I write through the passion I have for how much the world around me inspires me, and I create so the world inside me can be manifested.
Mom of 4, Birth Mom of 1, LGBTQIA+, I <3 Love.
I cannot brush paint on a canvas or draw. Am I even considered an artist at all? I can say how the artist had brushed with her paint, in delicate words that describe her technique.
Need to be Free
Growing up in the country scene, with so much green it could feel obscene, I'd see pretty flowers growing wild in fields with trees growing over the stop signs and yields.
Does Anyone Remember Megan McCauley?
I first saw Megan McCauley grace a stage in Indianapolis in the early 2000's, after she had released two songs for superhero soundtracks: Die for You on the Fantastic Four soundtrack in 2005, along with Wonder for the Elektra soundtrack that same year. I was attending X-Fest as my first "big" concert experience the summer before I turned nineteen, hanging with my father and his wife (which was actually a lot cooler than it sounds.) We picked up some commemorative t-shirts that listed all of the artists intending to perform, and I noted the names that didn't sound familiar as we headed toward the second stage.
The Spectrum of the Sea
Viola was an unusual type of mermaid for two reasons: the first reason being her choice to only tease her appearance to humans so the theories and myths would keep spinning on land, rather than swimming after the collective dream to fall in love with a human. All other mermaids she had ever known and met had a longing to live among the humans, a story she grew tired of quickly upon hearing it over and over. She loved lingering close to ships, boats, and even humans on surfboards drifting out further than they should to talk about catching a glimpse of a mythical creature. Their conversations were fun, but she never felt anything for any of them beyond amusement.
A Magical Day in the Land of Vocal
Not many know the tale of the land of Vocal. In fact, it is a well-guarded secret place, full of wonders and mysteries that we can only speculate on. Theories run wild, discussions are held in hushed voices, and stories are told around the campfire.
Rule My Pleasure
You heighten my pleasure like a God undiscovered, read my body like a book from cover to cover. The peak of my pleasure erupts like a geyser, and although I feel done, you're more the wiser.
To the Person Who Crushed My Writer's Ego
It's painful when your passion feels as though it's a nuisance to the world. How does one cope with that? Everyone, at some point, finds something to be passionate about. When some degrades, mocks, or belittles the product of your passion, it can sting to the center of your soul. Passion, in my opinion, derives from the soul itself: it's something that engulfs you so entirely, your heart has to spill part of it over into the soul so your entire being can keep it safe and present in your mind.
My Melancholy Mother's Days
I love being a mom, but I hate Mother's Day. There are plenty of reasons for someone to dislike a holiday like this one: the loss of a mother or mother figure, having never grown up with one, being disowned by your own, and so on. My reasons are both common and complex, and it started on my first Mother's Day. It's as if the first one set the tone for every single one after that, and I've never managed to escape it.