Potatoe, eggs, or coffee-which will it be? Inspirational story

I read this story tonight and thought it was wonderful. We cannot control everything that life brings our way, but we can controle our attitude and reaction. 

Once upon a time a daughter complained to her father that her life was miserable and that she didn’t know how she was going to make it. She was tired of fighting and struggling all the time. It seemed just as one problem was solved, another one soon followed.
Her father, a chef, took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. Once the three pots began to boil, he placed potatoes in one pot, eggs in the second pot, and ground coffee beans in the third pot.
He then let them sit and boil, without saying a word to his daughter. The daughter, moaned and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing.
After twenty minutes he turned off the burners. He took the potatoes out of the pot and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl.
He then ladled the coffee out and placed it in a cup. Turning to her he asked. “Daughter, what do you see?”
“Potatoes, eggs, and coffee,” she hastily replied.
“Look closer,” he said, “and touch the potatoes.” She did and noted that they were soft. He then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg. Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee. Its rich aroma brought a smile to her face.
“Father, what does this mean?” she asked.
He then explained that the potatoes, the eggs and coffee beans had each faced the same adversity– the boiling water.
However, each one reacted differently.
The potato went in strong, hard, and unrelenting, but in boiling water, it became soft and weak.
The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard.
However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something new.
“Which are you,” he asked his daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean? “

Moral:In life, things happen around us, things happen to us, but the only thing that truly matters is what happens within us.

Which one are you?

A page from my book! (And other life updates!)

Apparently the months of October and November have a track record of not being great months for my blog writing!

I do have an excuse: I moved. Not just down the street…1,400 miles away! I started a new job and have been on operation: MAKE FRIENDS.

I was able to do a bit more editing on my novel and thought I would share a page I recently was touching up! For those of you who don’t know I’m writing a Romantic Suspense Novel set in the 1920’s. My first book is called, “Just A Dream” and is the story of a wealthy southern girl, Angel,  who after recovering from a car accident which robbed her of 11 months of memory, returns to her home of Charleston, SC to marry the wealthy and family favorite,  Kale Desmin. As the wedding day approaches, Angel is haunted by dreams of being in love with a man she has never before seen and of the unsolved murder of her future father-in-law. Will she solve the the secrets of her past, before it is too late? (I know that sum up sounded a bit cheesy! It’s a good story…I promise! =) Or I like to think so…)


 

From Just A Dream by Autumn Komzik

He touched the tip of my nose. “So, when you fell asleep I realized you never said what are you most afraid of?”

I stared up at the sky, still engulfed in a sleepy euphoria. What was I afraid of?

I saw her face–those crystal blue eyes looking at us, staring at me as if I was disgusting.  Watching me with him.

Mother. I whispered her name.

I bolted up to sitting position, suddenly awake.

“Mother!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “She’ll kill me!”

At my command, he dropped me off on the very edge of my driveway. I flung myself out of the car without muttering a good bye and ran along the grass and twisting oak trees that lined our road. To my relief, the house was engulfed in darkness. Mother had gone to bed. My heart hammered against my ribs at the thought of how late it was. What excuse could I tell her in the morning? I could say there was car trouble at the movies and Pearl and I were trapped there for hours. Would she believe it? I tried to silence the sick curls of terror that twisted in my stomach.

As I rounded the back of the house to enter through the staff’s doorway I smoothed my wrinkled dress and touched my hair. It lay recklessly about my shoulders, the bobby pins jutting in and out, suspended loosely against the tangles. I plucked out the bobby pins and reinserted them, my fingers shaking. If anyone saw me, they would see him. They would see him in my eyes, my swollen lips, and my tangled hair. It would all be over.

I slid through the door and down the hall way without one creak. I moved into the main area of the house which was thick with warm air and darkness and the twisting shadows of the furniture which was touched by the moon light. I sneaked towards the staircase and clutched the rail.

Clink.

The sound came from behind me, paralyzing me instantly. In the corner of my eye a bright ember glowed against the blackness and moved as if it was suspended in air. Smoke touched my nostrils. As if on cue the moon light eased through the windows, illuminating the room in silver.

