Blitz: Ink

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Jobie Baldwin
(Tribe, #1)
Publication date: October 6th 2018
Genres: Urban Fantasy, Young Adult

A powerful god, a magical tattoo and a rebellious teenager. What could possibly go wrong?

Christian, an unruly English teenager, stumbles onto a mysterious tattoo parlor. Possessed by the Rune God, Hagalaz, he becomes immortal, gifted with magical powers which allow him to harness the forces of nature.

Only problem? Hagalaz God of Disruption, is intent on making Christian’s life a living hell.

Oh, and did I mention the Settlers, a mysterious group with a dark and devastating secret?

It is up to Christian and his new Tribe of four, each gifted with their own celestial passenger, to uncover that secret.

But nothing is what it seems, and it will take much more than the powers of a few long-forgotten gods to stop the impending global disaster that threatens to destroy everyone and everything in its path.

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“Oh hell!”

My hands were glowing blue-white, and sparks were shooting out of my fingers. I moved them away from my sides, which turned out to be a bad idea, because forks of lightning shot out of them hitting the street below.

‘Stop!’ yelled Ben and I turned to look at him. He’d climbed off the ledge and was clinging to a drain pipe attached to the side of the building. The wind whipped at his shirt and almost tore it off his body.

‘I’m trying!’ I shouted back as more lightning flared out of my fingertips and crashed to the street below, tearing up pavement like paper. So far I hadn’t hit anyone, but it was just a matter of time as lightning was firing off left and right.

Hagalaz was really getting into his stride. I had to do something, but what?

Author Bio:

JOBIE BALDWIN is the author of the Young-Adult Fantasy novels, Ink (2018) and Flak (2018).

In 2008 Jobie joined a writers’ collective, Café Three Zero and contributed short stories to their published anthologies Tales from the Cafe and Red.

She is currently working on a couple of prequel novellas to her Tribe series and is planning on starting to write the next instalment of the Tribe series this Summer.

Jobie lives near London with her husband and their two rescue dogs Lori (the Greyhound) and Monty (the Podenco). She says, “I’m vegan, I’m a biker, but the thing I love most of all is writing down the stories my characters whisper to me while I’m asleep.”

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The Final Lesson Blitz

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The Final Lesson

by Shakyra Dunn

Genre: YA Fantasy

Release Date: June 13th 2018


“Trust none but yourself.”

Leilana Erovina’s got a bid for power as she takes the final test to become one of her realm’s Warlords. As such, she sets out to travel the lands of Adrylis and log magical totems from respectful folk with only one hitch—no ancestral help. The quest is a pilgrimage to learn the basics of human nature. Some would call concepts like gentleness and passion fables of the heart.

In another perspective, war brews in the kingdom of Linmus, throwing Adrylis into chaos. Prince Remiel Vesarus finds himself in exile, vengeance on his mind for those who tore his life asunder. His attendant Solus Brenner at his side, they plan on restoring their kingdom against all odds.

Fate has drawn these two parties together. Conjoined at the hip, the traveler, prince and right-hand will learn the old saying of magic: “It always comes with a price.”

