Friday, November 24, 2023

It's Always Socks

Thanksgiving this year was peacefully silent and void of any drama or chaos. I have friends who would strongly argue that's not real Thanksgiving haha. They may be right.

It's Black Friday, and the most shopping I've done is add a pickup order of typical groceries and self-care items: shampoo, soap, milk, dog food, Advil, and socks. It's always socks. 

I took a walk with the pup earlier and was immediately reminded that the years in Texas have softened my cold weather adaptation. To a pathetic level.

Still, I remain grateful to be back, cozying up to a fire in the fireplace, and a symphony of dog snores setting the mood. The noise is my head is still anger, but it's feeling different now. Less volatile and more resolved to move forward. There's power in cutting ties with those who no longer need to take up space in your story. Sure, they could be villains, but true villains should still be worthy of one's time. And this...period of noise...has taken up more space and time than it ever deserved.

So l I'll remind myself, and whomever else needs a challenge: Whatever else is coming, let me be the commander of my principles. And fuck off to whomever tries to disturb my resolve.

Coming soon - because it IS - new story update!

Sunday, October 1, 2023

To Hell and Back

Sometimes it's easier to pretend the bad isn't as bad as we think. But when we are hit with raw data, it's hard to look the other way.

This is a return, of sorts.

A little over 7 years ago, I packed up and left Missouri for Texas; my heart full of promises of opportunity, massive earning potential, the adventure of a new city. All of that. 

I write this sitting in my late father's bedroom, pondering all the risks taken and weighing the losses against the gains. I wonder if I'll come back from this, or if the sting will just continue to dig deeper.

Reality wasn't necessarily unkind. I have met amazing people I intend to stay in touch with and see as often as possible. The other side of the pendulum swung, though. In 7 years, I've lost 4 significant family members. That's still gut-wrenching. Financially, the move to Texas has been utterly draining.

I have been rejected.

I stopped writing.

I stopped dreaming.

I stopped knowing myself. 

The wins I thought were wins were actually no more than survival tactics. 

It's dark, it's bleak. But I'm still here. Still pushing back against these walls. 

I left Texas last Wednesday. It was a hard drive mainly because I'm still fighting off lingering Covid symptoms. But also, as I crossed over into Missouri from Arkansas, I had a panic attack. For a second I wondered if leaving Texas was wrong. It was wrong - still wrong - not to tell the friends I love that I truly left. It was a quick "be back in a month" convo, but me coming back is mainly to pack up the rest of the apartment. Because everything inside of me has been screaming to get out. 

The panic attack, I believe, was my body surrendering to the weight of the years of overwhelming stress and disappointment. Yes, still bleak. But as I took deep breaths and looked at my surroundings, a calmness took hold. The air was no longer hot and stifling Texas air. There was a breeze. The sun wasn't as harsh. The leaves on the ground even had that beginning gorgeous fall blush. 

I could breathe again. 

I could come back from this.

The pendulum will swing back, but this time in my favor. At least I hope.

And having hope is already a sign that things are shifting.

I started this adventure over 7 years ago convinced that as long as my intentions were good, nothing too tough for me to handle could throw me off my game. 

The idea of defeat and failure is devastating, as is the knowledge that people you put faith in as having equally good intentions is the purest form of deceit. 

Maybe it isn't defeat if I got away, though. Maybe it isn't failure if I'm already making plans to rebuild.

Maybe the real proof that I'll be okay is starting a new story. One of hope...


Tuesday, November 2, 2021

LIFE AFTER A DEATH


In a post-2020 world, we're all used to Zoom, Skype, all the virtual connections. It's just another way to have a conversation without wearing any pants or a bra. For this I am grateful. 

It was pretty uneventful to be chatting about winter plans when my friend just mundanely adds the following to the conversation: "I think I'm going to rewrite my brother's obituary."

I've known Abby for probably half my life. We grew up in neighboring small towns in Southeast Missouri. We have the same sense of absurdity in the face of loudness - meaning we effortlessly find humor in less than ideal (or appropriate) situations. 

It's that humor that got us both through 2020, where we both had the misfortune of losing someone we loved beyond words. Death isn't funny, to be clear. But looking back at those few months after my Dad passed away, and it's very clear I was out of my mind. Grief is like that - you push your feet forward. Put clothes on. Interact with people. Even laugh at normal situations. The sentiment isn't insincere, but it is robotic. Because part of grief is living through the pain of your heart being ripped apart every hour of the day. 

Grief is worse than death. It shows up when you least expect it - like at Target when you're just picking out underwear. Or at a restaurant with friends. Like a sucker punch, it hits you. Literally. And you have no explanation to anyone around you other than "yes, I'm crying. No, I don't need anything. No, I'm not fine...except I am...except I'm not...there's nothing you can do...except maybe don't look at me...but this will pass...it's just a moment. An ugly moment."

