Violet Haze's Blog

Today I signed up for Blasty in an attempt to remove my books from illegal sites who don’t have permission to give my books away for free. Three hours in, there are nearly 200 instances…and counting.

Considering I have a perma-free book and have given plenty of free books away since I began publishing in 2014, I have to say I’m highly disappointed at finding my books being given away for free on sites that have no right to do so. Some are just ways to steal people’s information, but others are completely legit, with people commenting about how grateful they are because they’ve been “wanting to read [this book] forever!” beneath the download link. Or someone posting a fake book on Wattpad and listing links to my books in the document!

This is not a legitimate way to acquire my book. It is stealing, which is ridiculous considering all my books are available through Overdrive, and can be requested through any library that utilizes the service if a person who wants to read the books just took the time to do it. The library will pay for the book and the person gets to read it, therefore making it FREE!

If you click here, you’ll find a page listing all my titles, including foreign language translations, listed on Overdrive. Then, sign into your library account (if you can) and put in a request for a digital copy! If this isn’t an option for you, call them up and ask what needs done for them to include the book in their circulation. It never hurts to ask.

Other options are through subscription services. My books aren’t in Kindle Unlimited, but many of them are on Scribd and Playster and 24Symbols. They cost money (not as much as buying all my books individually) and I still get paid for the ‘purchase’ of my books.

I’m making this post because maybe people don’t know about the options through their library, or about the other lending services that give them a chance to read the books at a fraction of the price. So here they are — ways you or them can read my books without having to pay for them, or pay much less, at the very least.

Thanks for supporting my work and happy reading!

Hi everyone!

A brief post before I head to bed for the night about new titles & covers.

Recently, I’ve decided some of my books need new titles, updated blurbs, and new covers. Why? Because change is good and many of my books could do with a facelift. I’m hoping this helps get the books in the right hands to the exact reader (you!) who wants them!

The first book to get updated is A WOMAN’S AFFAIR, which is now titled TO BREAK A VOW. The cover and blurb has been updated on my website and on all the vendor sites, but unlike my site which is instant, the other sites may take a few days to complete the process. Therefore, don’t be alarmed when you see a different title but the old cover; everything will be good in a few days!

As for the book, I adore the new cover, find it more fitting for the story, and am told the blurb is way more intriguing! There were also a few edits to the story, mainly changing some lines to make them flow better! If you haven’t read the story before now, I hope you’ll check it out!

Soon, you’ll see the titles, blurbs, and covers change for the entire MATE series. Yes, yes, it is among the most known of my titles, but you see…they give off the wrong impression. They aren’t as dark as their covers portray! At the heart, they are romance novels, and I want their covers to entice as well as have a more cohesive look. Keep a look out for that!

Another title receiving this treatment will be LUNA. I think it’s time she had an update! She was my first serial and one of my most popular stories out of all. I hope to earn her some new readers in the near future!

That’s all for now. I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!

My father is dying.

Those words are hard to type, even more difficult to say out loud, but they are true no matter how much I wish they weren't.

Last year, at age 54, he was diagnosed with Stage 4 prostate cancer, which had metastasized to his bones. With some aggressive chemo, they told him he could add a year to his life, and my father went full speed ahead, doing everything the doctors asked him to do. He didn't tell me and at first, when he finally did, I remember being so angry because that's how he had always been... stubborn as hell.

We've had our issues over the years but when I found out, I did everything I could in order to ensure I could be around him more. Moved an hour north from where I was living with my husband, until I was only a twenty minute drive from my father, and I did see him more than before. Problem was, life gets in the way. Even with the best of intentions, I didn't see him as much as I wanted to.

And my father, he would talk to me on the phone, tell me everything was good. I believed him. He finished the chemo, they told him it was gone from his prostate and next they wanted to work on his bones. I remember things a little differently than him, but he insisted he had it under control, and as much as I tried to bring up things that would help in case something happened, my dad always acted like he had all the time in the world.

He thought he did. Hell, even I did. Sometimes I would call him and worry, but when I would stop over, he would be talking about how he was working on something in his house he bought last year, or something outside. Talk about his appointments, what was next, and complain about how he felt like he was spending every day of his life in the hospital for one test or another. One issue after another, but he was taking care of it, and he finally did let me get him a will drafted up. I gave it to him, told him to make sure he got it signed, and he promised he would. And not even took long ago, he took a trip with a friend of his to West Virginia. He was walking, talking, driving, and acting 100% his normal self.

Then, Thursday... I had a rider that took me near his place and I decided to stop by. I hadn't heard from him in a week, but before that, he had told me he was taking the trip with his friend, so I couldn't come over like we talked about. It wasn't anything new; he often called me to tell me he wouldn't be home like he thought and we made plans for another time.