There she was. The glowing end of the cigarette cast a shadow across her face, distorting her fine-boned features and darkening her crystal eyes. Her fingers from her other hand clutched the smooth glass neck of a bottle of Vodka. Mother. Was this my Mother, the very woman who stood in line and waved signs to end alcohol production…who forced Father to smoke outside? Was she even real? Or was this the frightening production of my imagination?

“Angelina,” her voice shattered any doubt of her reality.

A gasp escaped from my lips.

She tapped at the cigarette, sending ashes fluttering on the table. “Tell me the name of that young man with whom you have clearly been either fornicating with or are on the brink of fornication?”

I tried to say something, form words but the paralysis I felt in the rest of my body seemed to find its way to my lips. That boy she referred to was pure gold. He had never been anything but gentle and honorable.

Mother stood to her feet. “Tell me his name.” Her command was direct, her voice as sharp as a knife. “You know I’ll find out.” She stood to her feet, her eyes locked onto mine. “Angelina, tell me his name.”

My mouth opened. I tried to keep it closed, fought to keep it closed but it opened against my will. “W-W…”


I hope you enjoyed!!

 

Where the rubber meets the road

Where the rubber meets the road.

“The most important point for something, the moment of truth. An athlete can train all day, but the race is where the rubber meets the road and they’ll know how good they really are.”-UsingEnglish.com

On average, according to all those studies the universities put on, women talk an average of 20,000 words a day…and men roughly 7,000. Before getting into this post I just have to say it: is it possible that us girls say 13,000 more words than guys a day?!?! (I’m kinda shy though…so maybe this is why this number gap is hard for me to fathom.) My basic point of these statistics is to simply point out: we talk an awfully lot.

As I was thinking about where the rubber meets the road kind of moments, I kept thinking about all of the hopes, dreams, ambitions I’ve shared with people. I’m gonna get my master’s degree…I’m gonna write a book…I’m gonna travel hear or there…etc. But it’s not just the big dreams or plans…it’s the little ones too: I’m gonna try a new look, I’m gonna loose weight, I’m gonna help out some good cause, I’m gonna call so-and-so because I haven’t talked to them in forever, I’m gonna fix up the mustang, I’m gonna talk to the cute guy that sits across from me on the subway, I’m gonna start running every morning…IT COULD BE ANYTHING. Anything you think you could, should, or might just want to try doing.

But realistically, how many of us actually get around to doing these things? How many of us just end up talking about doing them instead?

Where the rubber meets the road. The moment of truth.

NEVERUNDERESTIMATE the power of action.

At the end of the day, Words are just words…all 13,000-20,000 of them.

Action is what turns words into reality. 

Actions accomplish goals.

Actions will get you where you want to be.

Actions will make you a better person.

Actions will help you find the right person.

Actions will help you write your book.

Actions will help you get into a new career.

Actions will help you get healthy.

Actions are what dreams are made of.

Actions will make your dreams come true.

Don’t just talk about what you are going to do. Do it.

Let’s not be people with hopes and dreams and well…people who just end up with hopes that never happened or dreams that never came true. Let’s stop talking and get to work. Let’s put some action behind our words. Let’s accomplish things, let’s be someone who did something about their hopes and dreams….and all the little things.

Whatever that thing is that you’ve been talking about doing…just DO IT (stealing from Nike, I know).

 

 

The Voice of the Office, story of inspiration

There are a lot of us who feel or realize maybe our job isn’t anything special– we aren’t preforming surgeries on a day to day basis that save lives, we aren’t flying jets, manning businesses that literally make the world go round. We are the people that maybe sit in an office or flip burgers, cut trees–whatever our occupation is, it isn’t quite our dream job and it doesn’t really feel like it is that big a deal to the world.


 

Her name was Bev, short for Beverly. She had been 25 for exactly 1 month. Twenty-five. A quarter of a century. Five years until thirty. Barely managing to cling onto being able to say, “I’m in my early twenties.” Bev was an average girl, with brown hair, blue eyes and freckles. Bev was also a girl who at one time believed she was going to be one of those people who change the world.

