V.L. Brunskill's Blog: Memorial day sale

When I heard that my memoir The Killing Closet is on sale for under $10 on Amazon, it made me think about the father I wrote about in the book.

He was a draft dodger.
She was buried for zero cost at a military cemetery on Long Island, NY.

Intrigued? Horrified?

Please consider purchasing my book. I am working on two more and it would be a great motivator as I head back into the early 1900s this afternoon.

Memorial Day Sale on my memoir ‘The Killing Closet’.
Paperback is under $10!

Your support is appreciated. Have a wonderful memorial day weekend.
https://www.amazon.com/Killing-Closet-V-L-Brunskill/dp/1596161302

Hugs,
V.L.

As I delve into the memories of my unexpected decade (1989–1998) as a rock music journalist in Boston, I find myself falling in love with many of the famous musicians I was lucky enough to interview. Actually, it is really just falling in love all over again.

I am in the process of transferring over a hundred of my recorded interviews from cassettes (yes, cassettes!) to MP3s, as I have finally decided to write the #rockmemoir that has been playing in my head for decades.

I am a member of the #WaltParazaiderFanClub on Facebook. I joined the group one day while remembering Walt’s kindness during our time together. I met him backstage at Harbor Lights (now called Leader Bank Pavilion). I had interviewed him on the phone prior to the #Chicago concert, and he invited me to join the band backstage after the show.

I recall the beauty of that night in light—from the shimmer of the venue lights on Boston Harbor to the spectacular stage lighting that illuminated the legendary band’s performance. It was a different era, one without cell phones or paid backstage access.

When I mentioned to the #WaltParazaider Fan Club that I have a recording of our conversation and that I would like to get a copy to his family, many of the members asked me to post the MP3 recording. My goal in offering the recorded interview to his family was to let them hear his beauty again. They have heard his voice many times, but today, Walt suffers from Alzheimer’s. I relished his words, laughter, and soft-spoken memories, and I thought perhaps they might like to hear them, too.

In response to my post, the good people of the fan club asked me to share the interview. Therefore, I am including it here:

My 1995 interview with Sax player Walt Parazaider of the band Chicago.

Thank you to #MetronomeMagazine and #WaltParazaider of the band #Chicago.
Here’s to you, Walt. Thank you for the memories.https://adoptionfind.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/waltparazaiderchicago1995.mp3

XO
VLB

V.L. Brunskill: Savannah Scribe
𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐂𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐞𝐝 | 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲 𝐛𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐝𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

https://www.bryancountymagazine.com/2...V.L. Brunskill

“Writing has always been very natural to me,” says V.L. Brunskill, “I wrote very dark poems as a child. I kept journals. I was always writing something.”

The author of a novel, a memoir and numerous stories and essays says, “I can’t not do it, even if it’s not publishable, it has to be written down.”

V.L. went from being a student in a journalism class to Boston’s go-to rock writer and national music journalist. It all started with the late great punk icon Joey Ramone.

“I had so much fun, but at first it was just to prove a point. I was learning interview skills in a journalism class at Emerson College in Boston. The Ramones were coming to town and I cold called their management and asked for an interview. They said yes as long as it was a cover story. ‘Of course,’ I said, hung up the phone and called a local music scene magazine and offered them the story!”

That cover story launched her career and before long, “I was being sent press kits and was interviewing every band that played Boston. I went to a lot of concerts and had a blast!”

As a national music journalist, V.L.’s work appeared in Metronome Magazine, CREEM, and The Boston Globe.

Born in Brooklyn, New York, on Christmas Eve and adopted after seven months, V.L. says she was reborn in 1991 when she was reunited with her biological parents in Savannah.

Her writing journey paralleled her personal journey with the publication of her novel Waving Backwards: A Savannah Novel in 2015.

“I had moved to Savannah and fell in love with the city,” she said. “I was only writing short pieces but used NaNoWriMo—National Novel Writing Month held every year in November—as a writing tool. I didn’t write a complete book but at the end of the month I had 50,000 words.” She says “I was writing while I was picking my daughter up from school because I just wanted to see if I could. And the first version of the book was awful.”

