Tuesday, January 28, 2014

"The Undercover of Darkness" ( Book 1) #soontobereleased

Antagonist character of the soon to be released Suspense/Thriller/Paranormal "The Undercover of Darkness" ( Book 1) authored by Patricia Etienne See what her character footpath is all about~ A villain psychopath, a male basher, she conducted an underground witch’s coven that has entranced most of the male population in Gleeson. she preyed on young boys who have no voice, or common sense to speak out. With ruse, power and money, she could retrieve their souls on the purpose to gain masculinity strength. Their auras of youth could be stolen and added to her body through using witchcraft.

Monday, January 27, 2014

The Undercover of Darkness- Book 1 (Meet the protagonist) #character

Bonise-Ann Taylor, played an outstanding character in this story- after she lost of her long-time position- the chief magazine. She underwent intensive rehabilitation inpatient for manic-depressive disorder. As misfortune continued to unfold, she endured greater financial strains, which led her to face a home foreclosure. Aunt Nellie was her safe haven. She offered Bonise-Ann and her three children hospitality into her mansion. Bonise-Ann— a widow, mother and a fighter. Under her thin nose, she could smell and sense the strange happenings in the mansion. Through light and heavy storms, she held onto her main goal, and axe out the root of all evil. All men were able to regain their masculinity strength and mental functions. Her bravery helped to re-establish lightness in the town of Gleeson Arizona.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Emphatic to Trap

As you make-believe to be innocent and neutral; yet under the magnetic glass your fingertips are found all over my pane. As light is to shine and night is to rest. Wrong… my life is rolling in an illusion box like a forgotten Cinderella in a midnight crisis. Seems like I'm lingering between past and present. We are neighbors, friends and shake hands like democratic, republic bureaucracies. As I am... still at Baby steps- Is this a sham? Shouldn't be! A viscous debt for my sovereignty; blood shed on the Republic soil. My wings shouldn’t be clipped off. Where’s the land of the free? Uh, my mistake! Cripple from the womb, absolutely no chance to thrive. Your twist , turn, barricade my path and bandage my view. Black tears run down my face and into my mouth- salty, bitter taste, Spit! The fire of revolt illuminates. Hearts are pumping blood unable to stop. As always stick with the popular chapter. "Pointing fingers at others..." Clearly that isn't the known fact. *Emphatic to trap* It’s like serving division and hatred on a spoon to aliment poverty and disarray. But… just before the shoe falls off the other foot- Let’s stand united, so we can clean up the air. For we’re a nation of Sang mĂȘlĂ©; hell-hole isn’t our destiny © 2012 by _Patricia Etienne All rights reserved

Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Upcoming book

On writing #firstdraft

Don’t get stuck on the first draft by trying to horn it. You have to move forward. Most of the first drafts are dreadful. If you don’t take the next step- chances are you may never finish the product, or know how wonderful your book is.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

A lighted candle #tragedy

Though we fell, but we always pick up the strength to rise.

Enough to realize, Life is a cycle.

Ones must leave for others to be born.

We cannot choose our departure window.

Otherwise, there wouldn’t be any violent or sudden death.

On that regard, let’s celebrate life.

And give homage to the earthquake victims in Haiti.

( 1/12/10) We've learned the meaning of life within death.

For that we honour life.

A lighted candle in memory of the departed souls!

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Creepy Ol' Joe #childfundling

It was too quiet to think of screaming. Even if you did, the scenery was perfect enough to rob anyone off their ears. More likely,  the sun would rise in the same direction. Then, in the sky, there never seemed to be a dull star. Early evening everyone would sit outside wishing upon a shooting star. And their wishes were usually about peace, long life, good harvest, healthy crops and happiness. Well, I had one tiny bitty wish, and you wouldn't guess what it was about.
Every town got a story on its own. It could be ghosted, grim, creepy, folk-tale, or anything else.
On the other hand, it could be a “Keep it in the closet crime” no one talks about.
“But let me tell you about this town of mine.”
My eyes would melt in tears for fear to creep away.
There was nowhere to hide.
Sometimes I would wade through the wood
and remained there for as long as I could hold my breath.
But I realized it wasn't necessary.
He would find me anyway.
That was his regular spot.
His sanctuary, his sickness mm, mm!
“His little shack!”
Buried underneath running vine branches,
the map drawn accordingly in his brain.
My hunch, he built this place, especially for that purpose.
“To bring out creepy Ol’ Joe”
lots of time, running through the wood was even more impossible.
Because the ground was muddy and sticky,
looking at it would give me the urge to puke.
And breaking a fall was too many.
Mama would  buy sneakers with soft sole,
and the pine-cones would feel bumpy and got stuck under my feet.
“I tell you right there. It was no-good feeling.”

Jemison is a small rural town in Alabama; located right at the end of the Appalachian Mountain range. During my growing up, life was nice and kind to all. It was a place where everybody knows everybody. People would great you as you pass. That little church in the corner, where everybody would go worshiping each Sunday; the Assembly was friendly enough. It didn't have to be your real family, but every child would refer to growing up people as auntie and uncle. Trust was within everybody, but it always takes one to ruin the show.
Meet Ol' Joe, a wealthy farmer- for everyone in town, he was the local history buff. He was respected by many. Everyone would go to him for advice. However, in my heart, I called himcreepy Ol' Joe.” He didn't really deserve this noble labeling.
In harvest time, Ol’ Joe would carry crops of vegetables, fruits, nice bundles of rice to houses that were mostly with little girls.
He was a good friend of the family. He was welcoming in the home. He would go out in the fields with my daddy, and together they would have a blast.
Ol Joe would always ask Mama Permission for him to take me to the vine field. His story was… “It’s a girl's job to learn how to harvesting grapes.” And not a question asked Mama would let me go. That was the time; he would start touching me inappropriately. He would whisper in my ear's words that I couldn't understand, or simply because I was too young to dissect the message. Being the only child I felt scared and lonely, not an older brother, or a sister to turn to. So I got brave enough I reported Ol' Joe's inappropriate behaviors to Mama. And she said to me sounded so fiercely.
“You kids today have no respect for them growing ups. I didn't teach you that Taylor-Mae. Now, you wash that mouth of yours with soap you hear me? And I don't ever wanna hear that story from you again. Ol' Joe is a dang good man. He does the town well.”
As Mama didn't believe my story; I would continue going to the vine fields with him; he would take me inside that little shack, and fondling me. His smile was inhuman and winkled lines all over his face. He wasn't too far from being a Freddie cougar look alike. At times, I wished I could end it there and now, but I didn't have strength and support. Only, I would play defensive by running through the fields hoping to find a safe-haven, but there was never any. Nevertheless, I would scribble down. Whatever was bothering me on a string sheet of paper and buried it underground, and mostly I would find relief within. I went that way for many years until I graduated high school and left town. However, I carried that pain like a cross hanging on my neck. This burden couldn't ever so erase in my memories. What's worst, this monster was never identified and put to shame and justice.
Today, creepy Ol' Joe is living fear in many little girls' hearts, and you will find his name written in bloody print in the mist of their diary.
How many of you there’s a household has a creepy Ol' Joe next door’s neighbor?
How many of you there’s a creepy Ol' Joe story to share?