Please pray for my daughter!

*feeling scared*
You know how my son had a diaphragmatic hernia and died? Well, I just found out my four-year-old has a hernia in a different place. She needs a surgery to have the same type of mesh--that my son had--sewn into her abdominal area. I know I should calm down, but I'm scared.

My Gorgeous Princess

(who I sometimes call Doctor Jones)

     So many memories rushed into my mind as the doctor tried to explain hernias and mesh--like I didn't live through all of that already.
    Anyway, long story short, she'll be having a surgery at Primary Children's. Can you pray for my little girl if you have time? 

*sobbing*

A Worried Mother

A new book and 5 FREE eBooks for 5 whole days!

To celebrate that I have a new book coming out in October *squeal* and another romantic novel slated for the beginning of 2015, I've decided to give away some free eBooks. 

The Sword of Senack 

How to Avoid Having Sex

The Golden Sky

Homeless in Hawaii

Bible Girl & the Bad Boy

 

 

Look for "Threaded Dreams" (a compilation of my best short stories) in early October! :)

And now for the picture of the day.
She's a lot stronger than she looks!

It's hard now; how will I make it through the teen years???

100 Most Beautiful Teen Girls!

Gotta love phone apps and Photoshop! *smiling*

Epic photobomb!

They stole my phone!

I went into the post office and when I came back, 

found these pictures on my phone.

I sure do love these kids--this melted my heart.
    Dedicated to posting a silly picture  each day for a year.  Please see my previous  and future posts for more.

Feeling Devastated: Possible murder/suicide/homicide

In what many are calling a possible murder/suicide/homicide/tragedy...my favorite Victoria Secret bra died in the dryer early this morning. Literally ripped strap from strap--leaving padding strewn amidst fading, damp towels--the remains were nearly unidentifiable.
     It has been said, and I quote, "The deceased was dearly loved, unforgettable. Able to bolster--even in the darkest of times."
Authorities on the matter have yet to decide the exact cause of death, although "failure to read a label" is one of the likelihoods under review.
     Others were slightly injured--i. e. my flippin' dryer--although workers (myself included) have reported no worries of lasting injuries.
     Survived by two implants.

Can we please take a moment of silence to pause for a damn bra--that cost more than my life is worth on some days!
...
...
...
Thank you!
*heading to Wal-mart to buy a cheaper bra that can withstand being in the throes of a dryer*

Dedicated to posting a silly picture each day for a year. Please see my previous and future posts for more.

Oh, Lord . . . why me?

Posting a silly picture each day for a year.

See my previous and future posts for more.

What a goose!

Does your child ever pout?

I'm posting a silly picture every day for a year.

See my future and previous posts for more!

 

Me: How old are you, baby?
My Four-year-old: Too wittle, Mama.
Awe! Poor babe!

 

Looking for a hero?

Dedicated to posting a silly pic each day for a year. 
Please see my future and previous posts for more.

I bet all the women will see this and think, "Oh my gosh!  Didn't the dress get dirty?"

Getting black-balled . . . again!

I'm posting a silly picture every day for a year.

See my future and previous posts for more!

Do something fun for yourself!

I've decided to post a funny picture every day.  

Check my previous and future posts to see more!

This series is about divorce.

Divorce Recovery: 

Do something fun for yourself!

Divorce Recovery: Make the best of things!

I've decided to post a funny picture every day.  
Check my previous and future posts to see more!
This series is about divorce.

Divorce Recovery: 
Make the best of things!
 

How to Do Your Eye Makeup for Pictures

Ever have one of those days where you feel Krappy (yes with a "K") so you do your makeup like Kim Kardashian (who you just recently heard of) in the hopes that your self esteem will suddenly blossom like the tulips in your flippin' spring garden?!!!
Lol... It's one of those days.

I'm being transparent in case anyone else is feeling like this too.  

Here's a pic of the new way I did my makeup.  It's actually the perfect look for pictures!

It'll look quite dramatic up-close, but after a camera has flashed (from far away), it'll just end up bringing out your eyes, like in the picture below:

Photo Credit:  

My nine-year-old asked if she could take pics of me for her photography portfolio; I'm shocked with how good she did. 

