Lisa Akers's Blog - Posts Tagged "l-l-akers"

What kind of book is Let Me Go?

Let Me Go is my debut book into the world of writing, and Book 1 of The Let Me Go Series. Many people have asked me what genre it is, and the truth is… I don’t know. The first book falls into so many areas, crossing from Suspense to Coming of Age, to New Adult and Women’s Fiction, with a dab of fantasy and even a pinch of mystery braided throughout the story.

My intention when I starting writing Let Me Go was just to write a New Adult novel. I soon realized my version of New Adult was very different than many out there on the market—parts of it are a little dark. No boxers, rock stars or rich kids carrying iPhones and iPad’s attending fancy colleges and driving fast cars; but I couldn’t change my story… it is what it is, and it was almost writing itself.

My story does fit Wiki’s description: fiction with protagonists in the 18-25 age bracket… a sort of an ‘older YA’ or ‘New Adult.’ But Let Me Go looks at another side of New Adult; the side where kids didn’t grow up with nice clothes, braces, allowances… expecting to go to college. Instead, my characters were just happy to get out of the house, away from the drama of their childhood—as fast as they could—thinking that was the answer to all their problems.

H.M. Ward, the #1 bestselling New Adult author in the world, perfectly described the New Adult genre (at least as it applies in my book), this past week, in a comment on a writer’s board that I frequently pop in and out of:

“New Adult isn’t about age, although the characters tend to be early 20’s. Themes tend to revolve around getting acquainted with life, addressing darker subject matter of death, rape, abuse, etc. It’s not about sex, either. It’s about getting the rose-colored glasses of childhood bitchslapped off your face by the phenomenon known as life,” H.M. Ward.

She nailed it.

If you’ve read Let Me Go, you’ll understand why I concur.

http://www.literaryme.net/2013/09/tou...

Meet Twin sisters Gabriella and Olivia and step into their world of crushing heartbreak, constant fear and anguish.

Reading 'Let Me Go' was almost like an out-of-world experience for me...

It is a story about a trio of sisters...

Prior to starting the book...

The issue with domestic and or sexual abuse is, and will always be, that you can never judge the severity of it unless you've experienced it first hand, no matter how much you've read up on it. That's just how it is, you may disagree with that, but that is the truth.

Like reading all about being an Olympic Swimmer doesn't make you any more qualified than the next guy.

The sad reality is...

It's an issue...

I've watched so many families...

There is so, so much that can be learned from this book....

(click on link to see full review) I think it's safe to say that it was very easy for me to connect with each of the 3 sisters.

I truly appreciated just how much research had to have gone into the making of this book, especially as it was written purely as a work of fiction, with no 'real' truth to it.

On a different note, I found it incredibly refreshing that the characters in the book were portrayed as normal girls, no perky blondes with troubled hearts but otherwise flawless appearance, but girls who share their mistakes and let you into their hearts, which for me, resulted in buckets full of tears and raw emotion.

It's wonderful that once again, an author used their power to give a voice to all those victims out there, because believe you me, if you've been affected by domestic and or sexual abuse, or know someone who is/was, you're not alone in this.There will always be someone to support you.

If you need help, get it. No matter how dark the way.

Final Rating: 5/5 'Totally Amazing'

...Please click here for the full review! http://girlinthewoodsreviews.blogspot...

1. Water For Elephants, Sara Gruen. Loved the book—the movie, ehh… not so much. I feel like it lost the true voice of the elderly man in the nursing home at the beginning of the book; they cut too much out. Read the book even if you’ve seen the movie; it’s much better!

2. The Outlander Series, Diana Gabaldon. This is by far the best series I have ever read! Time travel, sexy hot guy, intense love triangle with a true love story, battles, Indians... all of it evoked a raw emotion from me. At one time, when Claire was raped by bad guys, I threw my book across the room *gasp* and was so mad at Ms. Gabaldon I swore not to read on, but I did. I keep this set hidden in my bedroom, so no one asks to borrow them. Yep—I’m greedy like that.

3. The Shack, William, P. Young. I know this book sparked some controversy. That’s okay. I am not afraid to say I loved this book, and have personally have gifted it to several parents who’ve lost a child, which has to be the most horrible thing I can imagine someone going through. These people have said they found some peace within the pages.