How could I have known any differently? I've asked myself that question a million times since Thursday, when I walked into his house to find him laying on the couch, confused and disoriented to the extreme, his ankles so emaciated that I could almost my hand around it and my fingers nearly touched. He had lost so much weight from when I last saw him a couple weeks before and although he was talking to me, his thoughts and words were jumbled, him misunderstanding me enough to get angry because he thought I was arguing with him. My uncle, who my father takes care of because of difficulties, told me other than helping him up to the bathroom, my father had been there for 5 days and had barely eaten.

With the help of my other uncle, who came over to help, I got my father to the hospital, where we were told his levels of calcium and uric acid in his blood were causing the confusion and they would try to get it down. But I knew... I knew the moment I saw him that this was it, especially after he told me not even two weeks before that he needed an MRI because they thought the cancer had spread to his spine, as well as the cancer being back in his prostate, but it never got done.

Friday morning, the doctors told me the cancer was aggressive, now appearing even in his bone marrow, and there was no coming back for my father. They could try to lessen the confusion, but he was going to die, and they recommended hospice and comfort care.

My father is 55. Only 55 fucking years old and right now, he's lying in a bed at hospice, alternating between peaceful sleep and restless time awake where he's barely aware of the world around him. Until tonight, I've spent nearly every moment with him from the hospital to the move to hospice, barely able to leave him for an hour without needing to go back and remain close, but not tonight, because as much as I want to be there for him until the end, things in my life must be taken care of as well -- including my own self.

And I am in so much pain, I thought this being the only way I could express any of it. Because I love my father. As a child, I adored him, despite all the issues between him and my mother. I never saw him as much as I wanted to and by the time I moved in with him at 17, too many things had happened for our relationship to become easier. On and off through the years, when I was actually near home because my running away never let me stay gone long, (and before my diagnosis) I would stop by to see him...and he would hurt me. Never intentionally. My dad didn't think before he spoke. He never knew how much the things he said about my mother (and therefore me) hurt me, although sometimes things were even directed at me, under the guise of "joking."

I just wanted him to love me, no matter how much he hated her.

Lately, I've heard stories from family...all these family stories of how kind my dad always has been, how he took care of his mother (and he did, until the day she died two years ago), how he takes care of my one uncle, and he's always been a good spirited, tough, stubborn man. And I know some of that...but I never saw much of it. My dad told me he loved me more in the last year than he ever had before and while I believed him, it hurt knowing all those years I didn't see him, for one reason or another. Years I can't get back. Years where I've told people about how I used to ask my dad if I was pretty and he would laugh, take a sip of his beer and say, "Yeah, pretty ugly." And now as an adult, I know he wasn't serious, but he never thought about the fact I would take him seriously... literally. How I would internalize that message from him despite the fact he never actually wanted me to think that about myself.

As his child, I have always loved him regardless of how hard things became, but I didn't want to be around him a lot. He drank a lot, and he smoked like crazy, something that contributed to my avoiding him because the smoke gave me migraines. We disagreed on a lot of things, but when I found out he had cancer, I wanted nothing more than to be closer to him. My sisters, they got a different father than I did. They lived with him, while I saw him a lot less, and I think I've spent most of the last year trying to make up for something I had no control over... something that really hurt our relationship going into my adulthood because there was a precedent of not enough contact already, compounded by my issues from autism and the abuse I had experienced.

My memories of him are colored by my life and relationship with my mother...by the snippets of time I can remember being around him. I'm sure I hugged him as a child, but I don't remember. I'm sure he told me he loved me, but I don't remember. What I do remember is the moment when my mother came to pick me up after I had gotten "run over" by a truck (well, my legs did) and my dad stood outside the van with the police officer, who had him if he had a license and when my dad produce his driving one, the police said no, a medical license. All because my dad had listened to me, crying my eyes out about going to the hospital in the ambulance, and didn't make me get in, but he also hadn't taken me to the hospital as he should've (something that's made me wonder, since my diagnosis, of perhaps my father being on the spectrum, which I will never know for sure now). I remember my dad giving me a sip of beer when I was younger and I spit it back in his face. When I close my eyes, I can see him through the years, sitting on the couch with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other.

All those and more, imprinted on my mind, and none of them mean anything now.

Instead of focusing on my grief, I've been trying to get a handle on his affairs, as much as I can without power of attorney, and that means my eyes tear up, but I can't give into it. I have to take care of my uncle, I have to make sure my dad's house is taken care of because he wanted our uncle to live there, and I definitely can't break down because I've got my own life with bills to pay that won't wait even in the face of my pain.

