “It’s only the 5th….of January! Come on!”

Some more super exciting news, it looks like February 16th I’ll be doing a live interview that you can all watch via the wonderful web 🙂 As soon as I have more information I will post it for you all! I am off to watch The Vampire Diaries and then I will finish reading The Reckoning by Michelle Leighton. http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com/

XO

Deceived by Stephanie Nelson

Deceived is finally here! 
First let me say I absolutely was in LOVE with Craved (the first book in the Gwen Sparks Series.) Now last night I excitedly logged on to amazon to download my kindle copy, I started reading and was so engulfed in the story right off the bat (and not surprised after book 1.) Alas, I was rudely interrupted by my 14 month old. Sadface. But tonight, I will read this book and I know I wont put it down. Stephanie has a way with her writing that just grabs a hold of you. You’ll find yourself pacing your house, going about daily chores with her book in gripped tightly in your hand, refusing to take your eyes off of it for one second.
I am a cover shopper all the way. 

My gift to my readers: the blurb for Deceived:

Gwen’s life has been a downward spiral since she discovered vampires crave witches blood. She’s summoned to Moon, the town of witches, where she learns that a war is brewing and she’s the secret weapon. Paired with the Angel of Death, it becomes quickly evident that she’s more powerful than she ever realized. But this reaper isn’t the robe wearing, scythe carrying kind – he’s a ruggedly handsome handful that has his eye on Gwen. As if that isn’t enough, she’s still tormented by Ian Desperaux’s constant intrusion into her thoughts and dreams. As Gwen struggles to balance her responsibility to the witches’ council and her secret relationship with her vampire boyfriend, Aiden, she’ll soon discover exactly what it means to be Deceived.
 Excited?!? I know you are, even better I have an excerpt! Enjoy!
 I quietly grumbled. I knew he was right, I should learn who I really was. A small part of me was afraid to though. Reading the memories of the dead was creepy enough, but at least I was helping people when I did it. Dorian wanting me to connect with the darkness just to learn it scared me. Kye’s insane sister flashed in my mind and gave me enough reason to want to study to be a spirit walker. I didn’t know why she had gone insane, but I didn’t want to end up like her. “Alright, teach me, old wise one.” My sarcasm tended to show itself when I was scared or pissed, at the moment I was a little bit of both.
“Close your eyes.” Dorian instructed, ignoring my cynicism. My eyes snapped shut, and I waited for him to tell me what to do next. I heard the squeak of vinyl, and his body press along the side of me. Dorian slipped his hand underneath mine and made me to jump.  “Keep your eyes closed.” I did as told, but my heart beat faster at our closeness. It seemed too intimate for a lesson.
Want to purchase Deceived? Well here are the links

You didn’t read Craved? Say what? Well here are the links for it too!
You can stalk Stephanie (she totally loves it!) on Facebook, and have access to updates on her upcoming books!

www.stephanie-nelson.com

Good morning!

     I groggily stumble toward my coffee maker, my child pulling on my PJ pants. “mmm, coffee…” is all I can manage to mumble.
     “Ba ba ba,” my son yells at me.
     I look down at his brilliant blue eyes and smile. “You are lucky you are cute,” I joke. He flashes that adorable grin and I make his bottle. I turn on one of his movies or his favorite TV show Dinosaur Train and head back to my beloved coffee. I fill it will hazelnut creamer and breathe it in, “Ahhh.” I walk over to the computer and pull up my email, and start checking all of the wonderful pages I am connected to. What do I find? My book on a book review site. http://www.gothicangelbookreviews.blogspot.com/2012/01/announcing-new-and-exciting-book.html  Check it out for yourself.

Until we meet again, xo

2012!!!

Happy New Year!! Wow that year went by fast. But good riddance! 2012 is going to be a crazy year, filled with crazy excitement and lots and lots of coffee. My 14 month old son woke up at 11:50PM last night and refused to go back to bed. He was apparently very excited about the new year as well!

Before I dive into my series, I did want to note that I am currently accepting books for beta testing. If you are interested in having me beta test your book, I prefer the paranormal/fantasy genre; in young adult, young adult crossover, fiction, horror or romance.  You can submit an excerpt of your book or blurb to andrea@andreadigiglio.net . If you are not sure if your book falls under those categories or you swear I will love your book, you can submit your blurb and genre information. I will return all emails within 3-5 days to let you know whether or not I will be beta testing your book. Please note, I provide constructive feedback regardless to what stage in book you are in (first draft, rewrite, revision 5, etc) I know you put your blood, sweat, tears, heart and soul in to your book. So please give me the time I need to read it so I can give you constructive feedback you deserve. After all I want to love your book! I am currently beta testing for no charge, books chosen at my discretion alone. Blog reviews, goodreads reviews prices tbd.

And back to ALICE!!!!

In 8 days the contest to win a copy of Finding Alice ends, I will announce the winners (that are chosen at random and not by me) within 48 hours at the end of the contest. http://andrea-digiglio.blogspot.com/2011/12/chance-to-win-advanced-ebook-copy-of.html#more For those who do not win, don’t be sad! February 19th will be here in no time and you will be able to get your ebook or paperback copy. I will have all the links available on the release date on my webpage www.andreadigiglio.net and on here. 