4. The Dark Tower Series, Stephen King. I love a long read and I like almost all genre's. This series is a total of 4,250 pages, mixing four genres: western, sci-fi, horror and fantasy. That's talent. It took Mr. King quite a while to complete it… I was twelve when the first book came out! The last book was released last year! But it was well worth the wait!

5. Room, Emma Donoghue. The author's ability to tell a story almost completely within the confines of one room (one scene) with mostly only two characters, one who had very little dialogue, yet leave us feeling satisfied and fulfilled was remarkable. At one point I was reading standing up, cheering the boy on! The last time I did that was when I watched the animated movie, Spirit, with my son. It’s kinda liberating to stand up and cheer stupidly while reading a book, knowing no one in the entire house knows what you are cheering for… maybe I am one of the crazy writer’s after all?

~Now what's your favorite book?

Genre: NA Contemporary
Edition: ebook
Source: I received a copy in return for an honest review

This is an NA book, and it isn't a typical NA book. There's no way Let Me Go can be excused as just a "YA book with sex in it". There's no way it can be dismissed because it shares so many similarities with others that the story just feels like a regurgitated form of what has already been written before. This isn't one of those. First of all, there isn't a college setting throughout the novel. Secondly, there is zero swoony and romantic moments in this book. It's not a romance—far from it. Instead, it's about a family of four women where each goes through her own separate and secretive cycle of abuse, trying to deal with or deny as much of it as she can without drawing the support of the others. It is a harsh book, one without the purpose to simply entertain us, but with the purpose to convey a certain message about family, abuse, and survival.

Sometime in the second half of Let Me Go, I suddenly thought of something: it was like an Ellen Hopkin's novel. The writing is not the same and the story isn't the same as any of Hopkins' books, but this book felt like the same type, which includes all of this:

-A harsh topic or issue
-Story consists of of several different character's journeys that were both similar and different from one another
-Each individual story connected with the others
-No fluff and no flowers—it wasn't watered down
-Characters weren't built to be super reader-friendly—they weren't too likable and they made many decisions most people wouldn't agree with or understand
-Feels like it was meant to convey some sort of realistic message—like it was written with a purpose
-Not meant to be "enjoyed" exactly
-Some sort of emotional impact (at least for me)

Ellen Hopkins' stories feel like this, and so did Let Me Go. I absolutely love these types of books.

There were parts (largely in the beginning half) where I felt were underdeveloped—like I wasn't getting to know the characters. I also thought the writing itself could have been more interesting. Overall, though, the story was brilliantly put together. There was great symbolism in the dragonfly tattoos. I absolutely loved it and the messages it sent. I also loved how the girl in the box fit into the story—like a puzzle piece—and how unpredictable it was for me.

I highly recommend this book to all of you seeking a great NA novel. Let Me Go is a fine representation of what the genre is truly about and I am so glad that I got a chance to read it.

Favorite Quotes:

This is a long quote, but I have to share it. It captures what the family was going through perfectly. There were a ton of secrets hidden in the book.

"Secrets. It seemed their family was always carrying secrets. And not just little ones that would hurt a few feelings here and there. No, their family harbored big secrets, such large skeleton's in their closets, that if let out were full of power to take a person and break them down into a small dust of nothing. Secrets that must be guarded like Pandora's Box, kept vigil over sleepless night over sleepless night."

This one was during one of the "Girl in the Box" chapters. "They" is concerning the dragonflies flying free from a jar, and . . . it's such a beautiful scene. It's my favorite part of the entire book. If there's any part in the book that made me tear up, it was that chapter.

"They continue stretching their wings, hovering in and out of the grasslands while seemingly waiting for the rest of their friends to join them... and then, glimmering fleetingly against the painted sky, they finally hurry away in abandon."