Not even as I stood by my dad's bed earlier today, where he doesn't even recognize me when he opens his eyes, and I ran my fingers through his hair, telling him how much I love him. Trying to keep him calm; answering his mumblings even though I don't really know what's saying. Promising him I'll take care of things as he would want them taken care of, doing my final duty as his daughter that will carry on long after he's taken his last breath, even though he left a bigger mess than he intended because my father never signed his will. He got a life insurance policy last year but the short period of time means, despite his best intentions, we'll never see most of the money; I'll be lucky enough to have enough to get him cremated with.

Although it will make things more difficult, none of it matters. Not as I've been watching him waste away in front of my eyes and feeling utterly powerless to stop it, to do anything as one of the men I love more than anything else in this world slowly leaves me behind with a gigantic hole in my heart that will definitely never be repaired now.

But other than the small amount of times where I can't be by his side, I will be there holding his hand until the very end, giving him all the love and attention I can while hoping he knows somewhere deep inside that I'm still with him. That all his family is there for him. And I hope he knows how much we love him, how much he'll be missed, and how despite my own pain, I'm so glad he won't suffer any longer.

Every time I think about how he will soon take his last breath, I'm nothing more a little girl once again, crying for her daddy as he leaves her behind. Only this time, it's for good, and this ache in my chest won't ever go away.

The day I met my husband for the first time, we had only been speaking for less than 12 hours following our first discussion through an online dating site. We had so much in common, we met that evening for drinks, and after that night, we were inseparable. This was in 2016, two days after Christmas, and as anyone following me would know, we were married in May. Some may have thought it was fast but I knew this was the man I wanted to marry, to raise a family with. Something I had waited my whole life for and now, I was "grown up" enough to handle a real relationship.

Of course, this world loves nothing more than to try it's hardest to prove me wrong, and it has.

A month after our wedding, on Father's day, we found out I was pregnant, and even though I should've known better, I got excited. Super freaking life-changing excited. I hadn't been pregnant since 2011, where I had two ectopic pregnancies, and I knew the risks of having another, but I thought surely, it wouldn't happen again. Surely, the world wouldn't torture me like that. Surely, surely, surely, after giving me a wonderful man for a husband and a great dad for my son, the world wouldn't play any tricks on me. This was it, this was what I had waited for.

We all know what happened. Three days after, I had bleeding and the hospital told me I was having a miscarriage. I was devastated, yet at the same time, happy that it wasn't in my tube. That my body was finally doing something correct and it meant we could try again when the time was right.

That isn't what happened though. By the beginning of July, I hit the ER and after being sent home, I was back hours later in excruciating pain, and losing my right tube through emergency surgery, the only thing left of my natural ability to get pregnant.

For three weeks, I wouldn't get out of bed except to use the bathroom or when I otherwise had to force myself to do so. I scared my husband, I scared myself, with how much I merely wanted to wither away and die, all my hopes and dreams for a family dashed forever.

I cried, but I didn't plead, I didn't beg, I didn't bargain. I cried until I ran out of tears, until I knew if I didn't get out of the bed for my husband and my son, I might do something drastic. I went to my doctor, I got on some Zoloft, and for a while, that drug helped me hold on when I had nothing left in my heart to keep me going.

Even thinking about this makes my heart pound and hurt in my chest, tears begging to free themselves from where I'm tamping them down, telling them no no no because I just can't bear to cry anymore. I won't survive it, even now, 7 months later during the week where I would've been due to have our child, had the pregnancy being normal.

Never, ever have I thought I would get over it or move past it, but what really happened is, I shoved it aside and buried it so deep. Until a month ago, I told myself that it is what it is and I had a son who needed me and a husband who didn't deserve to have a wife who couldn't cope with what happened.

So, I put on my mask, the one I'm so comfortable in after using it all my life to pretend everything is all right, the one I needed to wear in order to make it through the days, weeks, and months, and yes even years of my life following all the shit I went through as a child and young adult. For the never-ending parade of shit falling on my head once more.

That's the thing about masks. Eventually, they slip, fall off your face, and shatter all over the ground.

My dreams... my hopes... everything I wanted, they are in pieces and there's no way to put them back together again. Because last year, in that hospital, the me that my husband fell in love with died and I'm not like humpty. I can't be put back together again with a little glue; nothing in the world will allow something magical to happen when I can suddenly have a second child without costly intervention.

Nothing will give me back the little piece of my soul that withered and turned to ash as I lay in that bed after it all happened, begging for the world to just let me wither and turn into ash, too.