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“U-Um, Leilana?” Leilana glanced up, finding the girl with lavender
hair reaching the middle of her back, her bangs covering her forehead, nearly
reaching her cerulean eyes. Her cheeks were coated pink, rivaling the shade of
her knee-length dress. “There aren’t, um… there’s only a few of us left. Do you
want to pair up?”
“Sure thing, uh…” Leilana glanced up at the sky in thought before
holding up a finger in realization. “It’s Amelia, right?”
“Amiria,” she corrected sharply, her face reddening more at the
affliction of her voice. Sure, the pronunciation had its similarities, but the
syllables differed. And that passion of wanting her name to stick was working
its wonders in Leilana’s mind. “Amiria Farone.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Leilana interjected, waving a hand in dismissal.
“Didn’t mean to upset you.”
“O-Oh!” Amiria held up both hands and took a step back from Leilana,
trembling a bit. “It’s fine, you didn’t! I-I’m sorry if I made it seem like I
was angry, I’m really not, I promise-”
“Hey now, Amiria, no need to be so scared.” Kindall wrapped an arm
around the girl’s shoulders, smirking. “Lei doesn’t bite, not usually.” Amiria
held her arms behind her back and turned her head to keep from looking him in
the eye.
“It’s Leilana,” Leilana said abruptly. “Not Lei, not Leila, it is
Leilana. Live it, learn it, love it.”
Kindall raised an eyebrow at her words as he set Amiria free and
allowed her to run off towards Hinju to prepare for her own duel. “Geez, no
need to be so crabby. It was just a little fun with friends.”
“We aren’t friends, Kindall.” He jumped back at the proclamation.
“We’re students at the same school fighting for the same goal. That doesn’t
make us friends, does it?”
“Well, I, uh… I guess not…? But don’t you think it’s better for
everyone that we tried to get along and be friends? You’re right, we’re all
fighting for the same goal. Some of us are going to be Warlords someday, and we
can all support each other until we get there. Right?” Leilana pondered his
words before she cleared her throat.
“…I’m sorry. I’ve got a match.” She stepped past him, and Kindall
stared at her back a moment longer before sighing, reclaiming his spot on one
of the logs.
“You really are just a kid after all,” Kindall mumbled.
Leilana stood opposite Amiria, revealing her grimoire for her opponent
to view. Amiria clutched the silver flute in her hands for dear life but kept
her attention on the girl and even managed to narrow her eyes to try and stir
up some intimidation.
“Come to think of it,” Lancett whispered to Kindall, “I’ve never seen
Amiria fight before. She doesn’t seem like she’d hurt a fly.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Kindall replied, retaining focus on the two. “But
Amiria has skills that a lot of people don’t understand.”
Leilana rapidly flipped through the pages of her grimoire and an array
of fireballs shot out at the girl. Amiria put the flute up to her lips and
closed her eyes, playing out a small melody on the instrument before reflecting
the magic back in Leilana’s direction. Leilana side-stepped out of the way, her
eyes darting between the singed grass and Amiria herself, who was starting up
another melody on her flute. She scoffed before flipping through the grimoire,
stopping on a page, mumbling a scripture.
From the book, a pair of teeming hands cloaked in shadows emerged,
grabbing the flute from Amiria’s grasp and snapping it in half before her very
eyes. Amiria blinked away the tears starting up as she stared at her destroyed
instrument, collecting the fractured pieces. With each passing second, her eyes
grew dark and clouded. Leilana outstretched her right palm, sending the hands
propelling towards her. Before they could reach her, Amiria inhaled deeply and
closed her eyes, belting out a single high note in a pitch of middle C.
The single note, prolonged over several seconds, caused the hands to
shatter away. Leilana froze as the note progressed, the ground around her beginning
to tremble before giving way under her. She let out a shriek as the chasm
opened, reaching out a hand as she fell. Amiria gasped when she realized what
was occurring, covering her mouth with both hands.
“Leilana!” Lancett raced forward, sliding on his side as he ran,
grabbing her by the arm. Several other students rushed to his aide, helping the
girl out of the chasm. Leilana laid a hand on her chest, finding it difficult
to regain herself, her frame quivering from shock. Lancett gently placed both
hands on her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Are you all right?”
“Y-Yeah, just… just a little shaken up…”
He bowed his head, hands still on her shoulders, sighing heavily.
“Good. I’m glad.” Hinju was still in a bit of shock himself, his gaze reflected
on Amiria now, who continued to put the pieces together in her mind about what
she had done. After coming to his senses, he held up his staff, moving
stalagmites of the earth back into place to mend the open crater, sealing it
“I-I… I am so sorry, Leilana!” Amiria choked out, taking one step back
after another. “I-I don’t… I don’t know what happened, I just…! I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay,” Leilana replied softly. “I’m not dead or anything.”
“Hey, don’t beat yourself up over it,” she interjected, “Don’t worry.
I’m fine. I promise.” Leilana heaved a sigh. “Okay, maybe not completely true,
I’m a little bummed that I lost so terribly, and so fast. After all that work I
put into learning the concepts of the Lasette…”

“Remember what Master said,” Lancett told her,
smirking. “It’s all a learning experience. You can definitely do better next
time.” She averted her gaze from him.