But she persevered and rewrote until she completed the book, which was published by Southern Yellow Pine Publishing, LLC.


𝐖𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬

“Imagine not knowing who you are, until you find yourself in a statue 800 miles from home.”

Waving Backwards: A Savannah Novel weaves the story of New York college student Lara Bonavito with the city of Savannah. Adopted into an abusive and impoverished home, Lara’s quest to find her roots lands her in Savannah’s historic district. A vivid cast of characters help her unravel clues found in a cryptic letter hidden in the family bible for two decades. ‘The baby’s roots are with the Southern lady who waves forever.’

The novel features a cast of characters that could be found only in the south, including trolley tour guide Robert Taylor; Kipling-quoting florist Abel Bloom; and comically outspoken Louisiana beauty, Susan Fletcher, Ultimately the heroine uncovers family secrets wrapped in the mystique of Savannah’s Waving Girl statue.

It is a coming-of-age quest that reveals the healing power of family bonds, and maternal love. (www.amazon.com)



𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭 - 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐫

“I was eleven years old when I failed to kill my father.”

V.L. followed the success of her novel with The Killing Closet- A Memoir, also published by Southern Yellow Pine Publishing, LLC, in November 2023.

She says, “I started the book in 2016, but didn’t publish it until last year. It took time, but ultimately I needed it to be out there. I grappled with the idea of publishing. First, because I had hidden from my childhood abuse for so long. I was also concerned whether people would want to read a candid retelling of the abuse.”

She says the impetus to tell her story came from anger. “I started the book when the woman who inherited my father’s estate accused me of abandonment. I wanted her to know what my family had suffered so I recorded my most horrible childhood memories. I was telling her that ‘you didn’t know the man I knew,’”

The Killing Closet is a story of surviving unthinkable abuse, escape and the damage done when one lives a false life.

The false life V.L. refers to is her adoptive father’s life. “My adoptive father had a secret gender. When it was revealed to me, it was yet another dysfunction to sweep under the proverbial rug. I ran away from my father’s truth because I wanted a strong, loving, masculine dad,” she says.

She knows this is a difficult topic for many readers but it also speaks to the pain many live through when they deny who they are, and how that pain becomes inflicted on those around them.

V.L. says, “I could not accept Jo’s truth because I was still healing from the mayhem of having her as my father. This book paints a picture of a tortured life and how her suffering became ours.”

As the book progressed, V.L. says both bereavement and healing began to happen and she was able to use her book as “an examination of domestic abuse and the many ways we humans become trapped.” She says she was able to go back and “find what I really thought and have a perspective of what we really went through,” as a family experiencing profound and brutal domestic violence.

“There is strength in the telling. Whether people read to heal from their own demons, or to understand the dynamics of suffering and survival, there is a place in the world for the books that reveal the frailty of the human condition.” Silence and secrets are deadly not only to the bearer but also to those in their orbit.

“I think another takeaway is the importance of embracing one’s truth. It is going to be painful, and it might break lifelong connections, but only by living one’s truth can we be whole. We need to stop telling people who they are. They already know.”

V.L. was concerned the transgender topic narrowed the story but actually the story is much larger and encompasses family, faith, domestic violence, and finally escape. And there were those who helped.

“The shelter we fled to was the first of its kind in NY, which is important to note. It literally saved our lives.”

As a survivor bearing witness, she has become a helper herself. “Whether trapped by violence or the inability to live one’s truth, I hope my book allows at least one person to unlock their killing closet and step into the light.”


𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬


Waving Backwards explored an adoptee’s search for her biological family in Savannah, and The Killing Closet describes the domestic violence an adoptee and her family experience.

“I believe my memoir offers the adoption yin, while my novel was the yang. In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang represent a universal harmony,” says V.L. “There is good and bad in all things. The way I understand it, the yin is negative, darker, and feminine, and the yang represents positivity. I touch on the topics of adoption, separation, reunion, and family dysfunction in both books.”

She says at book signings there are always those who share their own personal experiences on these topics. “That part of having my books out there has been amazing. What happens is we discover how much we have in common.”


𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬

Hard at work on her third book, V.L. is returning to fiction and it is definitely not adoption related

“My current project is a historic crime fiction set in the south in the early 1900s. It’s a mystery that takes place in the time between the first road races in Savannah and it is based on a real murder.”

She has done extensive research and recently acquired the full transcript of the actual trial. “I am knee-deep in hand-written court records and the researching of historic details,” she says, “and I have 45,000 words done so I am getting there..” The working title for the book is Between the Races.


𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠

In addition to writing, V.L. is a full-time virtual event producer, with clients in Human Resources, the financial world and the law.

“I am always writing, as the job requires a lot of writing about completely different topics.”

She says she makes time for her own personal writing whenever job and family life allow. For relaxation she “absolutely loves my front porch”—a centering place where she can relax and enjoy the southern coastal lifestyle.

“I do love the historic district in Savannah, too” she says, “I enjoy going to local bookstores, and antiquing.”

Savannah is a great writer’s town with a variety of independent bookstores and author events including world-famous Savannah Book Festival where V.L. was honored to meet the late great Pat Conroy, whom she subsequently met at other author events.

“He was very kind to me and when I published Waving Girl, I was honored to give him a copy,” she says.

That’s the magic of Savannah, where writers create and thrive under the sweet southern Spanish moss.

Reviewed by K.C. Finn for Readers’ Favorite

The Killing Closet is a work of non-fiction in the memoir, family life, and inspirational writing subgenres. It is best suited to mature adult readers owing to extensive discussions of domestic violence and child abuse. Penned by author V.L. Brunskill, this poignant memoir recounts the author's tumultuous upbringing on Long Island, New York. Adopted into a family marred by violence, Vicki-Lynn and her brother Peter endure a harrowing existence until she finally seeks refuge in a domestic abuse shelter after years of defending her mother and brother. The narrative delves into the complexities of family dynamics, including the hidden gender identity of the author's adoptive father, Jo Selbach. Following Jo's death, Brunskill embarks on a journey of self-discovery and understanding, grappling with the truth of Jo's identity.

Author V.L. Brunskill's memoir is a testament to the human spirit's capacity to overcome trauma and find redemption, leaving readers both moved and inspired by her courageous journey. Through raw and unadorned prose, this honest and harrowing memoir offers a compelling portrayal of resilience, forgiveness, and the enduring power of hope in the face of adversity, in a narrative that walks a fine balance between the shocking reality of abuse, and never being too gratuitous just for the sake of it. The facts are balanced by Brunskill’s confident, calm narration, which is an inspiration in itself to those seeking to someday also be brave enough to face their demons and discuss trauma with such a well-measured approach. Overall, The Killing Closet is a must-read for anyone seeking to explore the damage done by parents who rule with fear and violence and is a beacon of hope for survivors everywhere.

The Killing Closet

There is a lot of pressure as we enter 2023 to declare a resolution. I have
made my share of resolutions in the past, most rarely kept and remarkably
unimportant in the landscape of my existence. This year, I am tasked with a new
challenge to remain resolute. As much to my surprise, dismay, and delight, I
have signed a publishing contract for my memoir The Killing Closet.

The book, a story of hiding, will likely be released in the Spring of 2023
and I am nervous. When I shared my state of terror with a dear friend she replied,
“Of course you are afraid. All the nerve-endings are on the outside
now. This is something new. You’re not used to being vulnerable.”

I wrote my memoir in an angry tirade after my adoptive father, Jo died in
2015. A stranger had inherited my childhood home. I was cut from the will. The
inheritor of all my childhood things accused me of abandoning my father. She
dumped our photos in a dumpster and sold the rest of our memories in an estate
sale. As usual, I put pen to paper to prove a point. I wanted to show
all the ways that my father had abandoned and abused my family. I’d show the
inheritor!

After the initial throwing up and bleeding-out of words, I revisited the memoir,
and an unexpected understanding overcame me. I came to understand that I loved
my father despite all the years of hating Jo.

As a savvy reader, you have likely noticed that I have yet to use a pronoun
when referring to my father. This is because my father died a woman. She
transitioned in her 70’s.

While the book shares the horrors my family survived, I hope that it is so much more.