 
Do any of you ever have days when you're struggling with self-esteem?  How do you make yourself feel better?  
    Apparently I either do my makeup like a Kardashian, or do something nice for someone else--that always makes me feel better!

Remember God doesn't make mistakes; it's a good thing He made each one of us the way He intended--perfect according to His own design.

P.S. This makeup IS kind of fun for a change. If you wanna know how I did it, feel free to watch this video:

6 FREE ebooks, today only.

Since "Bible Girl & the Bad Boy" was published exactly 2 years ago, all my eBooks will be FREE today (4/22) for the anniversary.
I hope you'll love them.

*** 

Bible Girl: & the Bad Boy

Homeless in Hawaii

The Golden Sky

How to Lose a Tooth

How to Avoid Having Sex

The Best of ECWrites (Crazy Life of a Writing Mom)

The Sword of Senack

 

 

 

 

 

 

The True Meaning of Easter

I remember the dream well, because I had it so many times I've lost count.

A man died.  My heart throbbed when blood poured from his side and he looked at me one last time.  It was my fault, yet so much love filled his dimming eyes.  He knew he was dying for me--someone so unworthy.  His final breath left him, wavering like a shade in the stormy night.  His life disappeared with all reason as his head lulled no longer having a purpose.
    The moon shone on his once strong face.  I wanted to bring him back, do whatever I could, but he was gone forever.  He'd taken the blame and left me alone with my guilt. 
    My heart shattered in that moment, more than when I'd seen them torture the man I loved.  I crumpled onto the ground and shivered in the coming rain.  No amount of crying would take away the sorrow.  I felt lifeless like the body near mine, as if existing in a world without God.
    The fact remained, he'd looked at me last.  He'd died for me . . . died because of me and I felt dirty.
    I clutched the dirt by my face, dug my nails into the ground, and fell asleep at the foot of the cross.
    I don't know how long I cried, but when I opened my eyes again, sleep clung to my eyes.  A wall loomed behind me and a staircase spiraled far below.