About the Author
Shakyra Dunn can’t stray away from the impression that there is always an adventure around every corner! When she isn’t playing the role of the Creator, she is marching through the worlds of her favorite video game characters or taking drives around her city to see the sights. Born in Chicago, Illinois, she currently resides in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, striving to experience more than the little town.
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Death Island Blitz

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Death Island

by Kelsey Ketch

Genre: NA Historical Fantasy

Release Date: December 31st 2017

Summary from Goodreads:
Her family name tainted by her great-grandfather’s crimes of piracy, Meriden Cummings is far from the typical 18th century woman. A social outcast, she works in a carpentry shop in a small village, where the people barely tolerate unconventional behavior.
However, her life takes a turn after a gang of pirates attack her village and her blood reveals an ancient map adorned with Mayan glyphs leading to Death Island. An island legends say is ruled by the Mayan god of the underworld, Ah Puch. Her great-grandfather had sought after the island before he vanished without a trace. Now, Meriden is about to journey across the sea to understand her family history.
There are only a few problems: her growing feelings toward a mysterious stranger linked to her great-grandfather’s past; a greedy band of pirates after her great-grandfather’s legendary treasure; and a contract she has unwittingly signed in blood with Ah Puch himself.
I paced the deck with the few men that stayed behind on watch. It was growing late, and Captain Connell’s curfew was quickly approaching. Soon all the crew would return to the ship, stumbling drunk and fucked out of their minds, but calmer than they had been for a while. Some reason, my body twitched in excitement. I’d been anxious since Meriden left with the last group. There was a knot in my gut the moment she stepped off the dock, and the feeling hadn’t gone away since.

I causally walked to the starboard bulwark, catching sight of the harbormaster’s window. The candle still burned as it had been long before night fall. Odd, I thought. The knot in my stomach twisted
even tighter. I haven’t seen the harbormaster work his books this late into the night. I leaned against the gunwale and squinted a little, trying to focus my vision. The candle was nearly spent, and underneath the dripping wax laid what possibly could be a hand, but it was too far to tell. As I eased back, my gut
squirmed like a bunch of worm snakes. I needed to be sure all was well, for Meriden’s safety and the rest of the crew.

Neglecting to ask Swan’s permission, I slipped down the main deck, across the gangway, and headed straight for the harbormaster’s office. The street was as quiet as the grave when I reached the
door. I raised my hand to knock, only for the door to push open on the first tap to the solid oak. I swallowed the lump that crammed its way into my throat. This wasn’t good. I drew my working knife and stepped inside.

“Hello,” I called. “Anyone still here?”

It felt stupid walking into the dark hallway without knowing if I might end up dead or accused of theft, but my gut told me to keep pushing forward. I turned right into the room with the burning candle
still flickering inside. The office was clean and uncluttered except for the few stacks of paper on the desk. On top of which laid the harbormaster, as if he merely fallen asleep in his desk chair. My eyes refocused again at his outstretched arm. A trail of hot, liquid wax ran across the flesh of the harbormaster’s
hand, which didn’t even stir the man awake. My heart pounded with adrenaline,and I pushed the man up by the shoulder.

A maroon-colored pool poured onto his books from what looked like a dagger wound to the harbormaster’s shoulder. A serious wound, but not one that should have killed. It was the discoloration of the man’s skin and the vomit around the mouth that gave me a better idea what had brought on the man’s demise. I’d seen the signs many times before from men who died in blackish waters as well as a few victims that died at Baker’s hand.

Snake venom.
About the Author
Kelsey Ketch is a young-adult/new-adult author, who works as a Wildlife Biologist in the state of North Carolina. During her free time, she can often be found working on her latest work in progress or organizing the New Adult Scavenger Hunt, a biannual blog hop. She also enjoys history, mythology, traveling, and reading.
For more information, please visit her site at

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A Skin of a Dragon Blitz

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A Skin of a Dragon

by Frances Jones

Genre: YA Fantasy

Release date: March 17th 2018

After a chance find in a smugglers’ cave, Tom Wild is kidnapped by a stranger and whisked away to London to face a secretive and ancient group of magicians. He is presented with an agonising choice: join them and forsake his old life and family forever or face a grisly death. Tom quickly realises that all is not as it seems and that the group’s leader is engaged in a dangerous game of magic, power and war. At stake is the future of England, her King, and the very existence of magic.