It is a story of adoption and the muddied river of methodologies used by social and private adoption agencies to place infants in the 1960s and 70s.

It is a story of embracing one’s truth and the truths of your
children. A child’s identity is not a parent’s to define or control. Only
nurturing their truest selves will help them to live happy lives.

It is a book about mental and physical abuse. Abuse is the extreme
outcome of control or lack thereof.

It is a book of strength, survival and finding safer ground. We left
our abuser and lived to tell the stories.

It is a book of acceptance. Accepting that we are a world of diverse
needs, wants, genders, sexualities, and identities is the pulse of the story.
My father’s parent’s failed her as did the society of her era.

Finally, it is a book of moving forward from our failures. I failed
my father in her last-ditch effort to show me who she was. She wanted to visit.
I refused her. The harsh judgement of the legions of humans who suffer abandonment and a lack of acceptance is where my fear of publication bubbles up most
fervently.

For all the evil she delivered, it was my human duty to give her a
final revelation of her truth. My dear friend argued with me on this point,
having witnessed the tumult of my childhood firsthand.

While it is my truth, and I cannot change my past, the real meaning of The Killing Closet will ultimately be defined by readers.

So, I march forth into 2023 ready for the revelations it brings while shaking in my writer boots! Happy New Year lovely readers, and friends.

With hope and a healthy dose of apprehension,
V.L.

We drove today, my college-age daughter and I, desperate for an escape from the walls and windows that have become our cocoon. We chose today’s path based on traffic levels and the promise of natural views. We left our still bustling burg for the kind of country highway where 1950s restaurant signs dangle, rusting slowly to dust. It is a sleepy township in Southern Georgia with one main road, one small grocery, a handful of steeple-less churches, and yellow wildflowers strewn like stars across every open space.

At the blinking yellow crossroads, where I usually slow before heading straight towards the wonders of The Plunder Box, a consignment, antique, oddity shop that has outfitted my screened-in porch with its plastic peacock, and gruesome facial shelf brackets that look like characters straight out of Disney’s Haunted Mansion, we turned right.

Past caving roofs, ramshackle sheds, and double-wide mobile homes we drove, looking for nothing, something, anything novel, interesting. I spotted the stacked brickwork of the gate, immediately taken with what must have once been a majestic entrance way. Iron fencing extended from the open expanse. A field of weeping grass and unwieldy green extended beyond and up a small hill. We wondered, my daughter and I, if it might have once been farmland as the weeds seemed to grow amid the remnants of trenches, lines plowed repetitively for so long that the earth holds them like muscle memory.

We did not spot any structure. I wondered if a fire leveled whatever dwelling place stood there, resulting in the gated nothingness of the large lot. We drove on, crossing a four-lane highway to reach a bright yellow oasis we’d spotted in the distance. The fruit and vegetables beckoned, a sharp visual contrast against the clay-laden dirt and sandy top of the unpaved lot. A large black pickup truck pulled up next to us in the makeshift lot, its sides zebra striped with the muddy remains of a ride through side roads wet with tipped tidal rivers and risen creeks.

We sat in the car, eyeing the green carpet of smallish watermelons, cantaloupe pyramids, and too-soon tomatoes. A rainbow of freshness, the produce sat atop three rows of yellow painted, rough-hewn wooden tables. A couple of Prius people perused the stacks, touching, squeezing, testing for the choicest fruit. My daughter and I looked at each other.

“No one is wearing gloves or masks,” my daughter said, sounding disappointed.

“Yes, and touching everything,” I agreed.

We watched the Prius with its Florida plates and backseat piled with fleshy finds, leave the lot.

“Let’s go,” I announced, returning to the paved road. Another day, I thought, as we continued our destination-less ride.

Back down the same road we went, perhaps both thinking how good that watermelon might have tasted with a pinch of salt. When we approached the section of road where the gate stood sentinel in front of the once plowed lot, I slowed to look again. So much land, forgotten. I wondered, Why?

Then, I spotted her. She stood at least 200 yards back, with stunning gables, faded white clapboards and six immense top floor windows, each a backdrop to a small balcony. A regal giant, she brought to my mind the house made famous by painter Andrew Wyeth, muted, on a hill above the overgrown land, she took my breath and ignited our imaginations. Who lives there? Is it abandoned? It must be a hundred years old, I thought.

