An award-winning author and professional dreamer....Michelle Devon lives on the southern Gulf Coast of Texas with five amazing parrots, and a very tolerant cat. http://michelledevon.com
All I Wanted was an Easy Dinner
So for the most part, I am still unable to stand for more than a few seconds at a time without excruciating pain. My leg and foot is healing, but with healing comes pain... the skin pulled tightly, and when the blood rushes to the foot...
On Writing Memoirs
In my writings, I've always put an element of myself into everything I wrote. My life experiences, my goals, dreams - my 'humanness's’ - is what has made me, in part, a good writer. I also think that this is one reason why most authors usually don't make it big until they are at least past 35 years old - I realize there are exceptions to this rule, but honestly, I think life experience is very crucial to make a good writer an exceptional one.
They Call it a Vibrator Because it ....Well...Vibrates
Quite frankly, I bought it for it's body massage potential more than it's, uhm, other uses. No, seriously, I did. I mean, screw the fact it's the world's leading selling personal massager for, uhm, very personal, uhm, massaging.
To The Man in the Blue Truck
When I accidentally blew through a red light and you had to slam on your brakes to avoid hitting me, the gesture you gave me out the window and the curse words you threw my way–words that you deemed important enough to roll down your window to make sure I heard you scream at me–caused me to cry.
- Top Story - May 2021
The First Time He Saw Me CryTop Story - May 2021
Once I thought tears were a weakness. Once I thought I should be ashamed of not being strong enough to control my tears. So I hid them, from everyone, and never let anyone see me cry. I had learned early on as a child that tears only made daddy angrier, made him not listen, and sometimes made him hit.
The Foolishness of the Lake
The rays of the sun reflected off the lake surface, in shimmering, brilliant strands. The group of girls stood near the pond, changing into swim clothing after the long hike and horse ride down the path through the woods. The lake was not swimmable, for the water was too murky, too dirty. Not from pollution though, just a natural murky, mud filled lake-hole. While the sun shone brightly on it, and the reflection of the surrounding trees was gorgeous, the water itself stank of fish and dirt and sludge.