And nothing, not even love, is enough to save my marriage to a man who deserves better than what the world handed us. My entire world changed in that surgical room and by nothing more than what he represents to me every time I look at him, or the children who are his but not mine biologically, so did his. I am not the woman he married and I never will be again because the whole event fundamentally changed me, shook everything to the core.

Killed what was and turned it into something that could never be.

Neither of us are at fault. Some tragedies just can't be overcome and yes, I'm irate with the world, but mostly, I'm just irrevocably brokenhearted.

Maybe, one day, it won't hurt this bad, and I'll be able to look back to find something in this huge loss of mine.

But until the day, good bye, love, and thank you, for loving me the best you could. I'm just sorry that love isn't enough to repair the damage to both our hearts.

~Violet

Hello all!

I know I haven't been around lately but Christa Simpson nominated me for the Liebster Award, so here I am! Typically, I don't do these sorts of things, especially the last few years so I figured why not?

Here we go. :)

Rules:

1. Thank the person who nominated you. CHECK!

2. Answer the 11 questions they gave you.

3. Nominate 11 blogs.

4. Give them 11 questions to answer.

Christa's Questions:

If you could have lunch with any author, who would you pick?

I would have to say Eloisa James. She's been a historical romance author, one I've followed for a very long time now, and I met her once in person, but the chance to sit down with her to chat would be amazing.

What made you start blogging in the first place?

Back when I first decided to write and publish my work, everybody had a blog they would write in. I would say most did it to address their readers, especially if they hadn't published their first book yet, so that's why I did it, too. So, I began blogging the same year I did my first NaNoWriMo in 2012. 

What’s the best post you’ve ever written? (in your humble opinion)

Hmm, that's a bit of a tough one. I would say any post talking about my autism and how it affects my life would be a good one. So, the best one would be...this one.

Name an author you admire because of his or her social skill or amazing marketing habits.

I don't really know one, honestly. Mostly because I don't pay attention to that sort of thing. Sorry!

The best book I read in 2017 was…

Gosh, I haven't read as much as I should've this last year. Looking back over the books I have and can recall, I would say FORBIDDEN by TABITHA SUZUMA. I remember tearing up a time or two while reading that one.

If you could choose one food or drink to have no calories, what would it be?

Pizza. Because I love to eat pizza and it's just something I would eat all the time if I could.

Sand or snow and why?

Ugh, if I could choose neither, I would because I don't like the way sand feels on my body and I despise the snow because it means cold weather. However, if I have to choose, then sand, because that symbolizes warm weather and summer to me!

What does your typical Saturday involve? Share what a day in your shoes would be like!

As of now, my typical Saturday will be one of two things: either I'm at home with my husband, his two kids and my son on the weekends they are over visiting or....I'm at my new job as a nursing aide after 2:30 pm until nearly 11 at night. Before that, I'm probably on my computer goofing off once I wake up because I stayed up too late the night before.

How much introvert and how much extrovert are you?

Eh, I'm mostly introvert, about 90%. I'm only an extrovert when I really, really want to be and that's very rarely. I just like keeping to myself and stay rather quiet most of the time.

What is your favourite inspirational quote?

Wow. I really had to think about this one. My favorite one used to be about dancing in the rain, but I would say that's changed over the years. I went looking for quotes, for a new one because well, I needed a new one. And this is the one I chose: If you accept the expectations of others, especially negative ones, then you never will change the outcome. ~Michael Jordan

And of course, this ties into my life (as well as perhaps that of others) because sometimes we tend to believe of ourselves what others do of us, which can be limiting if others don't expect anything of us at all. I will freely admit that I used to believe less in myself because nobody expected anything from me, but not anymore. I'm more, and can do more, than others think I can, and I think my life shows that.

What are you working on now, or what/when are you planning to release next?

Anyone who follows me knows that a few months ago, I basically said I was done with publishing as I've been doing it. In that time, I took a free training program to become a nursing aide and a week ago, I passed the state test, so I'm certified. I have a full-time job right now, but wouldn't you know...the writing itch doesn't go away just because you need to walk away from it. So I have been working on something, except it isn't a traditional romance. In fact, it's a tragic romance, and I've got about 20,000 words of it written. I don't know when it will be done or when I'll release it, but there you go. Violet Haze isn't gone forever, just available in a different form now.

Until next time, readers! ;)

Now for my nominations...

