Pamela Taeuffer's Blog - Posts Tagged "romance"
Finding Intimacy
Married twenty-seven years, my husband and I had retreated to the darkest recesses of our caves, ignoring each other, sitting separately, often going to bed hours after the other, and barely kissing good-bye or saying “I love you” during the day.
I’d had the crap knocked out of me that year, by employees who’d gathered together and decided to bring false claims against me, all the while trying to steal clients and business away.
Is it my fault for trusting too much or becoming too relaxed? Yeah, I’ll admit that. But I’m also a romantic. I tend to dream and see the flowers along the path, while ignoring the slugs.
I can’t pinpoint the day when I began to see a brass ring shining again, but I presume it was one night while I sat up writing sometime between three and four in the morning. It had become a habit for me, staying up late, not having to go to bed and touch my husband or hear him snore, or feel the separateness of being together.
Does that make sense?
Even as we lay next to each other, we were both very lonely. We’d gone to therapy, we’d tried the dance of talking it through, but we always retreated after a few weak attempts at working it our.
The oddest part of it all, is that it wasn’t over money, or sex, or children. There wasn’t anything wrong in those areas. What it was, was that we’d become only friends, and I began to resent it. And I REALLY started to resent it when I started my books, The Broken Bottles Series, so named after my father’s alcoholism.
I waned to tell more than that. Sure, I went through what thousands and thousands of others have, a child of trauma, mental and physical abuse from the alcoholic or addicted parent, but what was it from all of those shadows that made me afraid to walk up to my husband and ask for intimacy and love?
Why were the words so hard? I only had to say, “Honey, I want more. I want your lips on mine, and your arms around my body.”
You’d think after that many years it would be easy.
But it wasn’t.
I began to examine why not. As I peeled back my layers, I began to understand what being a child of alcoholism does: it shuts you down, closes your heart, and makes you afraid — it made me very afraid. I knew I’d be abandoned because I wasn’t even the first choice of my father. He chose his bottle over me. How could I ever hope anyone would love me?
And also, why do so many couples end up as friends as they transition into their fifties (or even younger)?
What is it that fades away? Why can’t we each ask for what we want and find our voice with each other?
And that, my friends, is the crux of Shadow Heart, Fire Heart, and the novels to come in the Broken Bottles Series. I have three missions:
1. I want to show what the effects are from growing up in a family battling addiction. It’s not only the fears of mental or physical abuse, it’s the every day choices we make — the way we dress, comb our hair, socialize, participate — they’re all because of how we grew up.
2. I want to take the dirty our of sex. It’s healthy, it opens the heart, and keeps us talking, communication, and asking for what we want.
3. I want to encourage people, wherever they are in their lives to openly ask for what they really want from each other.
We can’t read minds, and we can’t guess. Say it!
DISCUSSION: What is the first step (baby steps) you could do to ask for what you want? Do you even know how? Don’t feel bad, I didn’t!
I’d had the crap knocked out of me that year, by employees who’d gathered together and decided to bring false claims against me, all the while trying to steal clients and business away.
Is it my fault for trusting too much or becoming too relaxed? Yeah, I’ll admit that. But I’m also a romantic. I tend to dream and see the flowers along the path, while ignoring the slugs.
I can’t pinpoint the day when I began to see a brass ring shining again, but I presume it was one night while I sat up writing sometime between three and four in the morning. It had become a habit for me, staying up late, not having to go to bed and touch my husband or hear him snore, or feel the separateness of being together.
Does that make sense?
Even as we lay next to each other, we were both very lonely. We’d gone to therapy, we’d tried the dance of talking it through, but we always retreated after a few weak attempts at working it our.
The oddest part of it all, is that it wasn’t over money, or sex, or children. There wasn’t anything wrong in those areas. What it was, was that we’d become only friends, and I began to resent it. And I REALLY started to resent it when I started my books, The Broken Bottles Series, so named after my father’s alcoholism.
I waned to tell more than that. Sure, I went through what thousands and thousands of others have, a child of trauma, mental and physical abuse from the alcoholic or addicted parent, but what was it from all of those shadows that made me afraid to walk up to my husband and ask for intimacy and love?
Why were the words so hard? I only had to say, “Honey, I want more. I want your lips on mine, and your arms around my body.”
You’d think after that many years it would be easy.
But it wasn’t.
I began to examine why not. As I peeled back my layers, I began to understand what being a child of alcoholism does: it shuts you down, closes your heart, and makes you afraid — it made me very afraid. I knew I’d be abandoned because I wasn’t even the first choice of my father. He chose his bottle over me. How could I ever hope anyone would love me?
And also, why do so many couples end up as friends as they transition into their fifties (or even younger)?
What is it that fades away? Why can’t we each ask for what we want and find our voice with each other?
And that, my friends, is the crux of Shadow Heart, Fire Heart, and the novels to come in the Broken Bottles Series. I have three missions:
1. I want to show what the effects are from growing up in a family battling addiction. It’s not only the fears of mental or physical abuse, it’s the every day choices we make — the way we dress, comb our hair, socialize, participate — they’re all because of how we grew up.
2. I want to take the dirty our of sex. It’s healthy, it opens the heart, and keeps us talking, communication, and asking for what we want.
3. I want to encourage people, wherever they are in their lives to openly ask for what they really want from each other.
We can’t read minds, and we can’t guess. Say it!
DISCUSSION: What is the first step (baby steps) you could do to ask for what you want? Do you even know how? Don’t feel bad, I didn’t!