Abby dealt with her grief the way people deal with long lines. She grew impatient, desperate to find a way out of a club no one wants to be part of. She wanted to find herself again - her old self. To move forward without her mind flashing back to that horrible day. So it wasn't out of the normal for her to lash out. But hell, we're all just trying to get through it. 

Her brother passing wasn't completely out of the blue. He struggled with addiction his entire life. In a way, Abby said her parents expected that day - THAT phone call. Not that it made it easier. And in death, we all focus on something. We have to, right? Something to do to keep our minds off of that moment. 

But like everything else, eventually the feelings we try to choke back return. Moments we would like to relive so we can redo them return. Mine was a particularly horrendous moment with my mom. We were packing up my dad's things in the nursing home. There was a mixture of closure knowing I'd never have to set foot in that place again. Then there was the other thing - knowing I'd never see him again. Knowing I wasn't there the moment he passed. Praying to God, for the first time in a long time, that my grandma was there to greet him in the moment. Back at the nursing home, I was growing impatient with the amount of crap my mom wanted to keep and take home. Long story short...It was what I'll refer to as an ugly daughter moment. And I can't take it back. I can only hope people around me were forgiving as to the situation. 

I have lots of regrets - big ones. Abby's regret was much more logical. She hated the obituary she wrote for her brother. It was written after 20 hours of no sleep in her childhood bedroom - I knew the hell she was talking about. It was an emotional piece for someone who strived to be logical and calm. That haunts her. 

"I don't think we can rewrite obituaries more than a year later," I offered quietly. 

"I'm going to ask - I don't want that one recorded forever." 

I didn't have the heart to tell her it's archived in the local paper. What was the point of telling her anyway? "What would you say?" 

She smirked on video and just said, "something more about him and less about how heartbroken we all were."

We're all just trying to get through it. 

At the beginning of 2021, I gave myself a resolution (probably more correctly a goal) of healing. Because grief had/has taken hold. I can't say this year has been better than '20 in regards to healing or moving forward. But for what it's worth...and with barely more than a few weeks left to the year...I'm writing again. 


Tuesday, April 21, 2020

New Blog Series: Tell Me a (Ghost) Story

So it's been a long, long hiatus from the writing world, but I'm diving back into it - just in time for a quarantine!

Coming in just 2 weeks is a new blog series (same SCARY GOOD page - do subscribe!) following real-life stories of hauntings. I'm particularly excited about Part I, entitled A Simple Home.




Here's a little teaser:

There were wind chimes hanging on the front porch, swaying softly, adding extra charm to what we knew would be our home. The backyard was big enough that I knew we'd be able to add a swing-set for our son.

Nothing about this modest ranch seemed odd or alarming; in fact, I remember having an argument with my husband because I was so in love with this old farmhouse north of town. Maybe it was a money pit, but I loved the arched doorways and big, open kitchen. He hated how large it was, and hell, even made a joke that it looked like it was haunted.

He convinced me to downsize my dream home in the name of logic (and finances). So the little ranch crept its way up our list until it was the one. 

So we went with simplicity - something affordable that we could gradually upgrade. The whole process was effortless - the buying, the closing, the moving. Looking back, maybe that should have been a red flag that something was wrong. No move is ever perfect, but this one truly was. Even with a four year-old clutching my waist.

Had you asked me at the time about stepping into the unknown all because of a simple home, I would have laughed. Life was good back then. And it was for a while even after we settled in (right after the holidays, believe it or not). That summer, though, was the season that changed everything. I quickly went from skeptic to believer.



STAY TUNED FOR PART I: If you're looking for a good read, check out my AMAZON PAGE!


Sunday, October 21, 2018

RED MOTHER DEAD: A Merry Halloween Release!


IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! 

After probably the longest overhaul (between moving 700 miles and plucking at a vampire story...where nothing sparkles except for the floors), the release is finally upon us! And what better way to usher in Halloween than with a new story! 

Below are the gritty details (with a little excerpt at the bottom)! Thank you all for the support! This story holds a special place in my heart. It was the last story started in St. Louis and the first one to finish in Dallas (coincidentally, the next story does take place in Texas...but you'll have to read this one first 😼). 



Undying love, a fear of the dark, and a passion for disinfectant bring forth a new romantic horror!

Brit McKay, faithful (and OCD) housekeeper of the Brennan Estate must battle germs AND the paranormal in order to keep those she loves safe. But are the disturbances truly of a paranormal nature? Or is the new tenant (and Brit's old flame) causing the chaos? 

Jack Brennan has been lost in a state of depression since his wife's death. He seeks refuge at the Brennan Estate...unaware that what he's running from has found him. But is it all in his head, or has something insidious returned from the grave to haunt him? 

A TEASER!