Bev stood in the small office of her job as of a week ago, glancing around the room.  The walls were made of giant bricks which had been painted the exact color of gray which brings to mind a day filled with endless rain. In the small room there were two windows draped with  sun-dyed green curtains, providing an excellent view of the dumpster below. She turned to face her desk where a phone, computer and key board sat, letting out a long sigh. The sigh of a person who realized life was no where near she imagined. The sign of a person who realized her dreams might not come true. She felt the tears rush in, threatening to spill out. She took a deep breath, holding her head slightly back attempting to somehow send the tears back where they came from. She inwardly reminded herself of how when she cried even just a couple drops her nose, eyes–face would be swollen and red as a beet for a the rest of the day. What if someone would stop by? Then she remembered her bosses’ words, “Yeah, at this job you’ll sooner see a cow walk through those doors than another person!”

Bev burst into tears, letting them spill freely down her cheeks.


Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom. 

“You here it?” Bev’s Dad asked, his coppery colored eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when he smiled.

Six-year old Bev nodded, her brown curls swishing. “What is that, Daddy?” Her blue eyes where wide with curiosity.

Her Dad touched the round, metal object pushing it along his chest.

Bev’s eyes got bigger. “Boom-boom, boom-boom….Daddy what is it?!” She clutched the tubes of the stethoscope which were lodged into her ears, trying to figure out where exactly the boom-boom was coming from.

Her Daddy smiled, eyes crinkling, dimples carving alongside the corners of his mouth. “That’s your Daddy’s heart beating,” he said softly.

Bev’s mouth dropped open as she stared at her Dad in stunned silence.

Boom-boom. Boom-boom. Boom-boom.

“That’s your heart, Daddy?”

He nodded.

Bev smiled, pushing the tubes deeper into her ears in an attempt to hear the beat better. Her eyes ran over the purple scars barely inching out of the neck of his button-up shirt. “That’s your new heart beating, Daddy isn’t it?”

Tears were touching his eyes, but she didn’t notice. “Mmmhmm.”

“I can tell it’s BIG and HAPPY–and it’s not gonna get tired like your last one. It’s strong– just like you, Daddy.”


 

Bev had wanted to be a doctor. Since the day she heard her Dad’s new heart beat, since the day she discovered how her Dad’s life had been saved by a heart transplant, since the day she received her first stethoscope, since for as long as she could remember. Bev wanted to save lives. Bev wanted to give people the gift her family had been given. Bev wanted to make a difference in the world.

And here she was sitting at a small office, her stethoscope buried in the back of her closet at home; buried under piles of bills, back luck, her Dad’s death, and the resentment and pain she felt from dropping out of medical school from grief.

What would her Dad think of her? She was working somewhere where she saw more walls than she saw people. Where her boss called her the “voice-literally” of the company because her duty was to manage the phone lines and any other form of communication, yet no one saw or would see her face.

She turned on her computer, and flung herself in the chair feeling hollow and missing her Dad more than ever.

She pulled up her personal email account, breathing heavily. Her eyes fixed onto the last email from him. The last email her dad had sent before he died. She let out a deep breath and clicked onto it, reading over words she had nearly memorized by now. He had spent the last two years before he died traveling, volunteering with mission groups that brought food and medical supplies to children. He had been at a remote village in the Amazon Basin, his email filled with the story of his struggle to communicate with the locals in the village. “After hand motions…talking louder and louder and slower and slower (why we do we automatically do that? Hah! NEVER, EVER WORKS but we still give it a go anyway)…the whole nine yards–The chief smiled. And I smiled. He laughed. I laughed. Smiling–it was just about the only thing we understood. I tell ya…if you wanna make a difference, make someone smile.

At the end he had put the quote, “Everyone smiles in the same language”-don’t you forget it, Love Dad =)

Bev read the quote again and again.  Could she ever really have an impact on someone’s life when her career involved practically zero human contact when it did not involve the phone or email?

She read it again.

smile

 

Bev logged out of her personal account and signed into the office email. As she was replying about a client’s question, she decided send out a smiley face next to her name. Before long, Bev decided to send out a smiley face with as much communication as possible, when appropriate. Whether it was through email or by her personal signature, she always sent out a little smile. She didn’t really think it would make a huge difference, but she felt like maybe she was at least sending a little happiness someone’s way.


 

Two years later…

Bev looked into the tiny office with it’s gray brick walls, sagging curtains, and old computer one last time, her heart swelling with happiness and sadness all at once. She had just learned what a difference that smile made. She received hundreds of calls, emails, gifts, and notes of gratitude from so many people she never even met. Hundreds of people had flooded her with gifts, memories of small conversations or shared laughs, saying they would miss “the girl who sent smiles”. Notes which said, “I will never forget the girl who made people smile.” “I know we never met, but we became friends, how amazing is that.” “Bev, you made me feel like I mattered,  you are an amazing young girl.”