Finding Intimacy - A Little Girl's Voice Begins to Form
Shadow Heart Jenise and I make faces when our dad opens a can of creamed corn to serve us for dinner. He doesn’t care that this is the one food my sister and I hate more than anything.
I can see leftovers in the refrigerator and other cans of food stacked in the cupboard we like, but it doesn’t matter. It feels like we could’ve been given garbage to eat if that was the nearest and easiest thing for him to grab.
As the opener tears at the metal of the can, grinding jaggedly and twisting it a circle, we sit and wait, and quietly understand: we’re going to bed hungry.
But we also know tomorrow our mom will reward us with presents for being good girls. It might be a new doll, or maybe she’ll treat us to a movie, or her favorite . . . bringing home a supply of sugary snacks.
I can already taste my favorite candy bar—milk chocolate covering caramel and a cookie. But if she brings me a quart of chocolate chip ice cream, that’s just as nice.
“Yuck,” I say to myself as I take a spoonful of the cold, canned corn, forcing it down so I can please dad and get out of the kitchen as fast as I can.
We swallowed everything that way—one spoonful at a time to survive.
Jenise isn’t eating. “Jenise,” I whisper. “Eat.”
Why won’t she eat? She will not give in. No, my sister isn’t that kind of peacemaker. She doesn’t seem to hear his feet pounding the kitchen floor, waiting, angry, as he counts down the minutes to send us to our baths and then to bed.
I watch in dread, afraid for what’s coming as her little body becomes rigid, bracing for what even she knows will be a storm.
She’s daring him! Oh no, don’t!
She plants her feet firmly on the black and white squares of linoleum and refuses every kernel.
“We don’t like creamed corn,” my sister says stubbornly.
This night, there’s no protection from the explosion lying just under his surface. It’s ready to boil, ready to burst, ready to—punish.
“Eat it now,” my father warns. His voice is detached and cold.
But my sister, my hero, she will not back down, and now my father’s face is a brilliant red, and his demons, the ones I’ve seen before, take him over.
Perhaps my father’s anger came from the disappointment of failing as a good parent. Maybe somewhere deep inside he was hiding, protecting his vulnerability, still the nine-year-old boy who couldn’t be soothed when his own father died.
Maybe it was the guilt that consumed him when he looked in the mirror and saw a young man who refused to stay home and take care of his mother as she sought relief from her addiction to prescription pills. Instead of facing that, he had joined the U.S. Army.
Did that tear his heart into pieces? She ended up such a delicate and frail woman. Did he feel guilty about leaving her? Or worse, did he feel by leaving, he made her that way?
Whatever the reason, tonight, his spark ignites. I watch in horror as his flushed face knots up in hatred because we stand between him and his liquid candy.
* HOW DID YOUR VOICE BEGIN TO FORM?
* WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST MEMORY OF SOMETHING BEING A LITTLE OFF IN YOUR FAMILY?
I can see leftovers in the refrigerator and other cans of food stacked in the cupboard we like, but it doesn’t matter. It feels like we could’ve been given garbage to eat if that was the nearest and easiest thing for him to grab.
As the opener tears at the metal of the can, grinding jaggedly and twisting it a circle, we sit and wait, and quietly understand: we’re going to bed hungry.
But we also know tomorrow our mom will reward us with presents for being good girls. It might be a new doll, or maybe she’ll treat us to a movie, or her favorite . . . bringing home a supply of sugary snacks.
I can already taste my favorite candy bar—milk chocolate covering caramel and a cookie. But if she brings me a quart of chocolate chip ice cream, that’s just as nice.
“Yuck,” I say to myself as I take a spoonful of the cold, canned corn, forcing it down so I can please dad and get out of the kitchen as fast as I can.
We swallowed everything that way—one spoonful at a time to survive.
Jenise isn’t eating. “Jenise,” I whisper. “Eat.”
Why won’t she eat? She will not give in. No, my sister isn’t that kind of peacemaker. She doesn’t seem to hear his feet pounding the kitchen floor, waiting, angry, as he counts down the minutes to send us to our baths and then to bed.
I watch in dread, afraid for what’s coming as her little body becomes rigid, bracing for what even she knows will be a storm.
She’s daring him! Oh no, don’t!
She plants her feet firmly on the black and white squares of linoleum and refuses every kernel.
“We don’t like creamed corn,” my sister says stubbornly.
This night, there’s no protection from the explosion lying just under his surface. It’s ready to boil, ready to burst, ready to—punish.
“Eat it now,” my father warns. His voice is detached and cold.
But my sister, my hero, she will not back down, and now my father’s face is a brilliant red, and his demons, the ones I’ve seen before, take him over.
Perhaps my father’s anger came from the disappointment of failing as a good parent. Maybe somewhere deep inside he was hiding, protecting his vulnerability, still the nine-year-old boy who couldn’t be soothed when his own father died.
Maybe it was the guilt that consumed him when he looked in the mirror and saw a young man who refused to stay home and take care of his mother as she sought relief from her addiction to prescription pills. Instead of facing that, he had joined the U.S. Army.
Did that tear his heart into pieces? She ended up such a delicate and frail woman. Did he feel guilty about leaving her? Or worse, did he feel by leaving, he made her that way?
Whatever the reason, tonight, his spark ignites. I watch in horror as his flushed face knots up in hatred because we stand between him and his liquid candy.
* HOW DID YOUR VOICE BEGIN TO FORM?
* WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST MEMORY OF SOMETHING BEING A LITTLE OFF IN YOUR FAMILY?