    I walked down the winding, stone steps--the only place to go. The hot granite stung my bare feet and I ran as fast as I could. No railing thronged the stairs.  Instead, the only support was the wall which sweated with a strange smelling liquid.
    After an eternity of running down aged granite, and leaning against eroding corners, I made it to the base of the stairs where a desk waited. A "Welcome to Hell" sign hung crooked from the front of the gnarled wood.  It seemed such a funny room.  Moss lined the ground, Gothic trees grew in clumps.  And at the far end I saw a petrified door.
    "This is a strange place," I said.  And the more I imagined what I hoped for, the more I saw.   It was inviting, as beautiful as Persephones' home.  I swooned over its glory, until seeing the creature at the gnarled desk.
    He wore a black cloak that wrapped over his face.  "You've come.  We've been watching and indeed you are ours now," he croaked.  Huge horns protruded from the sides his hood and long-nailed fingers tapped the desk.
     I stepped back, wanting to scream as the world around died reflecting the fear which ate at my soul.
    "But don't worry.  The Master would have a word with you first."
    "The master?" I asked.
    "Our Lord.  The Prince.  Don't worry, you'll meet him soon . . . just walk through that door.  He always likes to speak to the living."
    "The living?" I asked.
    "Oh, yes.  You are very much alive . . . for now."  His finger ran across a large black book laying open on the desk.  Its old pages were marred by time as if they'd gone through a fire.  He scanned down to a name, highlighted in blood and I saw it was my own name.
    I looked back, but the stairway was gone.  In its place sat a pile of ash staining the wasteland's air. A long trail of women stood beside the pile and beyond it as far as I could see.  They wore lacy black veils and dresses with bridal flares to their designs.  Even though they dressed as if mourning, excitement showed in their movements and smiles.  Their gaunt faces and flickering bodies made me run to the petrified door.  I clutched the door knob before turning to the horned figure at the desk.  "What are they waiting for?" I whispered. 
    "Eternity . . .  They can't wait to come back . . .  See how welcoming death can be?"
    A chill ran the length of my body as I opened the door.  The scene beyond it brought a moment from my past, relived in an even stronger beauty.
    I suddenly understood the line of excited women.  Purple flowers bloomed at my feet and I gazed at the bright sun-filled sky.  I blinked and breathed with the same anticipation I'd seen on the women's faces seconds before.  "Maybe death is welcoming?" I said aloud as the door shut behind me and completely disappeared.
    "It is a beautiful day," a strong voice said from the field at my back.
    The man appeared so much like my lost lover, I could hardly believe.  "Are you . . ."
    He nodded.  "I've been waiting.  It seemed like forever . . . without you."
    "Have we both died, then?  Are you here too, in this strange place?"
    "Yes, and we can live again.  I'll give you your heart's desires."  He held out his hand, unmarred by the nails I'd seen driven there before he died.
    I smiled, but his eyes turned hungry and when I touched his hand, his featured distorted if only for a moment.  I shirked back.
    "Don't be afraid, dear heart.  Death is a strange thing."
    The sun shone, but the more I looked, it appeared like a metallic glow.  I picked a flower, smelled the lavender which seemed dusted with the scent of sulfur.  As I turned back, the greed on the man's face told me more than words ever could.  "And what is it that you'd want in return for my life and my heart's desires?"
    "Just an eternity with you.  Promise, you'll come back to this place, and I'll never leave you again," he said.
    His perfect face made my heart dip with pain.  I'd watched him die.  I remembered how he'd taken me in and showed me truth.
    "Just an eternity with you?"  I asked.
    "That's all and you can have everything, be anything, do anything."  Evil laced his words, something so fetid no amount of deception could hide it.  He pulled a necklace from his shirt.  "You see these?" he crooned.  "These are the keys to eternity now.  I can let you in at any time."
    "I . . ."  He bent next to me and  my lips faltered.  He was so utterly perfect, so amazing, it seemed wrong denying him such a small request.
    Even though, I wanted to believe his words, I'd already tasted the truth.  So in that metallic sun, I spoke as bravely as I could.  "I can't.  I won't come back."
    "No?  No?!  How dare you tell me 'no'!"  The world cracked with the anger I saw on the man's vile face.  His features shifted and changed as he drew a dagger from his cloak.  "Did you see your name in my book?" he asked.  "Did you see it? You are mine!"  He held the dagger in the air and prepared to deal out my death.  "Once your name was covered with the blood of the lamb . . . once.  Did you see it?"
    I stepped back, a shaky step.  "Yes, I . . . did."  I tried standing strong, but his face made my soul crawl with fear.  "It's still covered in blood."
    "His blood has no power now!  His blood is useless.  He's dead and can't protect you ANY . . . MORE!  Did you hear me, you insignificant mortal?  He's dead!"  He cackled into the metallic light.  "Tell me you still love him, even though he's powerless and weak.  Tell me you still adore his perfect nature and flawed ideals.  Tell me you still loathe me even though I'm the only one who can save your soul now!"
    He loomed, like a blackened tree.  His eyes pierced through my spirit, knowing every bad thing I'd ever done--every vile thought I'd ever had.  "We deserve each other, you and I.  We deserve an eternity together.  Imagine staying here . . . forever.  I'll give you one last chance, to save yourself from the ultimate pains of Hell.  He's useless to you now anyway.  What other choice do you have?  Just tell me you hate him.  Curse the name of Jesus and Hell will be more bearable."
    The knife came closer.  My legs shook and I dropped to my knees and cried.  I'd seen the blood seep from my savior's hands and feet--the red pouring from his side.  A part of me died with him the day I watched Him at Calvary, yet I could never curse His name, even if it would lessen my fate in Hell.  I'd always love Him even if He'd lost all power.
    "NO!!!"  I spat at the devil's feet.  "I will never curse His name.  Even if He won't save my soul, I'll never curse the name of Jesus!"
    The moment froze.  I watched the confusion sprinting across Satan's face.  He couldn't understand, would never understand that type of love.  In his own world, the sky melted and folded in on itself as a light that passes all understanding ripped through the metallic sun.
    Satan ran across the field, scurrying as fast as he could go, but the light encompassed him and he cried in pain.  I closed my eyes and peace curled around, overcoming my soul.
    I stayed wrapped in that hope, the feeling reminiscent of Heavenly visions.  When I opened my eyes again, I rested at the foot of the cross.
    Jesus was gone.  The light of a new day lined the horizon and I smiled.  Hell may have wanted me, but Jesus' blood was still my protection.
    The cross drew my eyes; I saw the nails that had held my savior there.  My smile broadened because from a nail hung a massive set of keys--they were the keys to Hell.