From http://readingismytreasure.blogspot.com/

I. Love. Breaking. Bad.
Why, you might ask? I don't do or encourage drugs. I don't allow my almost 11-year old to watch it. Yet, I am mesmerized, almost addicted to this show. I guess the fact that an ordinary teacher--not to say teachers are ordinary, but this one was--can dig deep and find within himself something he thought he didn't have: badassness, (Yes, I know that's not a word) is what keeps me glued to it. If you watch from the first episode, the transformation is almost beyond belief to what he has accomplished and the person he is now. Is he a good person? Opinion on that greatly differs. But I guess I can relate. When I had to leave my career in human resources to stay home and care for my mil, who was bed-bound with dementia and severe medical issues, I too had to transform. From a desk jockey, computer-driven people-helper to a diaper-changing, bath-giving, hand-holding person. When she passed, 18 months later, I had a choice to make: go back to HR, where I'd spent my entire career, or transform myself again. I chose the latter. Now, I look at my closets full of designer suits and clothes, my expensive watches/jewelry and piles and piles of shoes that I no longer need, and yet cannot bring myself to get rid of, because I have yet to decide if my transformation is over. Will I give up the new me and go back to 8-5, keeping up with the Jones' or can I stay complacent by being alone most days, not leaving the house for weeks at a time, living in a bubble of words, stories and Internet friends? I don't know. Maybe when I see where Walter White ends up--in the end--I can finally figure out if I have more transforming to do, or if this is my last disguise.

Regardless of what happens, the clothes are out-dated... But I'm keeping the shoes.

Today I decided it was time for a random act of kindness. Sounds like I'm a really good person, right? eh...not so much. It's actually a very selfish act. I love seeing people's faces when you perform a RAK. It's like a drug to me. Makes me feel euphoric for the entire rest of the day. *shrug* Maybe I'm just weird.

So anyhoo... my RAK today involved wacky flowers. I went to Wal-Mart (yes, if you read my FB, you know I shouldn't go there, but I behaved today). And I went in the first door and looked around... saw no flowers, so walked across the front of the store in front of the registers to the other door—I swear I remember the fresh flowers being just inside the door in the few times I ever go to Wal-Mart. I ask the girl sitting vigil at the doors, "Where's the fresh flowers?" She laughed and said, they're at the other door (obviously she knew I had to walk right past them, as that was the only other door into the store from which side I came)... so I walked back to the other door. Still... no flowers. Wtf? So I asked the woman sitting vigil at that door--btw, this woman is in a wheelchair and facing the store, not the door, like the other lady... so they're not greeters. What are they? Goodbyers? Surely, they're not there to catch thieves? I mean, I'm all for equal opportunity, but wouldn't someone who could get around a little easier be better suited for that job? Thieves can be a rough bunch, yeah?

So I ask Goodbyer #2, "Where are the fresh flowers? The girl at the other door said they were at this door." She laughed and said, "Right there! You've walked past them twice."

There they were, in plain freakin' sight. I don't know what's wrong with my brain lately. I think back to the drive on the way there, and I had said to myself, "Damn... you gotta get out more." I felt like I had forgotten how to drive...no, really. I shit you not. At every light I was stopping for green and people were honking horns at me. So I had to keep reminding myself to stop for red before I got killed. I made a little rhyme: Red Means Dead. Actually, that's what my hubby tells me to remember about my gun safety button. But I just couldn't think clearly today out in the big open world. See, I rarely leave the house. And if I do, it's usually with hubby driving. For no particular reason I’ve become somewhat a recluse…especially in Winter—I hate winter. But today I needed to drop off some papers to the attorney's office. And it's like 70 degrees out there and sunny. So I think I'm in a fog.

I grab two bunches of flowers. These are too cool: Dyed Daisies. Blue, green, orange, red... an explosion of color. I dig 'em. I pay for the flowers and then notice this store has a McDonald's! I love me some Sweet Tea. So I treat myself to a tea. Our conversation goes like this:

I tell the cashier, "One large sweet tea, please," and hand her $1.09 exactly.

She takes the money and says, "Would you like ice today?" as she slides me the cup (it's fix your own at this store).

Hmm, that’s a weird question, but I answer, "Yeah, I would. Isn't it still over there with the tea?"

Looking confused, she says, "I don't know what you mean."

I look at her like she's an idiot and say, "Usually, the ice is with the drinks. Has that changed?"

Then she looks at me like I'm an idiot and says no.

"Then why did you ask me if I wanted ice today?"

"I didn't. I said I hope you have a nice day."

Facepalm.

"Oh! You too!" I cheerily reply with very red face. I’m not admitting this to my hubby and sons. They swear all the time they think I’m losing my hearing and I tell them they mumble… so let’s keep this to ourselves. They don’t Tumblr, FB or tweet… so this is our secret.

I hurry over and fill up my cup with ice and tea, put a lid on it, and reach for the straws—empty. There is a cardboard sign in the straw box that says, “Sorry, we are out of straws today.” I’m like, WTF? Seriously? I CANNOT drink without a straw. I really just can’t. It’s one of my idiosyncrasies, one of my quirks, one of my pet peeves…I. Can’t. Do. It. Can you imagine how many fingers have touched these cups?! So I head back to the girl up front and say, “Ummm, are you sure you don’t have any straws? Maybe just one back there with your shake thing machine?”