Shutting Our Hearts Down, Views from Childhood
Keeping my screams pressed down, I hold my hand over my mouth and watch when he takes the back of Jenise's head and shoves her face hard into the bowl of creamed corn.
She lifts her head slowly and turns to the side after he takes his hand away. I'm frozen as I watch her look at me, her shock mixed with the corn that drips off her nose, hidden in her burning eyes as she wipes them, and within her lungs as she gasps for air.
As soon as it happens, my defenses click in and I detach. My father's demon swirls around us, come to possess every breath we take. I don't look at the monster in our kitchen; I'm terrified he's going to hurt us—badly.
My dreams begin, and more than the physical act of violence itself, I notice the smaller details around me like the colors in our kitchen.
I see the pale yellow of the corn as it drips down Jenise's face. It matches the paint on the walls. I see the white of the porcelain bowl as it rocks back and forth from the shock of her face smashed down in it.
I hear the sound of dullness made by the spoon that once rested by the bowl of corn, now fallen to the floor, and I see the beautiful color of my sister's hazel eyes as they squint and blink.
THIS SCENE TAKES PLACE WHEN NICKY AND JENISE'S FATHER RAGES, WANTING DESPERATELY FOR HIS DAUGHTERS TO GET OUT OF THE WAY SO HE CAN DRINK. THEIR FATHER HAS JUST SHOVED NICKY'S SISTER'S FACE INTO A BOWL OF CREAMED CORN BECAUSE SHE'S CHALLENGED HIM.
THE POINT OF VIEW IS FROM NICKY AT 8 YRS. OLD.
I watch her mouth open as she tries to regain her breath and her white shirt becomes blotched with stains the color of butter. My eyes see the sky blue of the vinyl booth I sit in and the white rope of the leather ribbing that seams it.
A few years earlier I'd taken a knife and sliced it, making neat and orderly cuts about an inch apart, beginning at my father's seat and ending to my left at my sister's spot.
It was as if I tried to cut myself away from the yelling, terror, and disgust, perhaps even to cut myself out of my family. Anywhere seemed better than being at the dinner table with them.
Everything moves in slow motion, except when my father takes his belt from the loops in his pants; that move was so quick it seems blurred to my eyes.
One half of my mind knows my body is present within the trauma and craziness, and the other half is somewhere in the shadows, observing.
WHAT WAS THE FIRST MOMENT YOU FELT SOMETHING OFF? NOT NECESSARILY IN CHILDHOOD, BUT ALSO GROWING UP? HOW DID YOU FIND YOUR VOICE?
WHEN DID YOU LET YOUR HEART OPEN FOR DEEPER INTIMACY, NO LONGER AFRAID?
She lifts her head slowly and turns to the side after he takes his hand away. I'm frozen as I watch her look at me, her shock mixed with the corn that drips off her nose, hidden in her burning eyes as she wipes them, and within her lungs as she gasps for air.
As soon as it happens, my defenses click in and I detach. My father's demon swirls around us, come to possess every breath we take. I don't look at the monster in our kitchen; I'm terrified he's going to hurt us—badly.
My dreams begin, and more than the physical act of violence itself, I notice the smaller details around me like the colors in our kitchen.
I see the pale yellow of the corn as it drips down Jenise's face. It matches the paint on the walls. I see the white of the porcelain bowl as it rocks back and forth from the shock of her face smashed down in it.
I hear the sound of dullness made by the spoon that once rested by the bowl of corn, now fallen to the floor, and I see the beautiful color of my sister's hazel eyes as they squint and blink.
THIS SCENE TAKES PLACE WHEN NICKY AND JENISE'S FATHER RAGES, WANTING DESPERATELY FOR HIS DAUGHTERS TO GET OUT OF THE WAY SO HE CAN DRINK. THEIR FATHER HAS JUST SHOVED NICKY'S SISTER'S FACE INTO A BOWL OF CREAMED CORN BECAUSE SHE'S CHALLENGED HIM.
THE POINT OF VIEW IS FROM NICKY AT 8 YRS. OLD.
I watch her mouth open as she tries to regain her breath and her white shirt becomes blotched with stains the color of butter. My eyes see the sky blue of the vinyl booth I sit in and the white rope of the leather ribbing that seams it.
A few years earlier I'd taken a knife and sliced it, making neat and orderly cuts about an inch apart, beginning at my father's seat and ending to my left at my sister's spot.
It was as if I tried to cut myself away from the yelling, terror, and disgust, perhaps even to cut myself out of my family. Anywhere seemed better than being at the dinner table with them.
Everything moves in slow motion, except when my father takes his belt from the loops in his pants; that move was so quick it seems blurred to my eyes.
One half of my mind knows my body is present within the trauma and craziness, and the other half is somewhere in the shadows, observing.
WHAT WAS THE FIRST MOMENT YOU FELT SOMETHING OFF? NOT NECESSARILY IN CHILDHOOD, BUT ALSO GROWING UP? HOW DID YOU FIND YOUR VOICE?
WHEN DID YOU LET YOUR HEART OPEN FOR DEEPER INTIMACY, NO LONGER AFRAID?
A Romance Novel, Coming of Age, Intimacy, Addiction, Family
So to recap Chapter 1 of Shadow Heart, the first novel in the Broken Bottles Series.
What are the challenges of our heroine, Nicky Young?
The story opens up as we hear her voice, at some age, talking about a time when she was eight years old and witnessed her father's rage toward Jenise, her sister, just because they wouldn't eat the cold creamed corn their father served them.
