Sherry Ryan
Bio
I have ink in my veins. It is a curse and a joy. Reality makes it challenging to devote myself to the pen. I have finally succumbed to my daemon blood and hereby commit myself to making it the reality of my life. Perhaps I will find peace.
Stories (14/0)
The Map, By Colette Baron-Reid
Colette Baron-Reid wins the prize, in my estimation, for having some of the best self-help books available. Her book, The Map, had the greatest impact on my life by far. I call myself the “Self-Help Queen.” In my early years of attempting to fix all that was wrong with me, I bought books that were more psychologically inclined. As I aged, I found these types of books were missing something. I began to explore books by spiritual gurus like Shakti Gawain, Don Miguel Ruiz, Eckhart Tolle, Wayne Dyer and Louise Hay. They got closer to what my heart was seeking, but in them, too, there was something lacking. The Map combined spirituality with psychology and hit the mark for what was missing in my opinion.
By Sherry Ryan7 months ago in BookClub
The Old Man and The Sea
Hemmingway captures the heart of life with Santiago, who won’t believe old age makes him an unlucky fisherman. Strength and tenacity are juxtaposed alongside vulnerability and faith as he fights the giant marlin alone at sea, only to lose it to feasting sharks. Santiago represents man’s will to overcome adversity.
By Sherry Ryan8 months ago in Critique
Harbouring Grace
Gusts of wind thrummed and creaked through the timberline of firs hedging the rocky lichen and grass covered outcropping of the rugged Newfoundland coast. Far below, crashing waves thrashed the craggy shore, as squawking sea birds darted in and out of their nests on the cliff’s façade. Dark clouds hung in the sky with the withered expression of an old crone, sour, dull and ominous.
By Sherry Ryan8 months ago in Fiction
Edelweiss
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Thousands of years ago the gods created it as a place to hide their treasures. They weren’t really gods, but rather master manipulators of other dimensions. Thieves, who stole from the multiverse realms and enslaved their peoples. In the mountains high above was the gateway to these other places. The Valley below held a grid carved into the basin. This living map, which was visible only from above and undetectable to its inhabitants, led the way to the treasure trove. Slaves were brought there to work the land and unknowingly guard the horde. With no memory of enslavement, they innocently worshipped these thieves as gods. Brainwashed to believe they were being protected from wild beasts living in the mountains, they made weekly sacrifices at the foot of the mountain to the South. Superstition and mystery prevented the farmers from exploring beyond the limits of the Valley. It was enough for them to live within its confines, which was a lush patchwork of green pastures covering its floor. Shepherds lazily watched their flocks from beneath apple trees that clung to stone hedges dividing up the land. It was truly idyllic. Botham, a shepherd’s son living on the North side of the Valley, didn’t recognize its beauty, nor the people’s superstitious ways. He was sombre and hateful as a child, who only grew more morose with age. Everyone has a choice when it comes to light or darkness. Each path brings its own allure. When darkness came to him with its seductive power, Botham took hold of it with both hands. He began the destruction of this paradise, bringing more than just dragons to this realm.
By Sherry Ryan2 years ago in Fiction
Raven and Owl
In a vision, I came upon a man dressed in deer skin leggings and tunic. Leather thongs wove feathers and beads into his long black hair that hung heavy around his face. He peered at me through the darkest eyes I have ever seen. I was not afraid. I knew and loved this man, but I couldn’t remember from whence. I was filled with pure love to see this man. He was my Shaman.
By Sherry Ryan2 years ago in Motivation
Pollywogs
Mud sucked at Sissy’s rubber boots as she tramped through the gooey stuff at water’s edge. Early morning sunlight dappled through the trees around the spaghetti pond. Its warmth kissed her rosy cheeks, as her breath crystalized in the air before her. She followed the misty sparkles as they drifted and faded into the light. These shimmering gems of rainbow light took her mind away from the mission. The one that she hadn’t been invited to join. Earlier in the kitchen, she dismissed her brother’s protests as they pulled on their rubber boots and jackets. Ever William’s shadow, she tagged along. Now she trudged behind him to the spot he deemed perfect for collecting pollywogs. The distance between them grew as she struggled to pull her feet from the mud which suctioned her in place.
By Sherry Ryan2 years ago in Fiction