The Mother You Need, The Mother You Want To Be
I know now parenting is not easy. As a child I didn’t understand my parents were who they were. Human beings with flaws and hopes and dreams and disappointments and baggage.
IF YOU KNEW REVIEWS
Sometimes your book gets a review that even if everyone else who reads it hates, it won’t matter. Such is the case with the review of If You Knew posted on Romance Novels For the Beach. Here is the link: https://romance4thebeach.wordpress.com/2019/04/01/if-you-knew-by-barbara-meyers/ And here are some of the quotes from the…
The Ex’s Wedding
Your ex-fiancé/fiancée who dumped you has invited you to his/her wedding. Do you attend?
Does God Talk To You?
Does God Talk To You? I’ve been in another publishing funk of late where I’ve really begun to question the wisdom of continuing to write. Why? I whine to myself like a grouchy two-year-old. Why, when there are so many aspects of indie publishing I abhor, am I still doing…
How To Reform An A$$hole
He’s got custody of his newborn daughter which he’s ill-equipped to handle. His son wants nothing to do with him. Emmaline’s sister shows up at his door and blames him for her death. The daughter Doug never knew about because Emmaline gave her up for adoption without telling him arrives, bringing her own anger and abandonment issues.
#hertoo “I Got Myself Raped”
I know I was at fault. I shouldn’t have left my friends. I should have made sure they were safe. There’s no excuse for being young and dumb and naïve. The memory of what happened to Rose, of losing her friendship, doesn’t seem like punishment enough for what I did. Which is probably why I buried the memory as long as I did.
I’d Rather Be Read
It’s one thing for a publisher to undervalue an author, but it seems to me, it’s quite another for the author to undervalue his/herself and his/her work.
Ask anyone who’s tried to write a book. It is not an easy thing. Well, not an easy thing if you want to write a good book.
I Have Not Come To Mourn. I Have Come To Say Goodbye.
She had been in a nursing home for several years, deteriorating at a snail’s pace. On my annual visits, my brother and I would question the wisdom of stockpiling old people in places like this.
So Long. I Love You, Babe. A Hospice Story.
From where he sits on the sofa, Vivaldi on the portable CD player next to him, he sees everything but can make sense of nothing. His home gleams. Not a spot of dust anywhere. His wife, with nothing else to do but care for him, has become obsessive. Dust she can control. A husband whose mind deteriorates a little more each day is beyond her.
A Child, A Cemetery, A Ghost Story
“What’s it like to be dead?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper.
She tried to imagine it when he didn’t respond. She thought it would be cold. Lonely. Much like her life now. She rubbed her arms as the breeze became a cold wind, gusting against her. She fell against Johnny’s stone, hugging it to keep herself upright.