We also hear Nicky open her story by talking about her little prayer, the way most little girls and boys pray, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . . and please make my father quit drinking."
In fact I prayed this way every night growing up, because you see, Nicky in many ways is me.
No amount of prayer changed my father. Sometimes he paused for a week, a month, a day . . . one time he was sober for eight months. What a joy it was to have my dad back. But you know what? It also heightened my anxiety.
Why?
Because a new edge was sharpened on my survival "knife." Now each day I waited, dreading the man who was bound to fall off the wagon, once again red faced, seeking sloppy love when all we wanted to do was push him away.
Have you felt like that?
Growing up under any trauma makes us not only survivors, but keen observers, adept at analysis, and listeners like no other, but we need to weave and dodge through the bullets of dysfunction.
So what do we know by knowing Nicky in chapter 1? She prays, which means she must have had some exposure to religion of some sort.
She talks about the things she knows:
1. Something bad is coming; it always does.
2. I can't ask for help; I'm too ashamed.
3. I can't talk about our secrets; no one else understands.
4. I can't trust anyone; they always leave.
Children of addiction/trauma learn by being abandoned. We are promised, day after day that this will be the holiday, birthday, school even, that our parent or loved one will be sober. But of course they choose the bottle or drug of choice over us.
We're sure no other family is going through it, and we know we have to keep secrets.
What else do we know?
Nicky's mother has gone through the same thing. She screams out loud in the Arizona desert in the summer monsoons to have the floods take her away from her home.
What does Nicky know now after watching her sister's punishment?
She's not safe.
Her mother can't protect her.
Her father is no longer who he once was.
She knows, it's all up to her, and she'd better pave her own road because no one is there to help her.
WHEN DID YOU REALIZE IT WAS ALL UP TO YOU?
WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ROMANCE?
AAAHHH! JUST WAIT…IT'S COMING! DEEP, SENSUAL INTIMACY…WILL NICKY LEARN HOW TO GET IT?Shadow Heart
What are the challenges of our heroine, Nicky Young?
The story opens up as we hear her voice, at some age, talking about a time when she was eight years old and witnessed her father's rage toward Jenise, her sister, just because they wouldn't eat the cold creamed corn their father served them.
We also hear Nicky open her story by talking about her little prayer, the way most little girls and boys pray, "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep . . . and please make my father quit drinking."
In fact I prayed this way every night growing up, because you see, Nicky in many ways is me.
No amount of prayer changed my father. Sometimes he paused for a week, a month, a day . . . one time he was sober for eight months. What a joy it was to have my dad back. But you know what? It also heightened my anxiety.
Why?
Because a new edge was sharpened on my survival "knife." Now each day I waited, dreading the man who was bound to fall off the wagon, once again red faced, seeking sloppy love when all we wanted to do was push him away.
Have you felt like that?
Growing up under any trauma makes us not only survivors, but keen observers, adept at analysis, and listeners like no other, but we need to weave and dodge through the bullets of dysfunction.
So what do we know by knowing Nicky in chapter 1? She prays, which means she must have had some exposure to religion of some sort.
She talks about the things she knows:
1. Something bad is coming; it always does.
2. I can't ask for help; I'm too ashamed.
3. I can't talk about our secrets; no one else understands.
4. I can't trust anyone; they always leave.
Children of addiction/trauma learn by being abandoned. We are promised, day after day that this will be the holiday, birthday, school even, that our parent or loved one will be sober. But of course they choose the bottle or drug of choice over us.
We're sure no other family is going through it, and we know we have to keep secrets.
What else do we know?
Nicky's mother has gone through the same thing. She screams out loud in the Arizona desert in the summer monsoons to have the floods take her away from her home.
What does Nicky know now after watching her sister's punishment?
She's not safe.
Her mother can't protect her.
Her father is no longer who he once was.
She knows, it's all up to her, and she'd better pave her own road because no one is there to help her.
WHEN DID YOU REALIZE IT WAS ALL UP TO YOU?
WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH ROMANCE?
AAAHHH! JUST WAIT…IT'S COMING! DEEP, SENSUAL INTIMACY…WILL NICKY LEARN HOW TO GET IT?Shadow Heart
My Sister Was Raped
IN THIS SCENE IN SHADOW HEART NICKY YOUNG REFLECTS BACK TO WHEN HER SISTER WAS RAPED, AND HOW IT CONVINCED HER THAT FLIRTING OR SHOWING YOURSELF WITH REVEALING CLOTHES LEADS TO VIOLENCE AND SHAME.
The day my sister’s life changed forever, I came home from school at the usual time.
She was generally a few hours behind me, hanging back and talking with friends, having a soda or the occasional beer and doing the other things that occupied the lives of teenage girls.
So when she was late, no one really gave it a second thought. That was until dinner came and went and she hadn’t called.
My father was drunk, of course, and without his sparring partner at the table, he ate dinner quietly. Maybe somewhere under his numb- ness, he knew, because without any words, he went up to bed and left my mother alone to handle it.
Our parents bought my sister a cell phone so they could reach her, and she them. But that day Jenise didn’t answer. By the way my mother began cleaning the house instead of reading her romance novels, I knew something was very wrong.
“Did you hear from Jenise today?” Mom finally asked me.
“No, I came right home from school and then went up to my room to study,” I said. “Have you phoned her friends? I have some of their numbers if you don’t. She’s friends with Patty’s sister.”
“I’ve called them all,” my mom said. “As far as they knew she was coming right home.”