Apparently that smile mattered to some people a lot, a lot more than Bev realized.

Today Bev is a cardiologist, making her dreams a reality, and signing her name with a smile.

Wherever you are you can touch someone else’s life. If you can brighten someone else’s day or make them laugh or smile, or complement them in some way, you are a world changer. Even if it was just for a moment, you made someone feel like they mattered or that they were special. We need more of that in the world.

Wherever you are…whoever you are…you can make a difference!

Happy Wednesday!

Never Underestimate the power of info-commercials

Never Underestimate the power of info-commercials.

Info-commercials. Those LONG, and I mean LONG commercials, featuring some rather outlandish gadget full of promise and sometimes the potential to change your life, a narrator which is on the verge of yelling due to feigned excitement, and a cluttering of the following phrases: BUT WAIT! There’s MORE!, TWO HUNDRED easy payments of $19.95, CALL NOW TO RECEIVE A SECOND…blah, blah.

info

You are probably thinking you are immune. Info-commercials have nothing on you. I mean the Snuggie, come on!?

Others of you who may know what I am talking about are probably nodding your heads, filling with regret at the memory.

I once thought I was immune. I once thought info-commercials had no power over me. But then…one day…

A short story of my personal experience of underestimating the power of the info-commercials:

It was late, and I had taken my little sister to the emergency room. We sat there in the hospital waiting area for…you know how it goes…forever. After picking through almost an entire stack of magazines, we were running out of ways to entertain ourselves.

Then it happens. A voice fills the air. A voice filled with excitement, so unlike all of us members of the waiting room who are in desperate need of sleep, medication, or coffee. The voice is coming from each of the four TVs placed at each corner of the room. Half of the people in the room all are suddenly drawn to the bright lights, the annoyingly energetic narrator, and the product that will revolutionize our lives.

The Brazilian Butt Lift. A workout promising a gorgeous, sculpted body– which with this convenient DVD pack could be achieved in a matter of 60 days. A workout specially and scientifically designed to maximize calorie burning, target “trouble areas” and designed….FOR YOU. BUT WAIT! (Oh, the magical words) this workout is FUN!

but-wait

I listened, at first just out of shear boredom, but then…I started to sit up straighter, my eyes began to focus again. At the time I was about 20-25 lbs. overweight. After dutifully running for miles and miles and hardly losing an ounce, I was frustrated. Suddenly a light seemed to come down, shining like a spot light on the TV and the words, “Brazilian Butt Lift”. 01-spotlight

THIS IS THE ANSWER, AUTUMN. THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR. Something inside of me whispered. Then came the testimonies of people who had lost 50, 60, 100, 200 lbs. from The Brazilian Butt Lift workout. The commercial went on and on at least for 30 minutes, featuring snippets of the workout and testimonials, deals and prices. Meanwhile my sister finally got called into the doctor’s office. So I was left there in the waiting room, vulnerable and alone…

As the rather hefty price for a set of DVDs played out again on the commercial, I fought with myself. Autumn, you can just go running, more running…you love running (NOT!).  Then another testimonial played, “I had 20 stubborn pounds I just could not lose, but after trying the Brazilian Butt Lift, the pounds melted off!”

THIS IS THE ANSWER, AUTUMN. THIS IS WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR.

I grabbed my phone and dialed the number.

Several days later, The Brazilian Butt Lift arrived.

To this day I have probably used it about 5 times. (And I just want to say, it wasn’t a bad workout and not saying that it couldn’t work, it…just…I don’t know-not for me! I ended up losing the weight from a strict diet and playing Ultimate Frisbee everyday! Ultimate Frisbee was actually, truthfully fun, which is why I was able to do it every single day!)

Never Underestimate the power of the info-commercial. No one is safe.

I would love to hear your stories of items you’ve bought online or through the TV in a moment of weakness? What did you think of them?

Never Underestimate Your Ability to Notice

NEVERUNDERESTIMATE

Definition of the word “underestimate” according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:

  1.  to estimate (something) as being less than the actual size, quantity, or number
  2. to think of (someone or something) as being lower in ability, influence, or value than that person or thing actually is

Never Underestimate your ability to notice.