My daughter interrupted my mental story-making and said, “It looks like the house from the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.”

[image error]

House from Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

Driving past the lone structure, I wondered at our different perspectives. How wondrous that my melancholy Wyeth is her macabre, horror classic.

I let out a deep sigh then, for the house and our trip down a road never taken before the world went inside, refilled my worried synapses with wonder.

If that beautiful house could stand through war, storms, famine… and look out over once fertile land, now lacking commerce, activity, or growth, we may follow suit. Our mysteries may endure, and our balconies remain tethered by the strength of a well-built foundation.

Down a country road, we discovered strength, longevity, and perspective for a worldwide pandemic, and beyond.

Note: I Googled the house used in the original 1974 film and it does indeed sit above a field and look eerily like the one we discovered today. For travelers seeking the famed movie house. It is in Granger, Texas off Highway 95 and County Road 336.

Blessings that you find your hopeful road,

V.L. Brunskill

Follow me on Twitter- @RockMemoir

Like my Facebook page

Buy my novel Waving Backwards for Kindle $4.99 at Amazon.com-amazon.com/author/vlbrunskill

 

Living in thought limbo is like rooting feet to pavement as a bus barrels towards you. The past couple of weeks have turned us inside out. Or outside in as laws demand.

As a conference producer, I felt the oncoming chaos in great waves of cancellations and scurrying to fill empty podiums for two San Francisco events. Control, necessary to connect all the moving parts of any live event, spiraled away with every phone call, keystroke. Find a speaker, lose three. Then came the Los Angeles County order to shelter in place, and postponement freed me from the frenetic pace of the search. Exhale.[image error]

Until, New York. Inhale and hold, newscaster’s grim reports, New York Times reality checks, empty shelves, daily meetings with my New York based co-workers. Tiny cosmos growing smaller, isolated. I’ve listened and not written a word until today March 22, 2020. What is there to say? When so many are talking, dying. Perhaps thought limbo is simple numbness. Worst fears realized and so the brain slows to find a pattern in the anti-melodic pace of the communication onslaught. Even reviewing these words as I write makes each feel limp with wishy-washy ideas.

While not writing, I stocked the homestead. A history that has known hunger and struggle tugged vigorously at nerve endings. Never-again, was my thought at age 12, standing in the food pantry line as volunteers put jars of peanut butter and blocks of welfare cheese into our monthly allotment. Keeping close tabs on budget, pantry and needs are habit. Now tested, all I can think of are the women who stand in that line now, little ones hungry at home. A human condition repeated.

What I miss most as I pen these inadequate words, is a sense of control. Any human who has survived chronic abuse knows that control is power. That hungry pre-teen vowed to control her future. Age twenty came and I became a rock journalist. Thirty arrived and I became a mother. Forty marched in and I became a professional writer, author, manager, producer. Decades passed and I kept as much control of my family’s environment as humanly possible.

Five, the fingers on a hand no longer outstretched but limp at our collective sides. Five decades spent believing in a higher power and my own ability to control. Melting now, into a waxy remembrance and bright illumination of the reality that it has all been a parlor trick, smoke and mirrors. A lesson on letting go, incrementally of the control that was never really mine/ours.

The gestures we make as we move forward, whether reactive, inactive, in empathy, or in self-service, are the only human authority.

First words, like toddling steps teeter awkwardly from the page. Inch forward now, inward, outward, together.

Blessings for good health, and human kindness,

V.L. Brunskill

Follow me on Twitter- @RockMemoir

Like my Facebook page

Buy my novel Waving Backwards for Kindle $4.99 at Amazon.com-amazon.com/author/vlbrunskill

 

I set out on the morning of October 10th to get ready for a conference I was to emcee in Miami. Specifically, I sought to get my ragged fingernails tended and mended. I had heard about a new nail place from a friend and drove there first. They were closed. So, I headed across town to my usual spot.

I settled into the kneading joy of the pedicure chair, and the owner (whom I have known for years) introduced the ladies sitting next to me. “What a group we have this morning,” she said, “a powerful trio.”