A sinking feeling filled my body, and I’m sure my mother’s heart crashed into her stomach. I imagined she was walking her fence, trying to decide whether to call the police, go look for her, or stay put.
In a way, she was trapped. She knew my father couldn’t help and as much as she probably wanted to do something instead of sitting and waiting, she couldn’t. If she went to look for her and Jenise called, I’d be alone with a parent who was drunk and couldn’t help.
I did the dishes, and then sat in the living room watching something on TV, eating a bowl of ice cream with my mom.
At about 9 p.m., Jenise walked through the door. Her clothes weren’t quite right, and the color was drained from her face. Her eyes were distant and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “She looks dead.” – Continued
PLEASE JOIN IN THE DISCUSSION AT WWW.PAMELATAEUFFER.COM AT MY BLOG SITE:
Have you or anyone in your family been raped?
What kind of feelings did you have? Why were you ashamed, if you were?
Why do we or does the legal system or society blame women or question what they did to bring it on?Shadow Heart
The day my sister’s life changed forever, I came home from school at the usual time.
She was generally a few hours behind me, hanging back and talking with friends, having a soda or the occasional beer and doing the other things that occupied the lives of teenage girls.
So when she was late, no one really gave it a second thought. That was until dinner came and went and she hadn’t called.
My father was drunk, of course, and without his sparring partner at the table, he ate dinner quietly. Maybe somewhere under his numb- ness, he knew, because without any words, he went up to bed and left my mother alone to handle it.
Our parents bought my sister a cell phone so they could reach her, and she them. But that day Jenise didn’t answer. By the way my mother began cleaning the house instead of reading her romance novels, I knew something was very wrong.
“Did you hear from Jenise today?” Mom finally asked me.
“No, I came right home from school and then went up to my room to study,” I said. “Have you phoned her friends? I have some of their numbers if you don’t. She’s friends with Patty’s sister.”
“I’ve called them all,” my mom said. “As far as they knew she was coming right home.”
A sinking feeling filled my body, and I’m sure my mother’s heart crashed into her stomach. I imagined she was walking her fence, trying to decide whether to call the police, go look for her, or stay put.
In a way, she was trapped. She knew my father couldn’t help and as much as she probably wanted to do something instead of sitting and waiting, she couldn’t. If she went to look for her and Jenise called, I’d be alone with a parent who was drunk and couldn’t help.
I did the dishes, and then sat in the living room watching something on TV, eating a bowl of ice cream with my mom.
At about 9 p.m., Jenise walked through the door. Her clothes weren’t quite right, and the color was drained from her face. Her eyes were distant and the first thought that crossed my mind was, “She looks dead.” – Continued
PLEASE JOIN IN THE DISCUSSION AT WWW.PAMELATAEUFFER.COM AT MY BLOG SITE:
Have you or anyone in your family been raped?
What kind of feelings did you have? Why were you ashamed, if you were?
Why do we or does the legal system or society blame women or question what they did to bring it on?Shadow Heart
Love Story - Is that what our lives are about?
Our lives are ultimately a love story, aren't they?
We strive to move through and dodge the pain, keep it away, sometimes embrace it, and other times we swear, scream, lash out, beat another down, with words, fists . . . all to make us safe, our family safe, our friends . . . because we love them.
Or we fear them. Or we want them to fear us, or love us, or forgive us.
Do we love ourselves in the same way?
Do we give ourselves the breaks and space we so generously allow others?
Or do we drink down the thing that can numb us?
We yearn to live outside of our fears. We desperately want others to surround us with love.
I picture invisible hands caressing and holding me, holding us, and hope that people I have around me will accept everything about me, the good and the bad, and love me for who I am.
Can we love each other that way?
If someone is five hundred pounds, do we see them as lovable?
If someone has been burned and married, and their skull is dented, their scalp torn apart in an accident or by a bomb in war, can we love them?
Can we forgive a parent, a spouse, a child, for falling short of our expectations, being an alcoholic or an addict and abandoning us?
Can we love them still, as just another human being?
Should we?
We strive to move through and dodge the pain, keep it away, sometimes embrace it, and other times we swear, scream, lash out, beat another down, with words, fists . . . all to make us safe, our family safe, our friends . . . because we love them.
Or we fear them. Or we want them to fear us, or love us, or forgive us.
Do we love ourselves in the same way?
Do we give ourselves the breaks and space we so generously allow others?
Or do we drink down the thing that can numb us?
We yearn to live outside of our fears. We desperately want others to surround us with love.
I picture invisible hands caressing and holding me, holding us, and hope that people I have around me will accept everything about me, the good and the bad, and love me for who I am.
Can we love each other that way?
If someone is five hundred pounds, do we see them as lovable?
If someone has been burned and married, and their skull is dented, their scalp torn apart in an accident or by a bomb in war, can we love them?
Can we forgive a parent, a spouse, a child, for falling short of our expectations, being an alcoholic or an addict and abandoning us?
Can we love them still, as just another human being?
Should we?
First Stirrings - When are we Aware of Intimacy?
It's a feeling in our belly.
It's a pulse in our chest that surges down through our stomach, lower, into our pelvis, aching, longing to be relieved.
It's the slant of an eye, or a bashful look through his eyelashes.
What and who stirred feelings of sensuality for you?
We pick up Shadow Heart just after Ryan Tilton, almost 25, introduces himself to Nicky Young, seventeen. He begins a very careful, slow, sensual plan to bring her heart and mind to him and knows he needs to be careful or she'll run away. Nicky is the daughter of an alcoholic, and the way she avoids confrontation is to run away.
