The Best Prefix Ever

Never in my life have I appreciated the re- prefix.

Some of its definitions in my Webster's New World College Dictionary: back, returning to a previous state; again, anew, over again.

one of the purposes of my indefinite hiatus. 

I've been mostly under the radar, still writing. Finally coming up for air after publishing so many books. 

Refresh

Where do I go next?

I'm also in a deep, detailed spiritual 

renewal 

A few days ago, a significant spiritual leader bought some copies of my books. I'd planned to give them to him; he insisted on buying them. I was dazed for the rest of the day.

What effect will this have on my writings? Will I have better direction, more support? Will I 

rebrand 

any or all of my books? That word is not in the physical copy of my moderately-used dictionary. Therefore, I'll look it up on the dictionary web site. What it means: "In business, to rebrand is to change the way customers see a product or company by changing logos, names, or designs."

Will I

refine

-or-

revise

my earlier novels, like Crawling to the Light ? Distance creates clarity. And the clarity makes things, as one of the definitions for re-

anew

In the Center of a Theater

 Here's a small piece I wrote a little over a year ago:

    I sit in the center of a theater. Photos of yesteryear adorn the walls of the entrance. It tries to look new, but it’s old.

    So are the people in the auditorium, in the lobby, as if it’s a reunion, one I unintentionally crashed. An older gentleman in the far-left aisle seat, a rolling walker in front of him, says to someone, “I was first here in 1944.”

    All these people fill the seats as the Saturday storytelling matinee starts. What are their stories? Did they frequent this theater back in the day? To dance? To socialize? To watch the latest movie? Anything from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly to Raiders of the Lost Ark.

    More than likely, they met their lifetime mate here. They may have passed, and their surviving spouse has come here to honor their marriage.    

     I used to live in this town. No one recognizes me as I sit here in the center of the Historic Grove Theater.

Saturday Night's Dream

 Oh, the vivid dreamer and prolific author I am!

And oh, the privilege to write down my dreams!

Here's the one I had the night before last.

[Begin dream]

I finally had the courage to ask Relative, "Why have you not read my books?"

She said, "I don't like them anymore."

I tried not to cry, yell, or wring my hands. "I can't believe you're saying this. I was hoping you'd support me. I worked so hard on all of them. I've spent so much time on and invested my emotions into every word."

My husband was beside me and said to Relative, "I'd like you to consider reading her books and telling her what you liked about them."

Relative said to my husband, "History is more interesting, more significant."

[End dream]

It's Monday morning, and I'm still trying to get over this one.

A Journal Entry of a Seasoned Author/Rookie Screenwriter

Saturday, 5/23/2026

A wonderful afternoon I'm having. Nothing going on. Nothing I need to do at the moment. Writing sure is in me. It's still in me even though I'm not writing anything big. It's just past 7:00. Something about this down time, while I'm alone and scribbling away, that makes me think of Cultivate [a local coffee and flower shop]. I believe the last time I went there was earlier this year. To work on my screenplay. That had to be what I worked on. Cultivate, where I went to work on 3 books in a short period of time. Thought about all this as I read the latter part of [Ela Thier's] memoir . I love how she wrote about writers needing community and support. Going to a coffee shop, writing together, brainstorming. Well, I did the writing part. All those times I went to Cultivate, I went alone. Oh, that thinker I am sure was there, present, focused. One of few who was alone. Laptop, flash drive, notebook, and don't forget headphones. So I can listen to that Strong & Steadfast playlist for the millionth time. You can't undo the pain, the anger and the shame ["Blinded" by Mark Mulch]. I want you to scream my name ["Scream" by W.A.S.P.]. Won't be the one to hold you when you cry in the middle of the night ["The Devil That You Know" by Tattered Sons]. I'm rusted and weathered, barely holding together ["Weathered" by Creed]. The playlist is about an hour long. It got to be that way especially when I added on Your Love is a Rumor [by Tattered Sons]. That was my cue to get up, get some more water, go to the bathroom. Two hours of that. Get there at 8, get set up as efficiently as possible. The sooner, the better. In that way, the music of choice playing in the shop doesn't un-inspire me. That first song to remind me of why I wrote Strong & Steadfast . This sounds strange, but "Every Rose Has its Thorn" [by Poison]. That joke about being in so much pain. That joke about Bret supporting endo because of his tension on the word pain.