Note: I've chosen other authors. I don't really follow or know many blogs these days, so I wanted to give my fellow romance authors a wave hello this time!  And I don't have 11 but ah well, :)

Alison Foster - https://authoralisonfoster.wixsite.com/alisonfoster/blog

Aubrey Gross - http://aubreygross.com/blog-2/

Josie Litton - http://josielittonbooks.blogspot.com/

Michelle Zink - http://michellezink.com/

Kathryn L James - https://kathrynljames.wordpress.com/author/kathrynljames/

Crystal Kaswell - http://www.crystalkaswell.com/category/blog/

My questions for the nominees:What is the first book that made you cry?Did you ever have an author you disliked at first but love now?What kind of romance do you write?What is your favorite restaurant?What country could you live in if you had to leave your current one?Paper, plastic, or reusable?Name your favorite place to travel and tell why you love it.If you couldn't write anymore, what would you do instead?You receive $750,000, tax free, and you can't pay bills with it. What would you do?What is, in your opinion, the best book you've written so far?Tell readers what you're working on now and when you plan on releasing it!

When I wrote & published my first full novel back in 2013, I never thought about where I would be four years later. So much in my personal life has changed since then, not to mention how I've grown emotionally following my autism diagnosis, and one of the things I've learned how to do in that time is to let go when it's time.

I've never written for anyone except myself. The stories I wrote all contain a piece, or many pieces, of me, and none of them would be what they are if they hadn't come from me. But I published to make money, to earn something from these stories in my heart, in order to make it through life, and in some ways, doing so has turned the writing that heals my wounds into a stressful job. Into something I do because I "have to" instead of for the pure joy of it.

I've thought about this for over a year. In fact, I almost stopped publishing last year but I kept on because it was the only source of money I had. In truth, things aren't better financially for me, but I can't write like this and I surely can't publish things not worth publishing just to make a buck. I don't write to market, never have, and I won't start now.

And I'm not going to whine. I'm not going to tell you all the reasons why I'm stepping away. I'm not going to draw attention to myself with absurd antics, or discount my books before pulling them down from all retailers. No, see, my books aren't going anywhere. They'll be there, for the next reader to discover, and I really hope they are loved by many.

But me...I'm going to find something else to do. I'm going to spend time with my family and let what will be, be. I'm letting go because it is too painful to remain holding on any longer in this business. And If...one day...I manage to finish writing another book, I'll publish it quietly on retailers and on this site for all of you, my readers. Because you've been so supportive all these years and I thank you for that, with all my heart. It means more to me than I can ever, ever convey.

Otherwise, I really hope the rest of your year is fabulous, and that each year after that is better than the last and you continue to find lots of amazing books to enjoy.

Thank you for reading.

Love Always,

Violet

These past couple of weeks have personally been hell for me.

I don't tell you any of this for your sympathy or pity. In fact, I write this blog for me and share it because if something I write helps even one person, I'm glad. Overall, though, this is where my feelings about things go, and yes, it's about my writing and my personal life and anything else I feel like including at the time I make a post.

But, back to the hell.

For the most part, I spent the week following my emergency surgery lying in bed. Okay, I kind of had to for some of it, but otherwise, I didn't get out of bed unless it was to go to the bathroom or shove something resembling food down my throat. I cried, I raged internally, and I even probably picked fights with my husband. (I did.)

What could he say? What could anyone say? Nothing, really, because nobody can change what has happened, nor can they heal how much pain it causes me every time I think about it. Every time I see an infant, I want to bawl. A week after my surgery, my sister told the family she's pregnant, and it sent me right back spiraling down. It isn't her fault and I don't blame her for how I feel, but the ache in my chest won't go away.

Some days are harder than others and simply being present most of the time is exhausting. Some days, I ask, what is wrong with me? What am I truly missing? I have a terrific child, I have a loving husband. The truth is, I'm missing the chances I'll never have, the child I'll never share with my husband. And it matters. Whether I have one child already or even if I had none, that doesn't matter, not to me. To me, it's the end of a hope I held onto when I had nothing else.

Truthfully, raging internally isn't enough, because I'm so damn angry and have no good way to let it out. I've never, ever been this angry in my entire life and it SUCKS. All those years where I was in emotional limbo muffled everything - my pain, the noise of the world... reality. I want to scream, I want to throw things...fuck, I want to run away, but I don't do that anymore.

Yes, I know I'm grieving, perhaps I'm even depressed at this point, and it has been a struggle to continue "living normally" after my traumatic day in the hospital where at one point I screamed in pain, not even morphine doing the trick to take the pain away.

I still hear my screams in my own head when I close my eyes. How will I ever forget that when it's practically haunting me? I don't know that I can, but I'm doing my best to push through.

So yeah, I've spent the last week putting myself in a place to finish a book, getting it ready to publish and making sure the process goes as smoothly as possible. Now I've got this new release, Played, which is going live on Tuesday, and I've put it up for pre-order. Even the print book is in the works, although I doubt it will be live before Tuesday at the rate I keep fucking shit up.