7:30AM

“How long do I have to stay here?”
            The morning had been rough. Liam was more than a little scared about school – that much was clear. But Brit could be tough. And as they walked through the front doors of the school, she could sense the kid starting to buckle.  
            “It’s only four hours a day.” She said firmly. “You can handle four hours of school.”
            She hadn’t heard of a part-time kindergarten before, and it seemed a little ridiculous. At the same time, Liam was an anxious kid. Maybe four hours to him felt like ten hours.
            “But not until tomorrow, right? I don’t have to stay here today?”
            She bent down on one knee to talk to him. “You had school in Indiana, right?” He nodded softly. “This is the same situation, just with different kids. No big deal.”
            “What if they don’t like me?”
            He was sucking on his lower lip nervously. “They’ll like you. I like you, and I don’t really like anybody.” He smiled at her remark, then took her hand. This is how kids get to you, she thought, they do cute things to try and get you to forget how full of bacteria they are. “Okay, you’ll start tomorrow. Maybe your dad will have time to drop you off in the morning, too.”
            “And you’ll come too, right?”
            She couldn’t get over his little face. One dimple on his left cheek. Big doe eyes. And his habit of sucking on his lower lip.
            “Yes, I’ll drop you off either way. Okay?”
            She felt his hand grip hers tighter. “Okay.”
            “Liam,” she kept her voice steady – because she needed to address his safety without scaring him. “I need to ask you to keep your window closed and locked at night.” His eyes looked puzzled, so she added, “It’s too cold at night to leave your window open. I don’t want you to get sick.”
            “I just left it open a little bit.” He whispered.
            A cracked window is all a murderer needs, she thought. And after what she had seen on the news, an attack just down the street had her on high alert. “But I need you to leave it closed for now, okay?”
            He stared at her blankly for a moment. “But…my mama talks to me there…”
            She cupped his little face in her hands. “Your mama is always with you in spirit, Liam. But she also wants you to be safe. Just like me, and your dad, and your Aunt Melanie. So, can you please promise me that you’ll keep your window closed?”
            He didn’t look very convinced. Maybe she was being insensitive to his deceased mother. “Liam, if you get lonely at night, I’m just down the hall. So is your dad. But the window must stay closed. I promise you that your mother understands. She wants you to be safe.”
            Brit wasn’t sure how much he understood.
            “Enough talk of safety and windows, right? Let’s get some hot chocolate.”

            His face lit up. The awkwardness of the conversation lifted. She made a mental note to check his window before she went to bed.  

+++

Sunday, August 12, 2018

Nightmare Apartment

(DISCLAIMER: I love ghost stories and I love Halloween - but many a friend I've gained has had something eerie enter their life. This is a story that started nearly a decade ago - and it's one that fortunately has a good ending (so far). And, best of all, it's a great muse for a new book! Do you have any nightmare apartment or housing stories? Please share in the comments!)

I've been an apartment dweller my entire life - which means I've probably heard every kind of noise and smelled every kind of smell possible. Good neighbors truly are what make great apartments. They create the true dynamic of a building. Good history adds great character. Happy portraits that line the common walkways as each tenant finds their own font door - portraits of past social gatherings, block parties, barbecues - they all breed the same effect. Home. Comfort. Safety. 

Bad history, though, can add its very own element.

A few years ago, my old friend Darren (also an apartment dweller) relocated to a tiny Midwestern town and became enchanted by a street of historical buildings and homes that date back to the early 1900s. So enthralled by the quiet tree-lined street, he actually bought a swanky 1000 sq. ft. shotgun style apartment that was inside a towering Victorian. He liked the openness of space, the 10 ft ceilings, the French doors that led to a narrow 3rd floor balcony, and the giant vintage fireplace that made the front of the apartment pop.



The stark white Victorian had been renovated and divided into 12 separate units sometime in the 1960s. The unit Darren purchased hadn't been occupied in over a decade, and had instead been used as storage for the building's former owner. The unit - located at the end of the 3rd floor hallway - had a cozy feeling to it. But it started out as less than welcoming.

After the apartment had been emptied, Darren discovered that every wall had a crucifix nailed to it. "Religious fanatics," was what Darren had been told by both the former building owner and the realtor. Former tenants who seemingly prayed day and night. It was odd, and it gave Darren pause. After all, why would a property owner leave an entire unit unoccupied for over a decade, and instead just use it for storage? That seemed like a waste of money and a waste of space in a building that stood out for its beauty and location.

The lush Victorian stood tall at the end of the street. To this day, superstitions about ghosts and bad luck persist in the area. Longtime locals recounted tales of murder inside the Victorian. Specifically, a former resident had allegedly murdered his bride on their wedding night. It was an eerie and intriguing story, but there were no town or county records of any such tragedy - not inside the Victorian nor in the quiet town.