**************
He laughed, and his tone got my attention once again.
Wow that laugh—it’s sublime, subtle, and distinct, and something’s . . . I feel like there’s a low rumble beginning in my belly.
“I talk fast when I’m nervous, too,” he said. Again, he put his hand on my shoulder.
Wow his hands are big.
What does Nicky do with feelings of warm pulses?
What does Nicky do with feelings of warm pulses?
“Yeah, thanks but you’re, well you’re who you are,” I said.
“From what I understand you’re a genius yourself,” he leaned in close. “Your resume lists your GPA as 4.25, right?”
“I’ve never had my IQ measured to know, but I study all the time. I work very hard at it,” I said taking a breath. Keep it together. “All the time,” I repeated.
His smile was wide, but then his expression changed as he explained, “My dad was in the service too; Afghanistan. He was killed when I was
fourteen.” He looked away, seemingly trying to grasp and hold in his pain. “Oh, Mr. Tilton,” I put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” Damn, so
young, poor guy.
I was startled by the power underneath his skin. His muscles were hard and well-defined, and the feel of them sent a surge through my body. It was as if they were hard marbles covered by fur, and touching him brought a different feeling to me, one I’d never experienced before.
It began with a burst in my chest, like a big beat, and rolled with an ache into my stomach and then resonated down my legs.
“Ooh!” It was as if my hand burned. I lifted it off him quickly.
Oh damn! Did he feel it too? Wasn’t that a ripple that went through his arm?
“What’s the matter, Nicky?” his expression was suggestive and it made me look away.
“Nothing, Mr. Tilton,” I said playing with my hair.
“Ryan. Just call me Ryan. Thank you for your sweet thoughts,” he said. “It was a tough time for me, and it’s why I feel so deeply for those wounded vets in Yountville. If it’s all right with you, I’ll clear it with management to make sure they know I’m, uh, taking you out.”
He smiled at me with a look that made me question . . . things.
* What kinds of feelings is Nicky Battling?
* Why would she feel safe when her own father had let her go?
* How can Nicky bring someone close?
Won't you join the conversation and visit us at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com?
Shadow Heart will be given away as a kindle book 4/26-4/27 on Amazon.com. I'd love for you to download it and let me know your thoughts.
http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Heart-Co...
It's a pulse in our chest that surges down through our stomach, lower, into our pelvis, aching, longing to be relieved.
It's the slant of an eye, or a bashful look through his eyelashes.
What and who stirred feelings of sensuality for you?
We pick up Shadow Heart just after Ryan Tilton, almost 25, introduces himself to Nicky Young, seventeen. He begins a very careful, slow, sensual plan to bring her heart and mind to him and knows he needs to be careful or she'll run away. Nicky is the daughter of an alcoholic, and the way she avoids confrontation is to run away.
**************
He laughed, and his tone got my attention once again.
Wow that laugh—it’s sublime, subtle, and distinct, and something’s . . . I feel like there’s a low rumble beginning in my belly.
“I talk fast when I’m nervous, too,” he said. Again, he put his hand on my shoulder.
Wow his hands are big.
What does Nicky do with feelings of warm pulses?
What does Nicky do with feelings of warm pulses?
“Yeah, thanks but you’re, well you’re who you are,” I said.
“From what I understand you’re a genius yourself,” he leaned in close. “Your resume lists your GPA as 4.25, right?”
“I’ve never had my IQ measured to know, but I study all the time. I work very hard at it,” I said taking a breath. Keep it together. “All the time,” I repeated.
His smile was wide, but then his expression changed as he explained, “My dad was in the service too; Afghanistan. He was killed when I was
fourteen.” He looked away, seemingly trying to grasp and hold in his pain. “Oh, Mr. Tilton,” I put my hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry.” Damn, so
young, poor guy.
I was startled by the power underneath his skin. His muscles were hard and well-defined, and the feel of them sent a surge through my body. It was as if they were hard marbles covered by fur, and touching him brought a different feeling to me, one I’d never experienced before.
It began with a burst in my chest, like a big beat, and rolled with an ache into my stomach and then resonated down my legs.
“Ooh!” It was as if my hand burned. I lifted it off him quickly.
Oh damn! Did he feel it too? Wasn’t that a ripple that went through his arm?
“What’s the matter, Nicky?” his expression was suggestive and it made me look away.
“Nothing, Mr. Tilton,” I said playing with my hair.
“Ryan. Just call me Ryan. Thank you for your sweet thoughts,” he said. “It was a tough time for me, and it’s why I feel so deeply for those wounded vets in Yountville. If it’s all right with you, I’ll clear it with management to make sure they know I’m, uh, taking you out.”
He smiled at me with a look that made me question . . . things.
* What kinds of feelings is Nicky Battling?
* Why would she feel safe when her own father had let her go?
* How can Nicky bring someone close?
Won't you join the conversation and visit us at www.PamelaTaeuffer.com?
Shadow Heart will be given away as a kindle book 4/26-4/27 on Amazon.com. I'd love for you to download it and let me know your thoughts.
http://www.amazon.com/Shadow-Heart-Co...
Releasing, Editing, Responding, Analyzing
When you work on a project as I have for four years (a drop in the bucket compared to other authors), you carefully release your first baby.
I am taking a different approach to writing about growing in a family that tried to survive the best we could, an alcoholic father, husband, who sometimes raged, and for many years, all I could remember of him was passed out in his chair or in bed (after the screaming and yelling and sometimes worse subsided).