Yeah. I'm not perfect, and by the time I uploaded it on Friday to Kindle, I wasn't able to put up the updated file after finding a typo in the blurb and at the end of Chapter 3 because Amazon locks you out after a certain time, which I forgot they freaking changed to GMT. Then, today, a kind subscriber sent me a few more typos, which I've fixed, but that won't help the copy that is on Amazon that some readers will get.

Can I do anything about it? No, except say I'm sorry and I tried my best to make sure it was all good before publishing it. The files are updated everywhere else, including here on my website, at least, so yay? And of course, I direct my readers to buy straight from my website, because I see that money immediately, which is really helpful for me right now, but I understand why many prefer to buy from their favorite retailer. Hell, I typically do the same.

All this to say, I'm human. And to let you know, I'm here. I may be down, I may not be happy, I may be crying by the time I've finished writing this post (I am) and not even this release has cheered me up. However, I'm doing my best, and I thank you all for your support. You have no idea what it means to me, and I really hope you have a great weekend!

~ Violet

Today I'm writing with grief...and a despair so deep, there's a nasty taste in my mouth.

On June 18th, just a little over a month after my wedding, I got a positive pregnancy test. I was ecstatic, but also absolutely and utterly terrified. We weren't trying and after the last six years, I thought I would never get pregnant again. After two ectopics back in 2011, with one resulting in the partial loss of my left tube, my chances of having another tubal pregnancy was really high and these results left me in a state of shock and worry.

And after two weeks of ups and downs - bleeding, hCG slowly rising, dropping, only to rise again, with no sign of an ectopic - I spent most of this past Saturday with extreme shoulder pain. I went to the ER, where my hCG should've been high enough to see a sac with an internal u/s, but there wasn't anything. And still, no sign of an ectopic. They sent me home, merely telling me to "wait it out" as I had an appointment with my regular ob-gyn on Thursday.

But yesterday morning, I lay in bed trying to take it easy until we got answers when I suddenly couldn't move. All I could do was whimper and cry, the pain in my abdomen so sharp and instant, I knew this wasn't a good thing. I managed to crawl up the steps, where I begged my mother and father-in-law to "help me" as my husband was at work. It hurt so bad, I couldn't stop crying. My MIL called my husband, who met us at the hospital, and after everything, they did another u/s... where it's discovered I was having another tubal pregnancy.

I was rushed to surgery, in the worst pain I've ever experienced in my life, where I lost my right tube, and therefore, any chances of another natural pregnancy. Of ever having another baby of my own without assistance I'll never be able to afford.

And right now, I'm devastated. Broken.

Right now, I can't see beyond today, because there's nothing except darkness. The death of a dream I've had for so many years... a child with the man I love. A biological sibling for my son.

And in my grief, I don't care if he got two step siblings when I married. I don't care that I have a living, breathing, and mostly healthy child already when some people don't even have one. Because I'm sad and extremely pissed off.

PIssed off at having something I've wanted for years taken from me when I haven't done anything to deserve it. Pissed off at my shitty body, that's never done me any good and caused me more grief than anything else; a body that is fucking stupid, can't handle most medications, allergic to way too many things, and aging me well beyond my years day by day. Pissed off at having to resign from my seasonal job at a time when I need the money now more than ever because of all this crap and probably going to have to file bankruptcy despite all my hard work these last 4 years at building myself back up.

And sad. Sad for having this taken from me, on top of every other way the world has let me down over the years, no matter how hard I've tried to work to fix it for myself. Sad for my husband who has a grieving wife he can't do anything for because there's nothing he can do to make it better. Sad for my son who spent all day yesterday terrified after seeing me crawl up the steps and is seeing me cry over and over and doesn't understand, in a situation I hope he never has to experience.

Sure, I'll get better. Sure, I'll get on and live with it, because what other fucking choices do I have? But I'll never, ever get over it. I never wanted just one child, and this hole in my heart, the one that I've been carrying around since the first time I had a tubal pregnancy... it's never going to go away, because I was so screwed up when pregnant with my son that I never got to experience the joy of carrying him inside me or having the support of the man I loved beside me, helping me through the rough times with our child.

I don't care if I'm oversharing right now. I had to write it down, somewhere, because I know someone else shares my pain and I know I'm not alone. It doesn't make it better, it doesn't fix it, but just know, there's another person out there right now crying their eyes out and wondering what they did so wrong for this to happen to them.

And hoping it's just a horrible nightmare they'll wake up from soon.

“Failure? I never encountered it. All I ever met were temporary setbacks.”

— Dottie Walters

Four years ago, I wrote this post on my original blog, when I hadn't even written a book yet. Today, I've decided to republish it and I'll hope you'll take the time to read and answer the question at the bottom!