Being a level-headed man, Darren pushed any reservations he had to the side and bought the unit. After 2 months of remodeling, Darren moved in. But within a week's time, he began to notice strange scratching noises at night. First he assumed it was an animal scratching against the outside of the building. But the noises soon grew louder, as if coming from inside the apartment.

He set mouse traps and eventually adopted a cat, thinking the problem would go away. But the noises persisted. His mother, an avid believer in ghosts and the paranormal, made a 2 hour trip from St. Louis to check out her son's home. One single night in the apartment was all she needed to make an astonishing claim.

"There's a demon in this house."

Darren recalled rolling his eyes at her remark. She had been up investigating the scratches, but like Darren, she couldn't find a physical cause. Or even evidence that anything had been disturbed.

"There's no demons." He said firmly. "It's an old home. There are probably rodents in the walls." He planned to hire an exterminator to investigate. But his mother doubted that was the cause.

"I saw a black shadow." She alleged. "It rolled from the ceiling to the floor, like mist, then picked itself up as if it were taking the form of man, and it walked straight to the back door."

Darren again dismissed her claims. "Too many scary moves."

But when the hired exterminator couldn't find any evidence of rodents (or any other pests) behind the walls, his frustration grew.

Until one day he noticed a strange trail of ash that was sitting in the middle of the apartment. It wasn't pieces of drywall or dirt. He couldn't explain how it got there or why. He swept it up, took the trash out, and the very next morning the trail of ash was back.



One night- the worst night - he woke up to hear what sounded like heavy footsteps walking toward the back door. He turned the lamp on next to his bed, and to his horror watched as the deadbolt on the door that led to that narrow balcony slowly began to unlock...seemingly on its own. As the deadbolt could only be locked or unlocked from inside the apartment, Darren stormed outside and spent the night in his car.

Regardless of the logic he depended on always, the scratching noises just weren't going away. The trail of ash on the floor became a new daily phenomenon. Then there was the self-turning lock... And inevitably, he thought about all those crucifixes that had once lined the walls inside the unit. 

At long last, he called a minister and asked for help. After blessing the apartment, the noises ceased. The ash went away. Doors and locks stayed as they were. The place was quiet. In another year, the noises would return, but Darren wasted no time in calling the minister again. Every year since, he's had the apartment blessed. And each year that has passed has grown calmer and more serene.

This isn't a Hollywood story where a war between heaven and hell grew to a climax, by any means. But it's a great reminder that not all alleged hauntings end with the owner(s) fleeing their home at midnight. Sometimes a haunting can be pieces of the past that simply need to be quieted so that new memories can add new life and depth.

And if you're curious, Darren still lives in that 3rd floor unit. Peacefully.



*I do not own or have copyright to images*



Wednesday, May 30, 2018

The Trader Joe's Experience

A year ago, I uprooted my life for a 10 year career and moved to Dallas. There are lots of things that happen when you have a sudden life shift. Lots of firsts. Lots of new faces. Lots of learning. And, no surprise, lots of stress.



A month ago I had a pretty severe nervous breakdown. In truth, it had been building for some time. The adrenaline high that you get from moving into a completely new environment can only last so long. Eventually, if you're not taking care of yourself and paying attention, you're gonna crash and burn.

Fortunately, I've been bouncing back pretty smoothly (albeit, it's felt like a slow crawl out from under a rock). A large part of my so-far recovery has been because of great support from family and friends, and great advice: starting with getting out more.

We live in an age where technology makes it possible to never leave the house unless you're going to work. I think that can be a detriment to your mental health after a while.

So, breathing in fresh air and accepting my own failings, I stepped back into the world - and in this journey found myself inside a Trader Joe's.

In truth, I don't know what my great expectation was, short of feeling out of place (and I did). I frequent Kroger (or wherever is closest that honors coupons). I was astonished that TJ wasn't the overpriced, hyped let-down I envisioned. And what was especially telling was just how ordinary (and generic) it was.



The food? The selection was minimal and in truth I could get the same at Tom Thumb or Kroger. The size? I could get on board with a smaller store compared to the mega Kroger just a few miles from my apartment. The wine? Alright, I'll admit the price was pretty damn good. The people?

There's the most interesting part. The tribal, familial, clannishness of the sandal'ed (and in one instance, socked) feet, Hawaiian shirt (or sun dress...and maybe a fedora) attire, and that airy tone of mall-girl meets hippie when discussing kale and beet salads. Quirky, friendly, and a little bit flaky. It's the flavorful people that make the Trader Joe's experience worth taking, with the goat cheese coming in at second place.

Am I a TJ convert? Probably not quite, but it's given me the strength to go forward and explore Wholefoods. Food and grocer pretension aside, it's a grand thing to pull yourself out of your own comfort zone and challenge yourself. For some, it may be chasing ghosts. For me, it's encountering food snobs in grocery stores. So far, so good.

On to the next! - Stay tuned for an update from a trip back home + other huge changes!