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Chapter 1 
My mother believed I possessed the gift of foresight. I was born at the stroke of midnight under a full moon, a curious time bestowing special abilities upon newborns, or so the midwife assured my parents. Yet, despite my mother’s belief, I had no sense of the shift my life was poised to take one rainy day in mid-September 1648 as I peered into a rock pool in search of crabs. 
I wrinkled my nose and dangled my line into the water. The grey sea sloshed around the rock on which I stood, met by the rainwater that trickled down in rivulets from the cliffs above. Summer wasn’t yet a distant memory, but the storm of the previous day had been a sharp reminder that autumn had arrived. Peggy, my wiry-haired mongrel, watched the gulls scavenging amongst the rocks but had yet to summon the energy to chase them. Beside me my sister, Lizzie, shivered and looked forlornly back to the beach. 
‘To think the fields were ploughed but a fortnight ago,’ she muttered. 
I felt a tug on my line and lifted an enormous crab out of the rock pool, but Lizzie was distracted. She glanced up at the sky as a finger of sunlight broke through the clouds overhead.  
Zooks! Look at the sun, Tom! Mother will be starting supper.’ She grabbed her bucket of crabs and scrambled back across the rocks. ‘Don’t forget the tobacco for Father,’ she called over her shoulder as she crossed the beach towards the lights that were beginning to twinkle in the windows of the cottages that made up the tiny hamlet of Osmington Mills.   
I replied with a wave as I set my bucket on a ledge out of the wind and began the slippery climb to the smugglers’ cave. It was a precarious route in wet weather, with fissures into which one could quite easily slip and become stuck, but in an hour’s time the tide would be in, cutting the cave off from the beach entirely.  
The rocks were slick beneath my feet, and the drizzling rain soaked right through to my skin as I clambered from one to the next. This exposure to every extreme of weather that the Dorset coast endured had weathered my complexion into a freckled ruddiness. My usual mop of sandy curls now lay plastered against my forehead, and my eyes squinted against the rainwater that dripped from my brow. 
As I set my feet on sand once more, I stooped to pick up a small wooden box nestled between two rocks at the mouth of the cave. It was perfectly plain, cylindrical in shape, with an elaborate lock formed of tiny brass cogs, dials and pulleys, some of which were clearly missing or broken. I looked back to the beach. Only the smugglers ever came here. Perhaps it belonged to one of them- except that all the smugglers in Osmington Mills were far too careful to leave anything out in the open. There were crevices and tunnels that wound right into the heart of the cliffs where contraband was cleverly concealed from the prying eyes of the customs men. There was no need to leave anything in plain sight. Besides, the little drift of sand piled up against the box seemed to indicate it had been deposited there by the sea. 
‘I bet it’s from that shipwreck yesterday,’ I muttered to Peggy as I tucked it under my arm and ducked into the cave. The entrance was just a few feet in height and submerged at high tide, but inside it widened and rose steadily above the tide’s reach, opening out into several passageways and crevices scooped out by the sea in ancient times. It was a perfect smugglers’ cave. 
I selected one pack of tobacco from a pile of goods stuffed into a cleft in the wall and tucked it into my belt. With the crabbing line, I lashed the box to my back. I would need both hands to scale the rocks back to the beach. 
Outside, the wind had picked up, and the drizzle was replaced with great spots of rain. Across the beach, a flicker of firelight glowed in the mouth of another smaller cave beyond a rocky outcrop.  
‘Tis a fool who ventures out with a storm about to break,’ I thought to myself. 
Thunder rumbled overhead, and the foamy white tips of the waves collapsed against the rocks with an intensity that had become a familiar sight over the past week. The few fishing boats that had braved the rain were now gone, safely moored in the harbour. Everyone was braced for another mighty storm. 

About the Author

Frances lives in Shropshire, England with her husband and two pet rabbits. She started writing to fill her evenings while her husband, a former Grenadier Guard in the British Army, was away. A Skin of a Dragon was inspired by the Tower of London ravens which her husband told her about after one of his guard duties at the Tower. Folklore and the history of magic are also a continual source of inspiration.

Aside from writing, Frances’ other passion is rabbits, and she spends far too much time watching videos of the furry critters online!