So, without further ado, here goes!

First, what is the meaning of failure?

Quite simply, it means lack of success.

The problem with this is...what is success?

Generally, this is the accomplishment of one's goals and/or the attainment of wealth, position, honors or the like.

Here's the thing:

Each and every one of us defines success differently.

For a writer, it could be finally finishing the first draft of a novel after many, many years of saying you will. I've written over 10 books, I consider that a personal success, even if I'm not a widely known author.

For a student, it might involve getting that high school diploma or college degree. Or maybe even a second degree. I finally got my Associate degree after seven attempts at college; that is something I consider success.

For a parent, the ability to stay at home instead of working. Or vice versa. Or both. I get to stay home with my son and work, either with writing or other jobs I've found, even if they aren't permanent.

It can be anything.

I've experienced society's expectations, society's definition of 'success' and it can hurt.

If you aren't smart enough to finish college, you may love retail or fast food work, only to have your job choice mocked. You may hear about how you are useless, a waste, a drain on society because you need help in addition to your job because of low wages. You might even hear someone refer to you as stupid because you're an adult who 'flips burgers' and it's a shame - even though you and those like you who work those job allow the people putting you down to use those services in the first place.

Maybe you did finish college. But now you can't find a job in your field and you need help until you can find a job.

Maybe you grew up with abuse and due to the costs of things, cannot get the therapy you need to heal so you stumble through life, making mistake after mistake, digging yourself deeper and deeper into a hole while people stand by and shake their heads.

They are wrong.

Society is wrong.

There is nothing wrong with being different. There is nothing wrong with not being or feeling smart enough to go to and complete college.

There is nothing wrong with being happy with a non-degree job.

You are not a waste. You are not a failure.

There is no one thing that defines you as or makes you a failure.

If you have a goal, you are not a failure, even if you keep falling down on the way to it.

I won't say you can do anything, be anything because the truth is, we all have limitations. I will say, however, that if you want it bad enough and it's a realistic & achievable goal, you should absolutely go for it. Screw the naysayers.

I don't believe in failure.

Why not?

Well, I know that even if you don't necessarily get where you want to go, you will still get somewhere that is a different destination from where you began. You will still be changed. You will have experienced new things and learned new lessons.

Temporary setbacks? Absolutely.

You will get smacked down repeatedly and what matters most is that you get back up.

Every. Single. Time.

So don't think of your current defeat as a failure. Think of it as a temporary setback. One that you learn, grow and move on from. Then take what you learn and apply it to make things better this time around.

Because until you're no longer living, there will always be a new opportunity to succeed.

Whatever that means to you.

Tell me, what is one thing you want or need more than anything else in your life that would bring you a personal definition of success? If you achieved this, what would you do next, if anything?

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If you're autistic, why did you have a child?" ~ Question asked by too many people

Once of the toughest questions ever asked of me is the one above.

Right off, let me say this:

Autistic persons vary on whether or not they want children as much as Neurotypicals do. Frankly, asking someone who is autistic why they have a child "knowing what they have" because "our children might be autistic, too" is downright insulting.

This implies two things: one, that we have a problem with being autistic or see ourselves as "suffering" from our autism, and two, that an autistic individual has no right having children who will potentially end up being on the spectrum themselves.

I'm here to tell you...that's utter bullshit.

If you think these things, consider this post part of your reality check.

Why did I have a kid?

Well, some people know they want to become parents someday from the time they're children; others are sure they'll never have children.

Me? I waffled between wanting kids and never wanting them at all, mostly from my upbringing. My mother had my brother, me, and then six more girls. My biological father had me, followed by two more sisters with his second wife. All-in-all, I have eight half-sisters and a half-brother, although they are only half when I'm explaining the family line; otherwise, they are simply my brother and sisters.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is...it is easy to get "lost" in that large of a family, and being the oddball I am, something I never did was "fit in" when it came to my family. I always thought of myself as outside them and it wasn't anyone's fault; that's just how I experienced the world around me.

However, I never had a strong urge to become a mother, nor did I want to avoid becoming one. Eventually, it just became something that "might happen" one day, and I really didn't think about it much at all. I was responsible in that aspect as much as I could be, understanding I wasn't in a position financially to have a child.

But then, when I was 23, I got pregnant. Even though I wasn't ready as others believed I should be, and I'm pro-choice, I wasn't going to have an abortion. During my pregnancy, my emotions really evened out, but there wasn't much of a connection and it was uncomfortable, my body changing in unavoidable ways for someone who hated change. By the end, I was just wishing for it to end. Many things going on at the time contributed to this feeling of detachment, too.