For information about my books, please go HERE.

Lightning in the Storm

Song and Lyrics written and performed 
by EC Stilson. 

 ~Lyrics to "The Lightning in the Storm"~

Unexpected like winter rain,
dripping on my face.
Healing, life-changing
taking away the pain . . . without a trace.

Like lightning in the perfect storm.
It lights up the rain.
Thunder--it crashes--the winds they roll
and I'll never be the same.

This is worth more than life,
seeing things I've never seen.
Striving and hoping, working and praying
Striving and hoping, working and praying . . .

Like lightning in the perfect storm.
It lights up the rain.
Thunder--it crashes--the winds they roll
and I'll never be the same.

Unforeseen like a hurricane.
Winds rush past my face.
Healing, life-changing and the pain goes away
Healing, life-changing and the pain goes away . . .

Like lightning in the perfect storm.
It lights up the rain.
Thunder--it crashes--the winds they roll
Thunder--it crashes--the winds they roll
Thunder--it crashes--the winds they roll
and I'll never be the same.

The perfect storm.
The perfect storm.
The lightning in your storm.

How NOT to raise a pre-teen

My oldest daughter, the Scribe, is twelve AND we're starting to have some problems . . . with my attitude.
    We got into some stupid conversation about why she can't dress like Madonna.  "What is that shirt?" I asked.  "It's so bright, you might as well go guide traffic on 5th and Main!"
    "But, Mom, THIS is in style!  I. Am. Fashionable.  You--on the other hand--have no style.  And sometimes . . . I hate it."
    Did she just say "HATE"?  I felt like I'd swallowed a grenade.  She'd pulled the pin and soon the sucker would explode in my belly.  
    My face puckered.  I took a breath--hoping the grenade wouldn't really detonate.  
    5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . I silently counted.
    By this point, my face must've reddened so that my daughter saw it through her gorgeous, tinted glasses.  "Oh . . .crap," she mouthed in slow-motion, sliding her glasses down her nose.
    "Oh! Mom . . . I'm sorry.  YOU are stylish.  You are.  Mom, it's YOU."  The Scribe back-peddled--like a freakin' unicyclist in the circus--but the truth had already come out, and that's what set my anger free.
    Her words meant nothing, and I suddenly started saying things I swore I'd never repeat.  You know--the things people say to you when you're a kid.
    "Scribe!" I barked.  "I was in labor with you for twenty-seven hours!  The doctor wanted me to have medicine before I pushed you out!  But nooooo.  Would I have the epidural?  No-ooo way!  I sat through those raging contractions--feeling like I'd die, or worse, have a bowel movement."  Her face turned white.  "You wanna know why I didn't have the pain meds?"
    She shook her head, practically begging me to stop.
    "Oh--I'll tell you why.  Because I love you.  I didn't want you to have any of that medicine in your infant body.  So I did squats by the bed.  I walked around the hospital.  I even put on makeup between contractions--so I'd look pretty for you when you came out!  And now you're saying the "hate" word?"
    "Did you mean to say it like that? The "hate" word?" she asked.
    I knew it had sounded lame, but I wasn't gonna admit it.  So I folded my arms and gave her the mom face called you-flippin'-heard-me-the-first-time/wrap-your-head-around-that!  
    "And giving birth to me???  That has nothing to do with style!"
    "Pfft!  I'm the reason you know about style.  I helped bring you into this world.  I did that for you, and now you're gonna treat me like this?  Say you hate something . . . about me."
    "Mom."  She frowned.  "I'm sorry.  Really, I am."
    THANK GOD for labor!  She actually apologized.  It may suck pushing a kid out of YOUR BUTT, but it gives moms ammo to make kids remorseful!  If babies came from a freakin' stork, I would have NOTHING to say.  "Be nice--to me.  Because that stork worked really hard bringing you here."  Meh.  NOPE.  It was me.  And the guilt-trip worked.