Do you ever feel forgotten about? Or if maybe not forgotten, overlooked? It happens to us all. Literally all of us.

Have you ever had this experience?

You are with a group of friends…coworkers…family…people. Everything is laughing, talking, having a good time. You start telling a story of some kind. You have barely started telling it when you realize somehow someone else has started talking and…everyone is laughing and listening to them. Your words start to get quieter and quieter and slowly fade into almost nothingness as you look around for any stragglers who may be still listening to you. After a glance around the room, you stop talking and give up. Oh well, it just happens (A LOT) You think to yourself. You join in with the others, listening wholeheartedly to the individual who has taken (stolen) the floor.

awkward moment

Yeah. I think we’ve all been there.

And we have probably all been the person on the other end who cut someone off while they were talking.

But… have you ever had this happen?

After 10 minutes your half told story has never made a comeback…it has officially died. Then out of nowhere someone turns, looks you in the eyes and says, “Hey, you started telling a story about such and such….what happened?”

You sit there, in shock and amazement. So someone was listening! Someone does care! Isn’t is startling?  And… AWESOME!

When people notice things about our lives it makes us feel special and cared about. It just makes our day when someone takes the time to compliment us in a very specific way, they ask about something talked about in previous conversation, or remember important dates and events coming up in our life. When people notice things about our lives it makes us feel wanted, like we matter.

I love Trent Shelton’s saying, “It all starts with you.” If we like the feeling of being noticed, why not share the love? =) Truthfully, most of us aren’t very good at noticing things…other than bad things. I’m not sure how or why but bad things are so much more noticeable, but for some reason that is what our minds latch onto. So how do we change this cycle and become someone who is good at noticing?

Three things to help you tap into your “noticing the good things” superpower:

  1. Listen. Being a good listener is devoting your whole attention to whoever is talking and engaging by asking questions, looking at them, and joining in the conversation. (Put your phone AWAY!)
  2. Remember. Do whatever it takes to remember important events or even unimportant things happening in the lives people you come in contact with. I am so, so bad at remembering things, for me I have to write stuff down!
  3. Make a point to say something. People won’t know if you don’t say something…so speak up!

Noticing things has a lot of power. It can literally turn someone’s day around or even make their day. Noticing things can bring more depth to your relationships. Noticing things can save someone. Never Underestimate your ability to notice.

HAPPY FRIDAY!! =)))

 

 

 

The Batman series is AMAZING. You know what makes this series so amazing? Alfred. 

Alfred has always been one of my favorite characters…he’s just kind of awesome.

Alfred is the butler, friend and unsung hero. Every hero…every person…needs an Alfred in their life-someone who will call us out, is fiercely loyal, inspires us or saves us from ourselves. 

I love quotes–I love the power a sentence or a phrase or a word can have…and how something so small can grip your heart or motivate you to action. This is one of those quotes that gives me chills! And is said by Alfred of course…


We all are going to fall. Falling is painful. Sometimes things get broken on the way down. Sometimes they get so broken we don’t even think we can get back up.

But no matter how bad the fall…GET UP. Don’t quit. GET UP. Don’t let the fall defeat you…use it to make you stronger.

Falling hurts but it also teaches us, prepares us, motivates us, and makes us stronger. 

Every superhero has fallen, failed or experienced defeat….but we still call them heroes. Why? Because when they fell they got back up. 

Thank you Alfred for your words of wisdom!

  

You are just too nice

Have people ever told you, “You know what your problem is, you are just too nice!” ?
Is there really such a thing as being too nice?

No. 

Before you start writing your rebuttal please continue reading.

I am not talking about being fake and nice…that’s called CHEESE. It’s awful!! Cheesy people are the worst! No I’m talking about nice people that are just genuinely nice. Those people you bump into or meet that leave you smiling and thinking, Gosh! That person was super awesome! I believe striving to be overflowing with kindness changes and impacts the world around you in huge ways. I believe there is enormous power in nicest….and that you are influencing and bettering a lot of lives with your kindness….and as an added bonus nice people tend to be happy people.

But…still…can one be too nice? No…but there is such a thing as allowing yourself to be taken advantage of

People call it “being too nice” but I call it the fear of confrontation and not believing or knowing your worth. 