She shakes her head no.

Son of a Dick! I can’t believe this. Already my RAK is off to a bad start.

So I trudge all the way out to my car and get in, throwing the flowers to the other seat and do another facepalm. I. was. In. Wal-Mart. Duh! They sell straws. Oh well, not going back. Too long to walk and all that. I pull the bendy straw from an old Mello Yellow can in the back seat cup holder and open the window and blow real hard through it, just in case... and I make due—yeah, I know. I’m disgusting. At least I know it's my germs on that straw, though.

Off I go to perform my random act of kindness! I figure I’ll find someone on the road, in a parking lot, somewhere on the way to the attorney’s office. (I plan to give one bouquet to the lady who’s been helping with this legal thing who got a little grumpy with me yesterday.)

First person I see is an old woman walking down the street with a mean, unhappy look on her face. She’s African American (or is it Black? I have friends who confuse me because they use different terms for themselves). Anyway, she’s not dressed very nice at all, and I’m being nice about that. She looks tired. And sad. So I jerk into the ice cream parking lot next to the sidewalk she’s walking on and jump out with one of my wacky-colored daisy bunches and say, “Hey, excuse me!” She stops walking and turns around. I run up to her and hold out the flowers. “I’d like you to have these,” I say.

She steps back and holds her hand up. “Why?! Who are you?”

“I’m nobody. I just saw you walking and you looked unhappy. I wanted to brighten your day,” I explain and smile and reach toward her with the bunch of flowers.

“Help!” she screams and starts backing away. She gets about five feet away while my heart starts beating triple time and I’m just standing there with my mouth open and hand out, then she turns and runs. This old woman could trot too.

Soooo embarrassing! I run back to my car and jump in and take off the other way, hoping she doesn’t find a police officer to flag down. In my car, which is suspicious in itself (a white Hummer with tinted windows and a peace sign on the front tag), I have two bunches of wacky dyed flowers, in addition to a red-tattooed .380 pistol, 3 magazines full with extra ammo, a .32 revolver—loaded, with an extra box of ammo with that. If a cop pulled me to ask me questions, the combination of flowers and guns and approaching strangers might look bad for me. I take that back. It. Would. Look. Bad.

So forget it… I’m going straight to the attorney’s office. I decide to take both bunches of flowers in there. There are two ladies that work there. I only managed to piss off one of them yesterday, but what the heck… they both get flowers today.

I get out of the car and am walking and looking down into the tops of the bunches, trying to decide which one is prettier (to be given to the one I pissed off) and boom, my foot hits something, sending me flying forward, nearly landing on my face, and having to practically jump to get my other leg in front of me. Super trip… I land and half-run a few feet just because the momentum makes me. I finally stop myself and straighten up, quickly looking to the street—both ways—no one there to see my major goof. Yes! First break of the day! Then I look toward the attorney’s office. There she is. The recipient of my random act of kindness, watching me clutch two bunches of strange flowers, my keys, and the paperwork as I recover from the trip.

She loved the flowers.

I’m back home now.
I’m. Never. Leaving. Again.

Gabby startled awake in the dark. She sat up quietly, listening, trying to find what had awoken her. She looked at the window, surprised to see it was dark outside. She must have slept the entire day through. Guilt pinched her conscience. She knew her boss was getting close to the end of his patience. Dammit, I hope I don’t lose my freakin’ job, she thought.

That morning she’d gotten up with all intention of going to work. But she’d made the mistake of glancing out the window and seeing her swing dangling in the early morning mist. She’d walked out to sit for just a minute—she had told herself—but minutes had turned into an hour as her mind convinced her she should just call out of work one more day. She was late anyway, and she could just go back to bed and sleep... and dream of Jake.

A breeze had tickled her toes. She had still been in her pajamas. She hadn’t found the energy to dress for work yet. So she had sat and swayed, not swinging... feeling bared—stripped of all the goodness in her life. She’d shivered uncomfortably. But this was the place she felt closest to Jake. He’d hung the swing the same day they’d moved into their new house, seven years before. It was his special gift to her.

