Absent… Again.

Not sure why you guys put up with me.

You may or may not have noticed that nothing is coming out of the Felicity mill right now. And I do mean nothing. I’ve never experienced a dry spell quite like this one. Or summer depression.

Since I was a kid, summer was MY time. I loved the sunshine, the heat, the humidity, things growing and green. Heavy afternoons that screamed with cicadas until the thunderstorms swelled and exploded. Then fresh, clean dusks with pink and coral sunsets, everything drinking and steaming and falling asleep. I’d stand in our front yard and watch the bats against the pink sky. Then count stars and lightning bugs. On the hottest nights, heat lightning flickered through the sky like a distant dying neon. Silent. A contained fury, uncontained somewhere, for someone.

I belonged to it.

We’ve had a rough year. There has been illness and poverty and lost friends. Scraping out a living and being thwarted at every turn. It has silenced me. And the silence builds and suffocates… I don’t know what I am when I’m not writing, or painting, or being successful at something. My successes are few and far between. And my energy is consumed by survival.

So I don’t know if I’ll be back this time. I’m considering closing the site down, as it seems rude to the public to have a blog you never update. I believe I’ve given Felicity a fair shot these last almost three years… Or maybe I just need time to get out of this slump. It’s not that I don’t have ideas, both for finishing existing projects, and beginning new ones; but I’m unable to speak. Life has gagged me.

Until next time…

Coming Home

A story that chilled me right to the bone…


“Will you just GO?!” she giggled, pushing him away as he leaned down to kiss her one more time, “You’ll miss the train!”

“Ok, ok! There’s always another train anyway… but ok,” he smiled and lifted his bag, turning to unlock the front door. A blast of icy air hit her bare legs; she hopped and jogged on the spot.

“Fuck! Gotta scrape the windscreen,” he sighed.

“See? Now you really will be late! You should listen to your wife… she always knows best.”

“He! Yeah I got a genius one. Get your ass back up to bed, it’s cold.”

She reached up and squeezed him in a hug, “I love you, have a good day.”

He kissed her, not allowing the fact that she tried to wriggle out of his embrace because she hadn’t brushed her teeth stop him, “Love you too, gorgeous.” He locked the door behind him…

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This blog has been quite the experience. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve been with WordPress for almost a decade. I’ve run four different blogs and the longest one I kept running for about eight years. It was under my actual name, and was a way to keep widespread friends and family informed. It served as a farm journal, a picture journal, a horse training journal, a cookbook, a public sketch pad and a year long Christmas letter for whoever wished to drop by.

Then I launched Felicity. Felicity was a way to shed the expectations of a small community, and a smaller family. I found myself needing to express thoughts and ideas that wouldn’t be acceptable to those who knew me. I know that may sound harsh, and you may be thinking, well those people love you, and will love you no matter  what, for who you are.

The real world doesn’t work that way. They may still love you, but in my case, I would no longer be acceptable to them, and I would need to be fixed. Changed. Remolded into that neat little Christian package so I could sit on the front pew with the rest of the preacher’s family.

Felicity happened because I was no longer able to squeeze myself into that rigid expectation. I felt myself bursting, needing to stretch and pull things out into the light for my own sake and no one else’s. And I have made some amazing discoveries on account of it.

Not only that, I have made some amazing friends. And today is a special day for one of them, my girl Kat. We’ve known one another for two years now, and we’ve been through some rough shit together. Kat is one of the first people (my DH aside, but he’s under contract 😉 ) who met me on my own ground, and accepted me for who I am, not who I was supposed to be. She has supported me, championed me, propped me up, mowed me down, and sent me pictures of really fucking big spiders (thanks a lot for that, sis 😉 )

Today is her birthday. And I wanted to publicly wish her a happy one, filled with all the best things life can give her. I hope all you folks will stop by her corner of wordpress and do the same.

Thank you, Kat, for being here for me. Happy birthday!


Two Hearts Beat

Both inspired and inspiring, such a lovely verse!

Graeme Sandford


Two heart beats
As two hearts beat
In synchronous time
Together in more ways than one
could imagine.

For an instant
For all time
Fortune tellers
Fore-tell rhyme
and reason
For a woman of the moment
And a man for a season.

What all this means
I haven’t a clue
It’s just letters to words
And sentences
From me to you –
And when my sentence is due
to be passed
Let me be judged fairly
Let me be
And I shall
Until then
Be here with you.

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I am a Writer

I’ve come to a pretty serious conclusion. It’s been a while in coming, but I had to be certain I wasn’t reacting emotionally to some shit that’s been going on. Turns out I’m not, or if I am, it’s the way it’s going to go and I need to deal with it, or be eaten alive by it.