    Later that night, I heard her talking on the phone to a friend.  "I love my mom," she said, "but she was saying the weirdest stuff today.  I swear, if I ever have kids, I'll never say things like that to them!"
    I had to smile.  Let the circle of life continue.

Have you ever had to look backward to move forward?

Four years ago . . .

Something drew me to the little fabric shop on Main Street, tucked away in the back corner, practically hidden by a huge vacuum store.  I trudged toward the door, gripped the handle and paused.  Why was I there?
    "Belinda's" was the most expensive fabric store in Northern Utah AND their selection wasn't great--yet there I stood, with some stupid feeling that I needed to be there.
    After going inside, and being blasted by the air conditioner, I sidled up to some watermelon-print fabric near the register.  
    I couldn't concentrate on that fabric though, too distracted from my dreams the night before.  I'd fought with Cade (my husband at the time).   We both went to sleep angry and I'd dreamed about my ex-boyfriend--from ten years before.
    "What's wrong?" the elderly lady at the register asked, pulling down her glasses and studying how I'd literally been petting the watermelon fabric.
    "Oh, my gosh!"  I set the cotton down.  "Just a long night."  I sighed again and then shook my head--seriously what was I doing there?!  I started to walk toward the exit, when the woman cleared her throat.
    "I'm bored.  And I love a good story.  Would you mind telling me what's going on?"
    That woman--who didn't know me AT ALL--pulled up two stools across from each other at the register and selflessly listened to how guilty I felt about fighting and then dreaming about my ex.
    "Why do I dream about my ex?  It's been forever since we were together!  I told one of my friends and she said this isn't normal at all!"
    The woman started laughing so hard, then rested a wrinkled hand on my shoulder.  "Listen.  I'm eighty-five years old.  And what you're going through is completely normal!  Do you have time to hear my story?"
    I nodded, pretty enthralled.
    "My husband died five years ago.  We were happily married for nearly fifty years, but like you, every time we had problems, I started thinking about--or even dreaming about--my old beau from high school."
    "Even after fifty years?" I balked.
    She looked down and nodded.  "Yeah.  So last year, I contacted my old beau.  Things seemed great at first, but guess what happened--I ended up remembering why I broke up with him in high school.  AND he'd never changed.  We broke up for the same reason a lifetime later.  We were still the same core people."

    I was utterly stunned.
    "My point is: I spent all that time looking back on a man who wasn't worth my time.  I remembered the good and forgot the bad, just to realize I broke up with him in the first place for a reason.  All that time I wasted . . . wondering what if."
    We hugged each other before I left.  And that woman gave me a red sucker, even though I'm a grown woman and everything.
   
Anyway, four years have passed and I know I'll never forget that woman and her story.  Although I'm not married anymore, I want to hold that woman's moral close.

The past is never where you think you left it.
-Katherine Anne Porter

If you're struggling, looking back to a possibly deluded past, I'd like to leave you with one more quote:

 