As she’d sat on her swing that morning, she’d gotten lost in remembering the day Jake hung it, her giggling as he grew tired and sweaty trying to throw the bundle of rope over the lowest limb of their oak tree—which was quite high—and missing over and over again as she’d yelled out, “I’ve seen better throwing in T-ball! You got about as much control as two rabbits on their first date! You couldn’t throw a party! Come on!”

She’d cracked Jake up with her pitcher repartee, and he’d stopped throwing the rope and started chasing her with it instead. They’d wrestled and he’d tickled her relentlessly until she had finally promised no more heckling. He looped it over on the next throw. When the rope finally made it over the branch and fell back to the ground, she had run to him, thrown her arms around his neck, and kissed his sweaty, grinning face. She’d been so happy she’d have her swing. That was a fun and special day. One of many she’d had with Jake.

Gone now.

He’d been gone six weeks. She couldn’t remember the first two weeks at all. It was a blur, a dark spot in her memory. She couldn’t... or wouldn’t go there. All she could say for sure was during that two weeks, she scarcely remembered crawling out of the unquestioning sanctuary of her bed. She didn’t leave the house. She’d watched the empty swing from their bedroom window and thought how lucky she had been; her time with Jake had been a gift. He’d saved her—twice—the first time when she’d had nowhere to go after giving up her baby at age seventeen, an event that had left her alone and homeless. But he’d scooped her up, married her, and helped her build a life, a good life, together.

Jake saved her again when the family cycle of abuse finally caught up to her and shattered her life—cracking it into fragments. She had tried to hold the pieces together alone, not wanting to hurt Jake, but she wasn’t strong enough. She was the victim of a sociopath, forced to endure sexual abuse in fear of her marriage and her freedom. It was a puzzle she couldn’t put back together again, so she tried to escape it. Escape life. He’d saved her, not just by rushing her to the hospital, where she’d nearly died, but by standing beside her after finding out why she had wanted to die.

He had stayed with her for five years after that nearly fatal night.

Gabby had thought once Jake knew she’d been with another man—repeatedly—he wouldn’t want her, regardless of the circumstance. But he had. He had believed the truth and not only stayed in the marriage, but helped her recover.

She’d wake up nearly every night, for years. Screaming from nightmares of being held captive in a wooden box. She’d awoken countless times swatting and swearing there were spiders in the bed, and too many times to count she’d been so adamant that René was in the room—yelling that she wasn’t asleep; he was there—that she’d convinced Jake, too. He’d jump up and grab his ball bat, searching under the bed, in the closet, the bathroom, before he finally realized Gabby was having a night terror again—eyes wide open but asleep.

He’d held her. Rocked her back to a peaceful sleep. Never losing his temper, even after so many sleepless nights. And he’d given her space to heal, mentally and physically, supporting her through it all. So patient, never letting her go.

How could she let him go?

Gabby hadn’t been able to go to work. She’d dropped down from the swing and slowly walked up the steps leading into the house. She’d made her call to her disappointed boss and crawled back into bed, covering her head to block out the sun shining through her window, and slept through yet another day.

She shook off her replay of yet another wasted day and looked at the clock. Damn, chick. You did sleep through another day, she thought. It was the middle of the night. I’m definitely dragging your lazy ass to work tomorrow, so get some more shuteye. She dropped her head onto her pillow, forgetting about the noise that had woken her up, and fell instantly back to sleep.

One of the hardest things for a writer to do is write a blurb...seriously, it's harder than writing a book! So I've taken a stab at a new one, and although I don't feel good about adding "Bestseller" to my cover, I did hit it multiple times on Amazon and decided to use it in the blurb. Is that wrong? Should I take it out? Anyone willing to give me some feedback on the new blurb:

Bound by blood...Marked by the Dragonfly.

Amazon Top 100 Bestseller in three categories February, 2014:
#44 Sagas, #52 Family Saga's, #77 Coming of Age

The pasts of four women collide head-on with a mysterious present in this surreal and gripping family drama. One woman finds herself trapped. Alone. In a box. She battles to survive the terrifying darkness. With long hours of nothing to do but wait in terror for her captor to return, she grapples through obscure dreams and memories of their painful past, painting the story of the scarlet dragonfly tattoo--meant to be a beautiful, family mark of freedom--but instead seeming to become a prophetic brand to the four women who wear it.