Then those words a few songs later in Home Again. Hard to believe I once had that song on repeat. Not only when I was diagnosed with endo, but also when I wrote the novel.

A Wordy Report: A Flashback to 2009

 "I did the best de-cluttering job, ever." I've said this a lot this month.

Not sure what it was about this time that allowed me to dig even deeper into getting rid of things. In all the times I've done this, the biggest challenge has always been paperwork. You'd think in going paperless, I'd have a cleaner house. If this, for a lack of better words, "paper purging project" served no other purpose, it was to find something I'd written in 2009.

No, it wasn't the clumsy, awkward beginnings of a story. It was a detailed report I'd written to send to an attorney. 

We'd immediately sought litigation from a car accident I experienced in the summer of 2008. I fractured some parts of my left wrist, my dominant hand, and had to have a piece of hardware installed.

Before too long, the hardware hurt. That's a good sign, my wrist was fully healed, and I no longer needed it. Only, I couldn't have the surgery right away to remove it; I had to finalize the settlement. My attorney needed to know how much this pain interfered with everything I did--which was everything but writing. A lot of physical (sometimes emotional) labor as a physical therapy tech. 

What I say now about these statements: (1) hard to believe I went through this and (2) I sure am wordy. Had I written novels around that time, how could I have tightened these statements? 

Did I throw this away? No, I'll keep it. It's a reminder of what I've overcome, what my life was like before I became an author.

P.S. We settled this case in early 2010.

P. P. S. On the second page, I tightened some of the writing.

Be There on Time

For as long as she could remember, Lilly wanted dance. Her parents went to plays, operas, and ballets. They had season tickets. Sometimes, they went alone as part of their date night, other times they took Lilly. She didn't want to do anything else but dance. She was always lively whenever some upbeat song played on the radio.

Then in the sixth grade, she was really up for some tests--and they weren't just those few pieces of paper of questions and problems she hoped she'd studied for as much as she could. And that she could remember without being tempted to look at her notes. Sixth grade, the time in a child's life where they have different classes. Every hour or so, that time to transition between classes. 

Be there on time, all the principals, counselors, and teachers had advised during orientation. If she hadn't heard it once, she must've heard it a thousand times. She just couldn't see how she could be at every class on time. What if she was late? She remembered all too well all those people at school saying she'll get a tardy, a time in detention for being even one minute late.

The worst class she was in was science. The teacher was a lot older than the rest. Her policy was if the students weren't in their seats by the time the bell rang, they'd be considered late. One day, Lilly's locker was jammed. She broke into a cold sweat as she tried so many times to open her locker, her pulse racing as the students strode to their classes.

The tardy bell rang--and she was still at her locker. The hallways were empty. The teachers got their classes started. Papers rustled, some conversations between the kids. 

She just had to own up to the fact that Mrs. Hanson was strict and she had to be in detention.

Sometime later, Lilly really got the bug to dance. Apparently, the weekly lessons and rehearsals weren't enough. Renee, her teacher, approached her and her parents after rehearsal on afternoon.

"Lilly, I love your passion and enthusiasm in each move you made in every dance you've been in. We're considering you for the advanced class." She handed her parents some forms to fill out and read. "Please look over this and see if you think Lilly is fit for this." She turned to Lilly. "Lilly, you need to be on time for every rehearsal. If you're late to even one, you'll no longer be considered for it."

"Okay. I'll do my best." Of course, she knew she was at the mercy of her parents' full schedule and the increased Interstate traffic. Her parents always complained about it as they made dinner together. 

After some lengthy discussions, her parents approved of this dance class. Lilly was ready every day after school. She soon discovered how much work she needed to put into these rehearsals. It was soon challenging to keep her grades up. She also learned what she missed out on. Her friends, whom she never saw anymore. Couldn't even go to her best friend's spelling bee. She also missed her older cousin's bridal shower.