The grass is greener where you water it.
-Unknown      

I. Saw. A. Corpse.

I'm not giving any names, but I had reason to believe that something died in a cave up Ogden Canyon.  So I texted my friend Tony: "You wanna go see something dead in a cave?"
    "How can I say no to that?" he replied because some people are born epic.
    So we went to the cave.  I threw Tony a flashlight, turned on the one I'd kept for myself, and we crawled combat style into the dark opening.
    There were some gross things in there: beer bottles, wrappers, unfinished homework, an unused feminine pad.  And I realized again, some things are worse than death--like being a girl AND having a period! 
    I was about to tell Tony that womanhood sucks, when I suddenly saw a black shape in front of us.
    "Oh. My. Hell," I gasped and pointed the flashlight toward the shape of doom.  "I think . . . that's dead!"  I was nervous, honestly, and excited.  Like a real-live Zombie Apocalypse was about to happen.  That dead son-of-a-beast would probably rise up, since we'd disturbed its death, then it would totally-bypass-me 'cause I'm a gem, then go for Tony's throat. 
    I worried for Tony then; I'm selfless AND not a pansy--and I wanted Tony to know it!  After all, he's the same guy who isn't afraid of nothin'--the same guy who got us kicked out of a hockey game 'cause I'd he'd smuggled in some Listerine bottles with whiskey in them.  He's the same legendary man who won a ham at a bowl-off last Christmas--then gave the prize to a man in need.  
    He's part Filipino, part tiger, and damn it I wanted to seem like a badass too!  So I crawled closer to the black shape--like I was unphased--my heart racing . . . until I realized the black shape was a jacket.
    "A jacket, EC?  Really?  You were all worked up ABOUT A JACKET," Tony the Tiger said.
    "Listen here, Buddy!  That zipper, looked like a claw hanging over that rock.  All dangerous and terrifying.  Were you the one crawling closer?  No!  You weren't.  EC go first--you said--EC crawl closer."  I kept moving after that, laughing the whole way.
    Tony snorted--that's what badasses do.  "Only you would send me a text that says: something died in a cave--wanna check it out?  Of course you should go first.  Most chicks like watching movies.  Or going to dinner.  Not EC, man!"
    The rocks were digging into my knees.  "Damn, I wish I'd brought knee pads."  
    "I wish I had a helmet!" he said.  Tony is bald.  I've told him before I have no sympathy for bald men--one day he'll listen.
    We went about another twenty feet farther in.  And all I could think about were those damn rocks, and how there was a light coming from the end of the cave.
    "What in the heck is this?"  I suddenly knocked on a pipe running along the ground to the side of us.
    "EC. It's. A. Pipe."
    "I wonder what the hell it's doing here."  I was flippin' mystified.  "A pipe--there has to be no freakin' way!"
    I thought Tony would be amazed--instead he nearly died in that cave--wheezing with laughter.  "I don't think this is a natural cave, EC."
    "But how did the pipe get here?"
    "EC, man! It's a pipeline.  For the water runoff. Ya know, we're in the mountains?"
    "You mean to tell me, THIS ISN'T A NATURAL CAVE?  And nothin' died in here?  Screw this!"
    "Ummm, EC.  You're a jerk!" Tony sounded actually upset.
    "Excuse me?  Like it's my fault nothing died in here."
    "No. You're a jerk 'cause you didn't tell me you just passed a corpse!  Dude, you're the one in front of me.  You coulda said, Tony, there's a freakin' dead animal.  Don't put your hand on it!"
    I scoffed because if there's anything I know about people who are part tiger, it's that they think I'm gullible.
    "Oh, I'm sure!"  I turned around, crawled back and shone my light on death personified--in rabbit form.  Its innards were its outtards.  Its claw . . . was disgusting.  A rock covered its face.  I'd showed up to the damn thing's funeral--and I DID NOT WANT TO BE THERE.
    Then I freaked out as this imagine flashed through my mind!

    "What the flippin' A--"  I have never crawled that fast in my life.  I never knew a rabbit--thing--could scare me so much.  I wanted Tony the Tiger to think I'm tough since I need a good friend--but screw that.  Moments before, I had crawled over: A. Dead. Animal.  And if it was a rabbit, that made things worse!  Haven't you read Bunnicula?  The rabbit was totally a vampire, and that's scarier than hell.  See!

    We made it out of the cave; I dropped to my knees, trying to keep from peeing my pants--I was laughing that hard.
    "Best. Pipeline-cave. Ev-er!" I squealed, then followed up with, "I told you something died in there!"
    Tony raised an eyebrow and smiled.  "Only you, EC."

So yesterday I learned that:
*People who are part Filipino/part tiger ARE NOT PHASED by death.  
*I can be a pansy.  
*And caves whether natural or just glorified pipelines are pretty awesome.  

All in all, facing death has never been so ridiculously fun.