One of my pampered cohorts explained how she mends broken victims of sexual abuse in a medical care center she established. With little community support and zero funds from the state and local government, she is an outspoken angel for voiceless victims.

The third of our trio is filming a movie at a lovely antebellum mansion in our area. She is also a screenplay writer.  Her movie, based on a novel, is a controversial look at mixed-race relationships in the 1800s.

We chatted and the filmmaker suggested that my father’s story, which is the basis of my memoir, The Killing Closet is important and that getting it picked up by a literary agent is all about timing. She explained that the author who wrote the book upon which her film is based penned it more than a decade ago and was self-published. The story (at the time of its original publication) was not popular. Yet, fast forward a dozen years and here it is being made into a movie that will be played at major film festivals around the world.

As an abuse victim who has authored a transgender story that the literary world seems hesitant to hear, meeting a victim advocate and a brave filmmaker at my early morning nail appointment seems rather incredible. Especially, in my small Southern city.

[image error]However, as I sat there, it dawned on me that it was no coincidence. The same spirit that saved me from despair as a child, intervened that day. Or perhaps, it was my father Jo sending a missive from purgatory (where I like to believe she is reviewing her life and my book options).

October 10, 2019 would have been my adoptive father’s 84th birthday. Thank you, Dad, for reminding me that our story matters.

Blessings to be who you are and always be right on-time,

V.L.

Follow me on Twitter- @RockMemoir

Like my Facebook page

Buy my novel Waving Backwards for Kindle $4.99 at Amazon.com-amazon.com/author/vlbrunskill

 

 

I am reading The Unwinding of the Miracle. I purchased the book after hearing a TV host gush about its lessons on living and dying. Miracle chronicles the life and death of Julie Yip-Williams. She wrote the book while battling colon cancer. The book is a gift to her two young daughters, left behind when Julie died at age 42.

I was drawn to Julie’s story because I find myself (after eleven years in the same job) unemployed, and for the first time in a long time — really afraid.[image error]

Now, I know unemployment is nothing compared to serious illness. It doesn’t even come close. Yet, I’m not usually fearful. So, I found myself desperately seeking an escape from this totally normal human emotion. Julie’s story seemed so much scarier than anything I was facing, so I started reading.

This morning, I came to a part of the memoir that talks about turning to one’s past to find a time when you felt a comparable fear. For Julie, nothing could compare to finding out she had stage four metastatic colon cancer. Yet, she analyzed her past to find her truth. Julie looked at her life and decided to take these brave steps:

Acknowledge the fear.Do everything she could to control her destiny.Let everything else go.

Sounds simple, right? I cannot begin to imagine what it is like to manage these steps when faced with your own mortality. For me though, the steps helped me to frame this feeling of being in free fall.

The last time I felt this fear, was the day my mother, brother and I left a New York shelter for battered families. Interestingly, I was not fearful when we escaped my abusive father. Instead, that day was cast with relief. At the shelter, we were finally free (still aware and alert to the possibility that Dad might find and kill us) but free to laugh, play and ease our defensive postures.

Upon leaving the shelter, we were cast into a frightening world of need and struggle. Mom had to find work. We had to apply for welfare. We had to live in a crime-ridden apartment complex after only knowing a middle-class life. We had nothing except each other. No child support. No income.

Yet, somehow we struggled through and made it. Mom worked three jobs. We knew hunger. But, my family survived. Julie Yip-Williams knew that she would not survive her disease and yet walked through her fear with fierce honesty and determination. If she could do so, who am I to do anything other than move forward?

We’ve all felt fear. I still do. Taking the three steps will not make it magically disappear. But, Julie’s story helped me to identify why the fear feels so crippling, and to put it into a better life perspective.

We live in fearful times and perhaps, by admitting our fears to each other, we can build a community to help us push through them.

What are you afraid of? I’m listening. 

Blessings for finding a way through,
V.L.

Follow me on Twitter- @RockMemoir
Like my Facebook page-http://www.facebook.com/vlbrunskill
Buy my novel Waving Backwards for Kindle $4.99 at Amazon.com-amazon.com/author/vlbrunskill