There are so many books out there about this topic. Just as there are so many love stories offered.
In combing the two, I'm trying to show how love, growing up, relationships, choices of clothes, conversations, who I took as friends -- every day choices -- were affected because of having an abusive alcoholic parent.
Ultimately, it affects the way we trust, the way we participate in having a boyfriend/girlfriend, our marriage, the way we open or stay closed to our children -- all of the intimacy of our lives is difficult.
So that's the story, now here's the issue.
I gave into some bad editing advice with book 1, Shadow Heart. I'm so unhappy with it, that I am rereleasing, and a different ending, the one I wanted to begin with, will be part of book 1.
Like it or not, spelling errors, or not, it will stand. This is the final. Spelling errors are a part of most books these days, especially self-published. I can tell you I've spent many thousands of dollars and had five editors look at the project and each one catches different things and have different opinions.
It's not as easy as it sounds. But with careful diligence and a steady, loving, and hopeful heart, I hope I've resolved most of the book's issues.
It was be offered as an e book free in the next couple of weeks, and Fire Heart will be out with it.
There will be steep cliffhangers in each book because that's what life is when growing up with an alcoholic - nothing but steep cliffs.
We never knew what we were getting ourselves into when we came home or he came home.
Apologies? To those of you who were upset with the first ending, I'm sorry. It's different now, but may not be any more satisfying, but to me, it is.
I have reacted to what the public has consistently told me, and cannot obviously satisfy everyone, but I am finally at peace with the way the series is progressing.
And being at peace with it, hopefully means my heart is flying and will bring you a story you're sometimes angry, sad, and in love with.
For those who couldn't get into it? Sorry, life is like that. Sometimes it clicks, sometimes it doesn't.
I can tell you that I've appreciated everyone's input and everyone who read the book.
And now, the release, coming soon.
I am taking a different approach to writing about growing in a family that tried to survive the best we could, an alcoholic father, husband, who sometimes raged, and for many years, all I could remember of him was passed out in his chair or in bed (after the screaming and yelling and sometimes worse subsided).
There are so many books out there about this topic. Just as there are so many love stories offered.
In combing the two, I'm trying to show how love, growing up, relationships, choices of clothes, conversations, who I took as friends -- every day choices -- were affected because of having an abusive alcoholic parent.
Ultimately, it affects the way we trust, the way we participate in having a boyfriend/girlfriend, our marriage, the way we open or stay closed to our children -- all of the intimacy of our lives is difficult.
So that's the story, now here's the issue.
I gave into some bad editing advice with book 1, Shadow Heart. I'm so unhappy with it, that I am rereleasing, and a different ending, the one I wanted to begin with, will be part of book 1.
Like it or not, spelling errors, or not, it will stand. This is the final. Spelling errors are a part of most books these days, especially self-published. I can tell you I've spent many thousands of dollars and had five editors look at the project and each one catches different things and have different opinions.
It's not as easy as it sounds. But with careful diligence and a steady, loving, and hopeful heart, I hope I've resolved most of the book's issues.
It was be offered as an e book free in the next couple of weeks, and Fire Heart will be out with it.
There will be steep cliffhangers in each book because that's what life is when growing up with an alcoholic - nothing but steep cliffs.
We never knew what we were getting ourselves into when we came home or he came home.
Apologies? To those of you who were upset with the first ending, I'm sorry. It's different now, but may not be any more satisfying, but to me, it is.
I have reacted to what the public has consistently told me, and cannot obviously satisfy everyone, but I am finally at peace with the way the series is progressing.
And being at peace with it, hopefully means my heart is flying and will bring you a story you're sometimes angry, sad, and in love with.
For those who couldn't get into it? Sorry, life is like that. Sometimes it clicks, sometimes it doesn't.
I can tell you that I've appreciated everyone's input and everyone who read the book.
And now, the release, coming soon.
Re-releasing Shadow Heart, and Book 2, Fire Heart
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
WHY GO TO ALL THE TROUBLE TO REWORK A BOOK, AFTER PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO EDITORS, PROMOTION SITES, FORMATTERS, DESIGNERS, AND OTHER PROFESSIONALS IN THE BUSINESS?
BECAUSE READERS ASKED FOR IT.
WILL I EVER RE-RELEASE ANOTHER BOOK IF FEEDBACK TELLS ME I SHOULD CONSIDER IT? YES, BUT THIS BOOK, SHADOW HEART, IS DONE, FINISHED, AND THAT’S IT.
First I want to say thank you to all the readers, both with positive and negative comments, who gave me constructive feedback. To have a reader actually take time out of their life to read my book is a privilege and I sincerely mean it when I say I’m grateful.
Second, when I initially wrote the series (it’s twelve novels long) I wanted to end the first in a different place than where it ended. I listened to a New York City editor, a good one, but never-the-less I should have listened to my gut about my own story’s break. She suggested I leave a dramatic cliff hanger at the end of book 1 so interest would be strong in book 2, Fire Heart.
Sounds good, right?
Holy crap, the anger that came back because I’d done that without warning about it — I heard the feedback, corrected it, ended differently (where I wanted to originally) BUT!!! I will have severe cliff hangers in all books going forward. After all, that’s how it is growing up in a family battling alcoholism. We never knew what we were going to get, and neither should readers of this series.