A few months after so many hours of rigorous training, and a horrible day in traffic, she ended up 8 minutes late to a rehearsal. Nonetheless, she dashed into the room. As she did so, the music radiated through the hallway, as if it teased her into thinking she was never going to be able to do this again. She walked in. Everyone was so wrapped up in the dancing. One of the other instructors standing at the doorway pointed toward the hallway. Lilly knew what she was going to say.

"I'm sorry, Lilly. You came late today. We can't have you on our dance team anymore. You can wait here until your parents pick you up." She pointed in the direction of the front entrance, where some chairs were.

Breaking a Rule

 Jack Dempsey pushed the end call on his smartphone screen. The show the band he's been a roadie for was now confirmed. In Lexington, Kentucky, at the Happy Place. Opening up for Cat Wild. Every time he heard something by her, he thought of his good friend Laura. She had written a novel which she'd published six months ago. She'd spent so much time on this novel. A year of long, hard hours between the time she worked as a life coach. Laura was a lifetime fan of Cat Wild, a female-fronted band that made lots of albums. In her novel, Laura mentioned their hit song "Here We Go Again." It was a song about complicated love reaching boiling points of insanity. Laura mentioned the song title during a tense part of the book, when things couldn't get any worse with this main character's "It's Complicated" love life. Main character Fiona is in a toxic, unhealthy relationship with Erik, who is verbally abusive. She has dreams she wants to pursue. The one who really likes her, it has taken her a long time to really fall in love with. A laid-back, soft-spoken guy named Craig. Laura wanted to find a way to give a copy of it to Cat Wild herself. She lived near Lexington and wanted to make a point to do this, no matter what.

Now that that show was confirmed, Jack called Laura. 

She answered on the 3rd ring. She took a deep breath, knowing Jack was always a breath of fresh air every time they talked. "Yo, Jack."

"You sound like you've had a trying day."

"I have. It can't get over fast enough. Isn't it true that if a day seems to go by so slowly, it's only an opportunity to make it better?"

"I guess." Jack shrugged his shoulders.

"Please tell me something good." Laura sighed.

"I will, But first, are you sitting down?"

"Uh--um--I am. This had better be good."

"I can sneak you in to see Cat Wild."

"What! You can? How? When?"

"I'll be at that venue called the Happy Place. I've been there before doing roadie work for other bands. I've always known their super-inefficient management. I can get you in and get away with it."

"Jack, you're the greatest."

It was a blazing, humid late-August afternoon on the day of the show. So humid it was Jack took off his shirt. Laura made sure to be around him. Where that inefficient venue owner was, no one knew. For all anyone knew, he may have stepped out and gotten a cup of sweet tea at McDonald's, a drink he may have gotten addicted to. 

The band Jack did roadie work for always had this habit of getting there late. It was always something, traffic, the lead singer's German Shepherd, or a serpentine belt wearing out all of a sudden. Load in time was supposed to be 4:00. Here it was 4:23. 

Cat Wild had gotten there. Her band's crew was dashing back and forth getting amps and speakers onto the stage. During this time, Laura had to go to the bathroom. When she walked back to Jack, he was talking to Cat. Laura dashed back to the hallway. The copy of her novel was in her hand, her hand felt clammy. Whether it was from the humidity or the anticipation of seeing Cat and finally meeting her--just moments away now--she wasn't sure. She dashed back to the hallway and sat on the floor. She got her pen out and autographed the part of the book where the mentioned that hit song. What she wrote: "'Here We Go Again'--but I here I go again writing another novel. I hope you enjoy this book.

Her heart pounded all through her body. She knew she was going to faint. No, don't fangirl, Laura. You're a professional. She approached Jack and Cat, introduced herself to Cat, gave her the book, told her about her mention of the hit song. Cat loved it so much and thanked her for doing that. She said reading novels kept her sane in all the hurry up and wait she had to contend with while on the road and in the studio.