When book 1 becomes available if you have questions, comments, please post! I’d love to hear your thoughts. I will continue to write Alice’s story and keep you all in the loop on where I am with book 2 and when it will be released.

To start the new year off with a bang, here is my book trailer for Finding Alice, I hope you enjoy
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1x_DvGx4CA&feature=youtu.be

xo
Andrea

Alice’s Sacrifice (The Alice Clark Series) aka Finding Alice book 2

I have been writing and writing and writing and writing…. you get the point. I am guessing here but I believe I am 1/3 of the way done with book 2 bringing the word count in at 20K. My goal for book 2 was to land roughly around 65K which is looking more than possible. Finding Alice topped at 40K. The reason I didn’t try to write and write and make it longer? I didn’t want to fill it with fluff. This isn’t even an issue in book 2, the characters are already developed from book 1 but people don’t just stop developing and growing do they? Well no, and Alice and all the other characters haven’t stopped either.

I’ve been keeping tabs on the contest. When I say keeping tabs, more like stalking it to see of people want to read my book. What can I say, I am human after all.

In good news the proof came in for the paperback so tonight I’m going to sit back and enjoy Alice’s story one more time. Don’t forget Finding Alice will be available February 19th, 2012 for Kindle, paperback(via amazon), smashwords, epub (nook).

I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays!

xoxo

The Faces In My Imaginary World

So I have been asked a few times from my beta testers, on who ideally would play Cole and Alice. First Nataline Jenkins the model who is on my cover is exactly my ideal Alice. Strong, confident, young, naturally beautiful with just the right amount of tomboy. When my good friend and photographer, Russ Turner and I were talking about the shoot he recommended her.


Seriously? wow.

Now back to Cole. The struggle with this for me is that I didn’t create these two with an actress or actor in mind. They were mash ups of people I knew, people I’ve never seen or met, the sort of people I always wanted to be around or wanted to be.  When asked though, I really took it seriously. Who would be the perfect Cole?

 

Yes, Ian Somerhalder. *Sighs*

I have a pretty good idea on the rest of the characters on who I would cast if plausible but I won’t release that information until book 2 Alice’s Sacrifice is well on it’s way to becoming available. Or you all start asking. 🙂

Stay tuned for an upcoming contest and information on where to buy your copy of Finding Alice.

Goodbye old and hello new

It’s time to replace my flash drive. It’s held together by a few pieces of scotch tape; it is so old and abused. I thank it for keeping great care of Finding Alice, and the beginnings of Alice’s Sacrifice. While searching the wonder that is Amazon.com, I found this pretty thing,

http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B002O4HWAG/ref=ox_sc_act_title_1?ie=UTF8&m=A3V6BK4D0HKA8F

This little doll will be the new caretaker of The Finding Alice series.

On another note I did manage to write 8K words in book 2, I’m proud, I’m exhausted and most of all I am excited. Excited to share Alice’s story with you all.

Keep a look out for a chance to win your copy of

Finding Alice
Spring of 2012

XO

Make Believe

My writing tends to be dark by nature. Which is causing me quite the dilemma here in my second novel. My characters are happy and they completely deserve it after the hell I put them through. I just can’t seem to write happy. My muse appears in my work all the time but we will never be like them, the souls in my book. 

Sometimes I wonder what if for a moment I pretended we were, we were just like them?

MAKE BELIEVE

She sits drinking her coffee staring at a blank screen willing the words to pour from her. She sighs in frustration while running her hands through her long dark hair. Think dammit. Still nothing. She closes her eyes and massages her temples in an attempt to relax. He plagues her mind; though she really doesn’t mind it. She can almost smell him and see that glorious smile that lights up her soul. 

Her eyes snap open and she practically launches her chair into the wall behind her. It can’t be, can it? Her heart begins to flutter at an irregular accelerated pace as she rushes to her door. She doesn’t look out, she doesn’t peer and then return to her chair scolding herself for being so silly. No, she runs out the door across her porch onto her front lawn with her head down and hopeful. She slowly raises her chin and looks down the steps toward the parking lot. Blue eyes. Stunning blue eyes burn into her and she can’t help but let a smile plaster across her entire face. Fear flows away from her dripping from her feet and sinking into the pavement. She can only think, You. You’re… here. He walks slowly towards her climbing each step as if they were made of glass and would break under his steady weight. He reaches the top and stops, studying her, taking in the moment. Her breath is caught in her throat until he reaches his hand out to her. Without a thought she runs at him colliding almost too hard, wrapping her arms around his neck. His arms wrap strongly around her waist removing all space between them.  Tears stream down her face and soak into his black shirt. He whispers into her hair, kisses the top of her head. The world seems so still as they share this emotional moment they had waited for, for well over a decade. He pulls back and stares deep into her eyes and then he kisses her. Like she has never been kissed before. The way they always thought a kiss between them would be. Magical, intense, passionate, earth shattering, mind blowing and forever changing. 

They live in that moment, truly live. Live in a world where love is enough. And a kiss, is everything.