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Pinnacle Blitz

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by Lynn Veevers

Genre: YA Fantasy

Release date: February 6th 2018


Identifying her parents was the hardest thing ever, until Kaya learned she was the killer’s next target. Moving had thrown the ancient predator off her trail temporarily but with magical abilities manifesting, Kaya’s scent grows stronger and the attempts on her life become constant. Narrowly surviving each encounter, Kaya is desperate to stop her potential assassin, but it’s hard to kill a creature that changes its appearance and disappears without a trace. Kaya finds the support she needs to succeed in her small group of friends and her boyfriend Kenneth. Like so many things, they’re more than what they seem and with the killer having unsettling similarities to Kenneth and his family…Kaya can’t help but wonder if there’s a connection.

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“I heard the yips of the Afflicted and since all the wolves in this area were accounted for in this house, I knew there was something up. More importantly, they were the type of yips and howls you would hear when a pack member has found and cornered prey. It is how we let our other pack members know where we are, especially if we need help bringing down the prey,” Kenneth said solemnly.
Kaya was sure, in light of all that had gone on, she and Kenneth were OK where the divulging of secrets to third parties was concerned. She was sure that they would retouch on the subject at a later time and that suited her fine. Then she saw Josh and Anissa walk into the room. Kenneth’s gaze darted from Kaya to Josh, their eyes locked, and an understanding silently passed between the two.
Kenneth moved toward Kaya, ready to explain himself. Kaya could tell by Josh and Anissa’s intensive stares that they knew. She tried to sit up and realized she had been placed on the kitchen table when her rescue party had returned back to the house with her.
She powered through the weariness her body felt to fully bring herself to a sitting position. Kaya felt the rage welling up to the surface. It was an equal rival in its potency to the pain that radiated from her side where the she-cat had dug her claws in. She ignored it, swung her legs over the edge of the table, and proceeded to give Kenneth the best death stare she could muster.
“How dare you!” Kaya shouted as she scooted off the table and advanced on Kenneth.
She was two strides from making contact with his face by way of her fist when she ran into a wall. It effectively landed her on her butt. Pain shot through Kaya’s side when she hit the floor. She grabbed her wound and felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes. She couldn’t tell if it was from the physical pain or the emotional one, though.
She glanced up from where she was on the floor and saw Josh standing next to Kenneth. Anissa still stood on the opposite side of the room, serene in her expression. She cast Kaya a sympathetic look, almost as if understanding her predicament as she calmly worked her yo-yo up and down its string. Josh regained Kaya’s attention when he spoke.
“Kaya, please calm down. Kenny didn’t have a choice,” Josh said.
She scoffed at him, not trying to hide her resentment in the least bit.
“Really, Josh, he didn’t have a choice?” she yelled with sarcasm in each word.


Slowly, Kaya got to her feet and advanced Kenneth, fully intent on lighting him up, when she ran into a wall again. Only this time, she realized it was literally a wall, an invisible one.


About the Author
Lynn Veevers is originally from Washington State. With her mother being from Christchurch, New Zealand and her father being a well-traveled retired Navy Chief, Lynn has always had a fascination with different cultures around the world. An avid reader, she prefers books that take her to a place she’s never been and teach her something new at the same time. The Young Adult Genre is her absolute favorite to read, so it comes as no surprise that it is also her favorite to write. Lynn, on average, pens two to three novels a year with the sequel to Pinnacle in the publishing process now! 


Today Lynn lives with her husband and kids in Southeast Oklahoma. Her young adult and adolescent children are supportive and avid beta readers of her work and give her a straightforward and honest point of view about how authentic her characters voices and personalities are for their age group. What better reference than someone close to the same age as the main character. Her kids always have and always will be her greatest inspiration.


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The Funeral Flower Blog Tour

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the funeral flower coverThe Funeral Flower
by Michelle Jester
Genre: NA Contemporary Fiction
Release Date: June 20th 2017

Summary from Goodreads:

Devastated by the death of her grandfather, six-year-old Kelly Rodgers barely manages to cope with the profound loss. Already facing issues at school, she finds herself spiraling deeper into despair, when a fateful interaction through the fence in her backyard gives her hope. In the years following, Kelly realizes that life’s tragedies can be dealt with through acceptance; until another series of agonizing events leaves her heart in pieces.