My son's entry into the world followed an inducement, which then led to me almost bleeding to death, and a surgery about a week after he was born due to complications.

I didn't know it at the time, but I suffered from postpartum depression that bordered on psychosis after his birth. Nor had I any idea I was autistic, something not diagnosed with until three years after my son's birth when the fog of the PPD had finally lifted. All these mixed together brought an extreme difficulty to the whole situation and for a while, I feared my son's bonding with me had ended up impaired through all the mess. But I also loved him like nothing else and adored him with every fiber of my being.

Today, my son is almost eight, and he's a funny, smart, awkward mini-version of me, even when it comes to our physical resemblance. He's homeschooled because he's socially & emotionally behind, yet academically, well beyond his peers. In public kindergarten, my son did wonderfully, yet the minute he came home was the hardest; he would have complete meltdowns that would ruin the whole evening because it took so much energy for him to "behave" the way the school dictated during the day.

I couldn't do that to him, understanding completely how exhausting it is for me to "hold it together" for eight hours a day because of someone else's expectations, ones that make me go against every instinct I have to stim or move or whatever I'm not allowed to do in this other place outside the safety of my home.

My son might be on the spectrum, but you know what? I don't need a diagnosis for him; he'll always find love and acceptance from his mother because autism isn't a curse. And what do I have now? Well, the desire to have another child, honestly. The chances of it happening aren't likely, yet that is one of my hopes for my near future. We'll see.

Autism itself isn't an impediment to living a satisfying and full life with the things other people have, such as a job and a family. The only thing telling us we shouldn't or aren't capable most of the time is a world that doesn't know how to accommodate us and so far, hasn't wanted to try all that hard to do it, either.

I won't say I "survived" having my first child, even though I've been a single parent the whole time when I never imagined doing it alone, but I will admit parenting didn't come easily to me. Then again, who does find it easy from the get-go? I've no doubt I relate to my son differently than many parents, as I've read plenty over the years and heard plenty from other parents, as well as experienced when around others. Even my soon-to-be husband deals with his children entirely different than how I handle things with my son, but you know what? That's absolutely fine.

To this day, I don't fit in, and I'm perfectly okay with that. I let my son embrace his weirdness and I've no desire to force him to fit into a little box, even as I encourage him to get outside his comfort zone on a regular basis. The world forced me to adjust to the point I lost my way for a while; I don't want that to happen to him. I want him to find fulfillment in the things he enjoys, not chase after a life that doesn't suit him but conforms to society's expectations.

So, do I "suffer" from my autism? Flat out, no. There are some who feel as if they suffer, and they have legitimate reasons for feeling that way, because for some, their autism is debilitating. Me, however? The only thing I suffer from is the ignorance of others who see autism as nothing else except something that needs cured ASAP. I suffer from the world I live in, from what others see as "a chronic lack of real employment" (whatever the hell that means, as I'm pretty sure any job you make money from is real), from being a person who needs some accommodation sometimes — which automatically makes it harder to get jobs if I tell them I'm autistic.

Autism isn't a disease. Disease is a word which connotes something people see as "adversely affecting" a person or group of people, and that's only true if the world continues to refuse to accept differences outside what is seen as the 'norm' of society. Nor should autism be considered a disorder, as the literal definition of the word is “a disruption of normal physical or mental functions," something that makes autism a disorder only because people believe in a “normal” at all.

Are there legitimate diseases and disorders? Yes. Cancer is one, diabetes another, and so on.

But autism is a neurological difference and you know what, you "cure" autism, and you literally will change who your loved one is. Ease the symptoms that cause the most issues with daily living? Sure, there's nothing wrong with that, although the best way may be through coping techniques and allowing an individual to move at their own pace, because we will likely get there eventually even if it's not at the pace those around us or the world requires.

What autism doesn't make me is incapable of being a parent, or holding a job that suits my skills and oddities, or having friends, or living on my own. It doesn't keep me from knowing what I want, even if I have challenges that "normal" people don't.

And as an autistic parent? I don't want recognition, I don't want accolades, I don't want people to congratulate me on becoming a parent despite all my challenges, as if I deserve an award for daring to take on such a responsibility and actually succeeding at it. In that case, every parent deserves such praise, as we all have our own difficulties, yet nobody is asking why these parents thought having children was a good idea.

All I want is the same thing every other parent wants: to have their child grow up and have a life that makes them happy, one that isn't defined by what difficulties my child has, but for what he does for others, for living his life honestly, and for doing everything in his power to make certain he has zero regrets at the end of his (hopefully) long and healthy life.

And for nobody to ever ask me that stupid question ever again.

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