An impending review!

tiposwrAh, books. Glorious books! Wonderful books! How I love thee!🙂

Yep, I’ve been reading again. This time, my literary obsession is The Impending Possession of Scarlet Wakebridge-Rosé by S.L. Saboviec. It’s a stand-alone novel from the same universe as Guarding Angel and Reaping Angel, and it was the perfect way to whet my appetite for the next book in the Fallen Redemption series.

Wow, so that’s a lot of titles right there. A person could be confused by all that, I suppose, so allow me to tell you what this book is all about …behind the cut!

Back when

Identity is a tricky thing, always changing. Identity can shift at a moment’s notice, or over a span of years. I think back on all the things I am and all the things I’ve been. I wonder about all the things I’ll someday be, or if I’ll be able to reclaim the girl I was back when.

I’m a mother, I’m a lover,
A chef, a referee,
I’m a doctor and a chauffeur seven days a week.

Back when I knew it all, I was going to be a famous writer before I turned thirty. I’d be critically acclaimed and make a fortune and not need a day job. I’d work as a medical transcriptionist for a few years, until I hit it big, and then I’d quit the day job to write for a living.

It’s the hardest gig I’ve known,
I work my fingers to the bone.
Yeah, the dishes and the diapers never stop.
Lousy pay,
There ain’t no 401(k).
I know this may come as a shock,
But this here’s a full-time job.

Back when I knew it all, I was going to…

The wheel behind the squeak

It’s always the quiet ones.

You know, the ones you have to watch out for. The quiet ones blend into the background. They do a good job of it, too – they’re quiet, after all, and it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the grease, not the silent one.

Not the timid girl in the corner desk.

Maybe you don’t even notice. Maybe you never heard her heart screaming her frustration, or begging for a kind word. Maybe you did, but you don’t care.

Maybe she didn’t want you to, but maybe she did. What if she did?

Maybe she wears neutral colors because she’s afraid of loud noises. Maybe she’s afraid to be loud, to draw attention to herself because attention means she’d have to open up to others. Maybe the last time she came out of her shell, it was crushed by the person she trusted most in the world, and she had to find a new shell, a harder shell, to protect her fragile self.

Sometimes the squeaky wheel doesn’t need the grease – sometimes it just needs someone to listen. Grease will silence the squeak, but maybe that’s not the point. Maybe the point is for someone to notice the wheel behind the squeak.

Maybe the squeak isn’t something wrong, but something right.

Maybe it means that that timid girl is trying out her voice, trying it on for size. Maybe that little, tiny squeak is really incredibly loud, and she’s trying to figure out how to modulate her volume. Wouldn’t you feel terrible for silencing that squeak?

Because that’s what the grease does. It quiets the squeak.

It’s always the quiet ones.

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Forgotten

And now, a snippet of something that’s been eating away at my brain for the last month:

Fog hangs low in the valley, hugging the hills and kissing the trees, while the corn whispers in the fields beyond. Birds perch warily on the power lines, watching, waiting, and even the crickets have ceased their singing. The air is thick with anticipation, as if every living thing is holding its breath.

Such mornings are not uncommon as summer gives way to fall, but something is different this morning. This is an uncommon morning.

The words of an old song drift through my head as I slice through the fog with my high beams. La nuit m’a oubliée…Pourtant…je suis toujours là…Je suis toujours là…

The night may have forgotten, but I certainly haven’t, I think as I pass his house. I keep my eyes on the road, trying to forget the way he used to hug me, the kisses that used to linger on my skin long into the night after he’d gone. But it’s no use.

I can’t forget, though I would dearly like to.

Thanks to Jane Dougherty for the words of inspiration!

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.

Pink and Blue

My shirt is pink.
My heart is blue.
I think on things
I know are true.

I think on things
I know are true.
I wear black
When I feel blue.

I wear black
When I feel blue.
I fear loud noise,
But I don’t fear you.

I fear loud noise,
But I don’t fear you.
My shirt is pink.
My heart is blue.

My shirt is pink.
My heart is blue.
And I think on things
I know are true.

This poem was inspired by “it’s wild,” which I read this afternoon. What inspired you today?

(c) 2016. All rights reserved.