Finding herself thrown into new surroundings, Kelly embraces her life and resolves to never fall in love. That decision is easy to keep until her junior year when she is drawn by an unavoidable attraction to the new guy, tormented James Delaney. The moment he looks up at her and smiles, her body betrays her. And he notices. She is determined to avoid him, but soon Kelly is forced to face the inevitable truth: She doesn’t want to avoid James… and he won’t let her.

Even though tragedy always follows love.

Due to critical subject matter recommended for Ages 17+

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Guest Post –  Coping with Tragedy or the Stages of Grief

You’ve been told at least once in your life that somebody else has it far worse than you. You’ve even told yourself that statement in hopes of alleviating self-pity during difficult times. I learned at a very difficult time in my life (years ago) that everybody has a story; a tragedy that they’ve lived through or are living through. I also learned that it is impossible to tell someone that their worst day is any harder or any easier than any another person’s worst day, because to each of them it’s still their worst day.
In the midst of series of tragic events in my life, I found myself in a store, walking on doctors’ orders following one of many surgeries. On one hand, I was feeling sorry for myself because while I could walk, I had to take it very slow. My son and daughter dropped me off at the service center, as the doctor suggested, and were waiting for me at the front of the store. The point of the exercise was simple: walk through the disappointment and pain and make it to my kids… In PUBLIC. It was metaphorical as well as physical. Good suggestion, but humiliating none the less. People were passing me, agitated that I was walking so slowly. One young woman even commented to her companion that I shouldn’t be in the store if I couldn’t walk at a normal speed. I felt sorry for myself and thought that those girls had obviously never been through anything as horrible in their life to be this callous. On the other hand, I felt happy that I was able to get out of the house and walk at all, after what I’d been through. At that point in my life I was only dealing with one moment at a time. I knew I still had a long road ahead. Each day was a new victory…and defeat. I found that I was nothing more than a walking contradiction of emotions.
My back was hurting so badly, but finally I was making my way to the front of the store. Then I heard a woman crying. I thought it was a child at first and I slowly made my way toward the distress. As I started to round a corner near the pharmacy I realized it wasn’t a child at all, it was a woman not much older than me. She was crying with such sorrow that it made the tears I had successfully held in all morning erupt like a geyser. She was talking about her husband who was recently killed in an auto accident. I stood their listening, not even able to help myself, while she told the pharmacist how wonderful her husband was and how they were scheduled to go on a second honeymoon that following month. She mentioned that he and their daughter hadn’t talked in over a month due to a disagreement they’d had and how hard it will be for her daughter to live with. I made my way closer to them and lowered myself into one of the benches. I just sat there and cried, for myself, for that woman and her daughter, for my family going through all of this with me. I was facing the tragedy of an auto accident of my own. I had thought several times with the pain, that it may have been best if I hadn’t made it, but at that moment I knew I didn’t really feel that way. My kids found me sitting there, crying, and said reassuringly that it was okay and I’d make it next time.
I hugged them and thought I had truly made it already. I think I accepted my circumstances that day. It’s okay to be sad; to grieve. I understood in that moment sitting on that bench that my story isn’t the worst story out there. Everybody has a story to tell. All of us experience tragedy and sorrow. If I could do what the doctor said and walk through it, then every day would get better and better. And it did.
The stages of crisis are mapped out for us all. We know we’ll all go through it at some point, likely many points, in our lives.
We’ll all feel denial.
And anger.
We’ll try to bargain with ourselves or others.
We’ll get depressed.
And then we’ll accept. Once I accepted, I was able to move forward.
Some days are going to be harder than others. However, we just need to keep walking until we make it through. It is respect and compassion for others that make us grasp that we all have tragedies, sorrow, and pain. I am not the only one who experiences bad times. Another person’s worst day to them is just as bad as my worst day is to me. Each of us has a story to tell. I may feel sad about my circumstances also.
However, it is wisdom for us to recognize that we could each have it much worse than we do. It doesn’t stop our sorrow to know that. It does help us accept our own circumstances and learn to help others one day with what we’ve been through.


michelle jester.jpgAbout the Author

I am a hopeless romantic (I think this is the most important thing to know about me). In addition, I live in Greenwell Springs, Louisiana with my husband and high school sweetheart. Together we have a son and daughter. Throughout my life writing and photography have been my main creative outlets.

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