The fear of confrontation can be a huge problem. The good news is you aren’t one of those people that pick and search for fights and cause a lot of grief to not only others but themselves as well–the bad news is you often feel unappreciated, used, like people don’t listen to or value your work or opinions, and you might just have very low self esteem. The fear of confrontation can take over your life and lead you to down a destructive path. It breaks up friendships, relationships, and opportunity. And in the long run it turns genuinely nice people in to bitter and very mean people.

How do you break the fear of confrontation?

Know your worth. You are valuable! Do you believe that? Really believe it?You have to believe that about yourself. And because you are valuable you have to learn to stand up for yourself…because you owe that to yourself. No one should be taken advantage of…but more importantly no one should allow themselves to be taken advantage of. 

Confrontation is part of life…it will happen at work, in your home, with strangers or with friends and family ….confrontation is everywhere. I hate it…it’s uncomfortable but it’s just gonna happen. If something bothers you say something…be nice (you should be good at that! 🙂 ) but say something. More often than not you will discover people don’t realize they are hurting you or know you are feeling unappreciated. And when you say something? It will clear the air, open a door, sometimes close a door, and most importantly you will be glad you said something. 

I hope this post helps someone out there! I am one of those people who wants to run and hide at the first sign of confrontation…it scares me to death! But I had to realize in the end my lack of being able to stand up or speak up about things was really, really hurting me. The more I faced confrontational situations the easier and less scary it became and the better I felt inside. I was still nice and kind but I felt stronger and more valued! 

Stand up, speak up, be nice and know your worth! 

Have a great saturday! 😊 

Disapearances, socks and other mysteries of the universe

The universe contains many mysteries…

One show that scared the living daylights out of me when I was little was Unsolved Mysteries.

Apparently his name is Robert Stack

Apparently his name is Robert Stack

For those of you who ever watched this show, do you remember THAT MAN, the host? He was a rather frightening individual. I call him THAT MAN because I don’t know his name or anything about him. All I know is his voice had a way of sending chills down my spine, his face haunted my sleep, and he had a way of making the unsolved mysteries forever seem unsolvable.

1958, Northern Wisconsin

Norma Jean is thrilled about her brand new laundry machine. Her dear husband who bought it for her, has been away on a business trip in Chicago and will be arriving in just a few hours. The children were packed away a hours before and are spending the weekend with Grandma. Norma Jean is all alone in their neat little house on the end of the street. The laundry is washed and dried, all that is left to do is fold it. She sits in front of the television, and folds.

The house is quiet.

Too quiet.

And dark.

Too dark.

Norma can’t help but notice how her heart seems to be beating much to quickly and her arms dot with goose bumps at every creak and groan the house makes. She turns on the television, to drown out the silence. I Love Lucy. Norma groans, Lucy has always reminded her of that little tart of a secretary at her husband’s firm. The girl wears nothing but skin-tight red skirts and blouses, and spends her day giggling at Mr. Jean while blowing kisses with her red lips, tapping her red nails, and puffing her red hair. Norma’s cheeks flood with heat at just the thought of the little hussy. At least her mind has moved on from the strange creaks throughout the house.

Lassie, the collie has growled twice now. Every time she walks past the laundry room, she whines. Norma’s hands shake and she folds faster and faster. She tries to focus on the annoying little giggle the secretary makes each time Mr. Jean smiles at her. Speaking of Mr. Jean, where is he? She glances at the clock on the wall. He was late, half an hour late.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The incessant clock’s ticking has seemed to become louder and louder, barreling in through Ricky Ricardo’s smooth Cuban accent. Lassie stands outside of the laundry room door, looking like a soldier on duty. She is stiff, ears twitching, listening.

Bark! Growl! Bark! Lassie’s bark is so loud, Norma jumps. Lassie sniffs at the air then sniffs her way out to Norma Jean and the basket of laundry sitting in front of her. Norma tells Lassie to pipe down and turns the television up higher.  She folds and folds, casting a glance towards the laundry room every now and again. Her fingers have hit the bottom of the laundry basket to find the only thing left to fold are her husband and children’s socks.

I sock, 2 socks…bundle. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle. She pairs together the socks, one after another. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle.