When identical twins, Gabby and Olivia, and their little sister, Emma flee their less-than-perfect childhoods, they find they took more of their mother with them than her long chocolate-colored hair, startling blue eyes... and the exact copy of her tattoo.

Just wanting away... Olivia marries her first love--at age 17--and realizes later he's not what he seemed. She falls victim to his fists of fury when his mask finally slips. She attempts to break free, but finds herself unwillingly flittering back to the cycle her own mother had tried to leave so many times before. Meanwhile, her twin sister, Gabby, finds sweet love with Jake, a humble, well-mannered southern boy who saves her not once--but twice. But she is pursued by a dangerous admirer at work, and her happily ever after seems to be ending too soon. And little sister Emma has some secrets of her own, painfully bottled up inside of her, wrestling to get out for revenge.

Deeply evocative, Let Me Go is a suspenseful and heart-wrenching Coming of Age story with a beautiful ending for survivors.

I got a package from a reader today! She said she's a fan of my books and Dragonflies and wanted to send me something! Squee!!! I was so excited! I've never received anything (physically) from a fan...I can't even believe I have fans! So after giving her a wrong address (the hubs fault), and it flittering around LOST, she finally tracked it down and told me where it was and who was holding it. So her good intentions ended up in kind of a mess, as the package was lost...but today it was found, on the second floor of 'The Tower' at Cherry Park, in the middle of all the softball/baseball fields! So I got it! But boy was I in for a surprise. You made me cry, Betty Lou Waibel... really, really cry...

Here's where the co-ink-a-dinks (or are they?) come in. Today, Maya Angelou, a famous poet and more, died. She was 86. After reading hundreds of quotes, last June I knew I had found the perfect epigraph for my first novel, "Let Me Go," when I came across this one from Maya: “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” So if you have my book, that's right there, in the front. I knew I would catch some flak for Let Me Go, but it was bubbling inside me, and I had to write it. I. Just. Had. To. So it was such a fitting start to that novel. A novel that wouldn't be written if it wasn't for my mother-in-law. See, I left a career of 20 years in HR to be her caregiver. She was bedbound and required 24-hour care and I was her CareGiver for 18 months. She also died at age 86, like Maya.

Here's where I'm going with this story...bear with me. Everyone knows when you move, there's always ONE thing that is irreplaceable that gets broken. Always. Well, for me, it was the picture of my mother-in-law that you see here. Her husband, Harold, kept this particular picture of his wife of 60+ years on his nightstand. It was his favorite. He took care of her with very little help until he was 85. Bathed her, changed her, cut her hair, cooked her breakfast every single day. This was not easy for him as he had broken his back (twice) in the coal mines. He was not able to straighten up, he walked bent over, as if he were forever searching for something on the floor. He also had Black Lung from the mines. Truly a warrior and faithful husband until the end. He passed suddenly three days after his 85th birthday, with his head turned toward this picture, still on his nightstand. I inherited the picture, and his wife to take care of. This was not an easy job. It nearly killed me. I lost 30 lbs and suffered terrible back pain from the constant lifting/rolling. But it was the most important and gratifying thing I've ever done with my life. My MIL woke up from her delirium after I took her off of the multiple drugs they sedated her with, and she started talking again...watching TV, laughing (fighting and biting too, lol). But her spunky personality would sometimes emerge from under the dementia, and it was a joy to behold. I'd BEG her to talk to me...tell me about her life...laugh. Sometimes she went days without speaking, but when she spoke, it was worth hearing. It became a game for me to try to get her to laugh or talk. I danced for her with long flowing skirts twirling with my finger on my head, like a suspended ballerina, put on a cowboy hat and rode my son's stick-horse, galloping around and around her wheelchair until she'd grant me the smallest smile. I watched my favorite movie with her, discovering it was the ONLY movie she'd actually really watch with bug open eyes, and I sang along with Dorothy at the top of my lungs as we watched her follow the yellow brick road for the 200th time. For 18 months, this was my world. I rarely ever saw anyone outside this world. I lost touch with my friends, many of them work-friends, and was so exhausted and poorly-feeling, I didn't want to be seen by anyone. I was basically a recluse at the house. She had to be turned and/or changed every two hours... So many days it wasn't an option to leave. I had some help, more toward the end, but it was still a full-time+ job.