I’m done with book promotion. Yes, my book (and those future volumes I have in mind to publish) will still be available for sale. But after the past six months of pushing, I got no push left. Yes, I wanted to enjoy some moderate success. I wanted to get my name out there, my words in front of as many people as possible. Yes, I wanted to make a little money. Why? Because, I love to write. I wanted to help my family by solving some of the stresses caused by never having quite enough. I was never looking to be rich and famous.

So I promoted. Here. On Twitter. In ‘Real Life.’ And I’ve netted about $20. I’m not being sarcastic, I am saying I am fucking proud of that. I’m a published author. This is success, the way I define it.

However, the book promotion, the seeking out reviewers, the being fucked over by Amazon, all this stuff, has not only discouraged and exhausted me, it’s taken away any time I had to actually create. Which is why I blog. I blog so I can share those little things I create, with an audience who cares.

On reviewing: I would love to have reviews written by anyone who feels so moved. And if you will send it to me directly, I will continue to grow the Review section of TDNC. I may even come up with a form to make it easy for those who feel compelled to share their opinions. And they don’t have to be positive (though I won’t post anything mean or nasty – my space, my rules 😉 ) Simply honest. The invitation is there, for any who are interested.

I’m a writer. Not a big publishing house. I will continue to do what I’m passionate about, and continue to share it with whoever will listen. And if I sell a book now and then? I’ll go buy myself a coffee and celebrate.

Friday Flash returns tomorrow! I hope to see you there.


Writing 101: Day 6: Character Study

Love you, Kat! I want to be just like you when I grow up 🙂


We met last year on WordPress.

I cannot recall which one of us read the other’s work first, or who was the first to comment and start chatting. I do remember thinking she was an incredibly talented writer, and feeling slightly in awe of her.

Once we started talking, we discovered striking similarities in our lives and personalities. Early on, she shared with me her love of food by telling me she had some leftovers in the fridge, which she was inordinately and disproportionately excited about eating later that day; I completely understood where she was coming from. Simpatico!

Since we began talking I do believe not a day has gone past that we haven’t exchanged Skype messages, DMs or emails. I call her my soul sister and, put simply, I am completely in-friend-love with her!

Standing just shy of 6 feet tall in her bare feet, a thick mop…

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An Open Letter To WordPress

A round of applause for Goldfish, for saying what we’ve all been thinking, and maybe saying, too! For a while, I thought I was losing my mind… or worse, being anal retentive! This deserves a reblog. I’ve been with WP in one form or another for 8 years: I got a Happy Anniversary from them yesterday, congratulating me on 4 years of blogging; therefore, that dog is apparently their numbers guy…

Fish Of Gold

Dear WordPress.com,

I am loath to write yet another letter to you, since I typically prefer to spend my time writing actual blog posts, but I’ve been bitching on Twitter and in your forums to no avail, so maybe you’ll pay attention to a blog post. It’s not likely, but hey, you never know.

Please, stop. Just put down whatever you’re working on and stop with the futzing. You have been tinkering under my hood long enough and you know what? None of the “improvements” you’ve made are actually improvements.

Below, you will find explanations as to why your improvements aren’t improvements sorted conveniently by feature.

Post Editor

Let’s talk about this “Beep beep boop” post editor nightmare with less than half the functionality of the old editor. Thankfully, you haven’t taken away the old editor yet. However, I fully expect that one day, I will go to write a…

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I absolutely love the passion and energy in this poem.

MB Blissett

Lift your hips
Come at me with
Everything you have
Let go of your fears
That the fire of
Your need
Burns and leaves scars

As my hands circle
Your wrists
And your legs wrap around me
Fuck me like
You’re fighting
Laugh gloriously
Throw back your hair

You delicious bitch
Wrest the love
Until it spills
Like warm oil
And you see the tender
Beast you made
Of me

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The Tell-Tale Tag

Such a gently erotic and clever piece. Sigh.

The Waves of Eroticism

We met, we sat, we chatted. We gazed in each other’s eyes and then the fingers began to move, at first slowly, gently plying, touching, just as people talk, sitting side by side. The hands began with buttons, clasps undone, belt buckles and zippers. The shoes had long been tossed, and barefoot our feet interlaced as our lips met and tongues explored. A quiet, gentle afternoon, exposing our hearts, discharging our griefs, laughing at the chaos. Quiet afternoon with nary a whisper or chagrin, just the sizzle of a touch, the flurry of a kiss, the intoxication of a union. Thus we lay in each other’s arms, spent, satisfied, transformed by our encounter.

In time, we had to part. Slowly we got up, exchanging sweet glances, and repaired to our own privacy. We collected our attire and redressed, promising reunion. He came to me, then, to hold me a last…

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