The light above her flickers. At the same instance the house groans, the floor boards from upstairs creak. Norma freezes. She stares at the laundry room. “It’s just the wind,” she whispers to herself and Lassie. She can’t help but feel something is wrong– something horrible is about to happen.

She resumes folding, her fingers trembling. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle. 1 sock, 2 socks…bundle. 1 sock….

Norma Jean’s scream pierces the air. She stares at the object in her hand, her entire body is shaking. “NO!” She screams. She bolts up and dashes to the laundry room, throws open the lid to the washing machine and looks in. She screams again, sending little echoes throughout the room.

Vanished. The word forms in her brain and lodges it’s way into her throat, refusing to come out. Vanished.

Right from in front of her.

Never to be found.

A sock’s soul mate was stolen in the night, never again to return.

The Vanishing Sock has never since been found…and remains an unsolved mystery to this day. Still one of the biggest unsolved mysteries in the world, hundreds of people have attempted to come up with products to ensure the protection and survival of socks, to little avail. Disappearance of socks with little or next to no explanation has become a global matter, and haunts each and every sock on laundry day. Not one sock is safe. The journey through the wash cycle is a dangerous one for socks, there are no guarantees and there have been no recoveries.

To the lost socks of the universe, we have not forgotten you.

This story is a contributor to the thousands, millions of case files trying to solve the age-old mystery of the disappearance of socks–a mystery which has gone quite cold  and may remain forever in that old storage room filled with mysteries of the universe.   Missing

Just Keep Writing

Dear Writers,

Just because someone you know has not been able to publish any of their 20 manuscripts….does not mean you won’t be able to publish your 1 manuscript.

I finally met a fellow writer…in person. I feel like most of the writers I know are trapped in the glass, plastic and metal components of my cell phone or laptop, in the world of social media. Every now and then I think to myself I wish some of these writer people lived nearbywhat great friends we’d be! It’s strange because sometimes it’s hard to imagine these people (often in different countries!) are actually real. And I am sure Pennsylvania has writers…I just need to get out more… visit more coffee shops perhaps.

But finally, I was able to sit face to face, shake the hand of an actual fellow writer. Let me just say, it is awesome to be chatting with someone and discover they are a writer too!

I was in Colorado last week, at an interview. You know me, it seems lately when I am not writing I spend my time either at interviews or preparing for interviews. LOL. I even have an interview later today (wish me luck)!  A blog post may be coming soon about interviews, What I have Learned So Far or Interviews and Introverts (Although I don’t know if I’m exactly an introvert…just SCARED SILLY when it comes to interviewing!). I have now had Skype, Government, interviews in front of a board of 5+ people, phone interviews, interviews with presentations, interviews with literary agents (the MOST terrifying!), interviews in which the interviewers pretended to be students misbehaving (the latest)….and more. So definitely have had a broad range of experiences, some very positive and some not so much! So stay tuned for this future post!

Anyway, back in Colorado. The writer I met was a History Teacher and let me just say the man was intelligent.I'm Brilliant It wasn’t that he was one of those people who tries to shove their intelligence in your face, “BTW…I’m brilliant!” He was one of those people whose words, mannerisms, and whole persona spoke of genius.

Like without trying the intelligence would pop out of him in little bursts. Anyway, SUPER, SUPER nice guy! In conversation he hears me say that I’m a writer/working on writing a Historic Romantic Suspense series. We get to talking and he has written a several books. Boy was I excited to hear from this more seasoned writer’s experiences. One of my favorite comments he told me (while laughing) he received from an agent rejection letter was, “Loved your characters, but the end of the book was like an empty room with white walls.” As he told me more and more about his experience he said he could probably fill a small room with the number of letters, emails and notes of the times he’s been rejected. I felt my stomach twist.

I’ve always believed that some way, some how if I don’t give up I will find an agent, I will get published. It may take a LONG time and a lot of rejections but I believed that if I didn’t quit it would pay off. Hearing that this amount of rejection happened to a man who doesn’t quit easily, who is incredibly brilliant, and his book had yet to been published… was discouraging.

But then…

That is his story.

Not mine. (NOT YET anyway!)

I just want to tell all of you writers out there it can get discouraging when you hear about the failures and rejections other writers have experienced. (Especially when those writers are brilliant and creative and good at what they do!) But just because they got rejected does not mean YOU will.

DON’T GIVE UP. KEEP WRITING!