There are a few truly amazing stories that happened during this journey, and I will be writing the whole thing as a novella later in the series. But I wasn't a writer when I took care of her. I wasn't a nurse, or a CNA, or someone that had ever done any of the things I had to do. I learned each day, and each day she taught me a lesson. I took it hard when she passed. I felt like I didn't do good enough, like somehow it was my fault. I took it hard. I grieved for her, and my lost career, my lost friends, and my lost physical capabilities. I saw a massage therapist (hello, Renew You) and a chiropractor, but I didn't think I'd ever be able to go back to work. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I had time on my hands. Thus, I used that time to write, with the picture of my MIL on my desk, watching over every word. Let Me Go was born... And then the next, and I'm working on the third as well outlining as a new series. My MIL unknowingly gave me a new work-life, one that was better than the one I had before. And one I could make a difference with. I write about Survivors. I am trying to make a difference, and many have said I have (and I cherish those emails, PM's, comments and reviews).

So today, I found my MIL's picture as I was unpacking a box--cracked. I took it to my husband, crying...for the loss of the precious glass that was a part of the original frame and picture, and crying because I failed again, in keeping the picture of her safe. I thought he'd be mad at me. But he wasn't. He knew how much it had meant to his dad, and to me, and he said he'd find new (old) glass to replace it. My MIL died at 86. The epigraph in the book I wrote, only because the end of her life allowed me to start anew in something different, was written by Maya Angelou, who died today, also at age 86.

Then I finally got to open my package from a fan of my work. She told me she had taken a picture (2) of a red dragonfly and its shadow--a Scarlet Darter, seen in Europe, originating from Africa. That was what I was expecting. But what I got was that (and it's an extraordinary snapshot...I love it), AND a beautiful cut-glass dragonfly statue, some wonderful dragonfly notecards, and finally two children's books(?). I was surprised! That was a bit odd. So I opened the first one, reading very quickly...it was a sad but beautiful story of dying, in which after dying, a nymph becomes a beautiful dragonfly that consoles her friend when the friend feels the blame for her death (ummm...hello?). The second book, "The Dragonfly Secret," stars the same dragonfly in a story about loss (death) and change, as she discovers her special gift in death... By delivering a message to a little boys parents from beyond the grave...It's a touching story. Here's what made me cry...the dragonfly's name...is Lea!! My mother-in-laws name is Lea!! Same spelling. My husbands name is David...the same name as the boy in the book!

My reader is not the author of these books, nor do I believe she knew about my mother-in-law, Lea Akers. I don't know why she sent them to me, other than because the story revolves around a dragonfly. I truly am gobsmacked. Thank you, Betty Lou Waibel for bringing this message to me... You've touched both me and my husband and we truly feel Lea had a hand in this, through you.

Sorry if this is a jumbled up mess of rambling...but that is how my head feels right now with all of the coincidences and such. I feel as if Lea hand-picked Betty Lou to put this package together, send it to an un-explained origin wrong address, only to locate it TODAY, of all days--all the way from NY--and alert me as to its whereabouts ON THIS DAY...

If you read this far, you deserve a gold star... Thanks for bearing with me, and God Bless Betty from New York!





(This post from my FB May 28, 2014)

You all know how I love RAK's (random acts of kindness), so last night I was sitting on my back porch after midnight cruising the Internet when I came across a young lady on my personal Facebook. Not sure how she got there, I keep page that slimmed down, I don't know her, and she isn't one of my readers, but there she was... A fiercely beautiful young mom of two boys. Looks like she's had a rough time lately, and I saw from her posts she'd recently had surgery, and was having complications. So I sent her a meme of a smokin' hot guy demanding she get well soon, and we struck up a chat. She asked where to buy one of my books, said she prefers print, and I just happened to have a print copy, so I offered to mail it to her. Welp, turns out she lives only 30 minutes away!!! But wait...it gets better. This morning I put together a 'bed-rest package' of my book, chocolate and a bracelet for her...cuz...well, who doesn't feel better with reading, chocolate and jewelry?! I drove it over and left it with her mom, who lives on the same road as she does. When I got home, she had posted a thank you, loving the bracelet, because as it turns out, she loves dragonflies! Of course, the bracelet I gave her has one tiny dragonfly charm, because ya'all know I lurvvve dragonflies. Then she sends me a pic of her foot... Check it out. A freakin' dragonfly tattoo!! Oh boy, wait until she reads Let Me Go, she's going to trip out! Life is just one big series of coincidence's...or is it? Get well, young E-Girl! And I hope the dragonfly brings you healing!