Third, type-o’s. Well, I think I’ve caught them all, but if not, I can live with it and so should you. It’s part of self-publishing these days, and as long as there aren’t a barrel full, it’s pretty normal. Even so, I’ve worked with 5 editors trying to catch everything. And that’s the fourth point.
Every editor has their own style, opinions, strengths and weaknesses. They each see and catch different things. So being a movie in this (not so much anymore, but I was new, after all), I know that now and will stick with one line editor and one story editor. I get that now.
Well, I think that about wraps up my reasons. Now going forward, my story is set, I’m good with my endings, and happy with the way the story progresses, even though some have told me the writing is a little “different” which some have said means poetic, others juvenile, and still others have said as if written by a teenage girl.
Yes, indeed it is written by a woman coming of age, at least from her point of view. And I want the writing to reflect all her innocence, her discovery, her anger, and discovery of being intimate and sensual. And by the way, after the first three novels, this story will definitely take a very intimate turn. Will it be with Jerry or Ryan or even another young man? Who knows.
As I sign off and begin posting once again with my thoughts and input from growing up and living every day with mental abuse, fear, abandonment, and dysfunction, the things I’ve included in the story are how it was for me. If it’s sluggish, or slow, I’m sorry you couldn’t get into it. I hope the pace is fast enough to show you and keep you involved in what having an alcoholic parent does as you form relationships of all sorts–friends, lovers, family–they’re all affected.
We form our own obsessions and addictions as children of trauma. What are they? I hope you’ll read on.
Thanks readers!
I will also begin my newsletters now, and share with you many of the cut chapters and character backgrounds that are not longer a part of the books. And for the first twenty that sign up? I will be sure and send you free ebook versions for the entire series if you’ll be part of my street team and give me your honest feedback, and … if you like it … help me spread the word.
Rock on mustangs!
Next question - - - should I have another contest?
Re-releasing a book, my baby, and the reasons why
WHY GO TO ALL THE TROUBLE TO REWORK A BOOK, AFTER PAYING THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS TO EDITORS, PROMOTION SITES, FORMATTERS, DESIGNERS, AND OTHER PROFESSIONALS IN THE BUSINESS?
BECAUSE READERS ASKED FOR IT.
WILL I EVER RE-RELEASE ANOTHER BOOK IF FEEDBACK TELLS ME I SHOULD CONSIDER IT? YES, BUT THIS BOOK, SHADOW HEART, IS DONE, FINISHED, AND THAT’S IT.
First I want to say thank you to all the readers, both with positive and negative comments, who gave me constructive feedback. To have a reader actually take time out of their life to read my book is a privilege and I sincerely mean it when I say I’m grateful.
Second, when I initially wrote the series (it’s twelve novels long) I wanted to end the first in a different place than where it ended. I listened to a New York City editor, a good one, but never-the-less I should have listened to my gut about my own story’s break. She suggested I leave a dramatic cliff hanger at the end of book 1 so interest would be strong in book 2, Fire Heart.
Sounds good, right?
Holy crap, the anger that came back because I’d done that without warning about it — I heard the feedback, corrected it, ended differently (where I wanted to originally) BUT!!! I will have severe cliff hangers in all books going forward. After all, that’s how it is growing up in a family battling alcoholism. We never knew what we were going to get, and neither should readers of this series.
Third, type-o’s. Well, I think I’ve caught them all, but if not, I can live with it and so should you. It’s part of self-publishing these days, and as long as there aren’t a barrel full, it’s pretty normal. Even so, I’ve worked with 5 editors trying to catch everything. And that’s the fourth point.
Every editor has their own style, opinions, strengths and weaknesses. They each see and catch different things. So being a movie in this (not so much anymore, but I was new, after all), I know that now and will stick with one line editor and one story editor. I get that now.
Well, I think that about wraps up my reasons. Now going forward, my story is set, I’m good with my endings, and happy with the way the story progresses, even though some have told me the writing is a little “different” which some have said means poetic, others juvenile, and still others have said as if written by a teenage girl.
Yes, indeed it is written by a woman coming of age, at least from her point of view. And I want the writing to reflect all her innocence, her discovery, her anger, and discovery of being intimate and sensual. And by the way, after the first three novels, this story will definitely take a very intimate turn. Will it be with Jerry or Ryan or even another young man? Who knows.
As I sign off and begin posting once again with my thoughts and input from growing up and living every day with mental abuse, fear, abandonment, and dysfunction, the things I’ve included in the story are how it was for me. If it’s sluggish, or slow, I’m sorry you couldn’t get into it. I hope the pace is fast enough to show you and keep you involved in what having an alcoholic parent does as you form relationships of all sorts–friends, lovers, family–they’re all affected.
We form our own obsessions and addictions as children of trauma. What are they? I hope you’ll read on.
Thanks readers!
I will also begin my newsletters now, and share with you many of the cut chapters and character backgrounds that are not longer a part of the books. And for the first twenty that sign up? I will be sure and send you free ebook versions for the entire series if you’ll be part of my street team and give me your honest feedback, and … if you like it … help me spread the word.
Rock on mustangs!
Next question - - - should I have another contest?
Shadow Heart e book giveaway on Amazon
After a thoughtful debate, I took my readers' suggestions and redesigned, edited, Shadow Heart.
I'm re-releasing, currently available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon, with a KDP giveaway 10/4-10/5.
Thanks to all my readers who voiced strong opinions.
I'm listening.
I'm re-releasing, currently available on Kindle or paperback on Amazon, with a KDP giveaway 10/4-10/5.
Thanks to all my readers who voiced strong opinions.
I'm listening.
