Spooky Story- “A Foot Off The Ground”

I am not a horror writer, but I was inspired this weekend by the lovely Donna Munro to write a creepy little short while attending the Ghost Town Writers Retreat. Equipped with strange pictures, we were told to choose one. I sat by this one and began writing the story from the moment I sat down.20545563_10155296442645932_5708798476515760127_o

Then we had to title the picture by what stood out to us. To me, this girl is levitating, but she could easily be standing awkwardly on one tip-toe. Good enough for me… Enjoy!

“A Foot Off The Ground”

Angela Gibbons caused her family a fright from the moment she was conceived. While in her mother’s womb each week would go by, causing her mother very unusual symptoms. Little Angie was born on August 17th, 1972 at 11:23pm. Hours later, when the nurses did their nightly rounds at exactly 2:15am, they found the babe flowing exactly one foot above her assigned crib. Once they were brave enough to approach the child, no amount of force could ground the child. As quickly as she rose, at 2:16am she lowered gently back to her bed. And so it was every single night.

Later, it was discovered, after months of studying the phenomenon that Angela Gibbons consistently levitated exactly one foot from where she lay at exactly 2:15am for exactly one minute. For months they tried to tie her down, but anything, no matter how heavy, would levitate exactly one foot off the ground at exactly 2:15am for exactly one minute every single night. When Angie got to be seven years old she pleaded with her parents to remove the rope from her while she slept. The heavier the object, the more tired she was the next day. It was affecting her  studies at school. They reluctantly agreed, but someone had to stay and watch over her every night at exactly 2:15am for exactly one minute. After a month they were comfortable that she would go no higher than exactly one foot from her bed and allowed her to sleep without watchful eyes.

For three years Angie lived as a normal child aside from her nocturnal flights. Until she disappeared. With the doors and windows locked tight, no one had any idea where Little Angie could have gone. Authorities, being privy to her odd condition, did not spend much time or resources searching for her. They checked her tree house, the neighborhood park, and her friend’s houses all of which were unfruitful.

It was not until years later when her parents were preparing to sell their home after giving up hope for her return. A few family friends came to help them repair damage on the roof, they found Angie’s shoe hanging from the highest point of the chimney just out of sight from the ground.

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Six Fact Sunday- Ghost Town Writer’s Retreat

If you follow me anywhere like Twitter (HERE) FaceBook (HERE) or Instagram (HERE), you know that I have spent the weekend at my very first Writer’s Retreat. I met the most amazing group of like minded amateurs, professionals, and experts. Even though it was a horror writer’s deal, writers from across all genres were represented. Lucky for me, most of them are local to Denver and mix in circles that I have recently joined.

Anyway, it’s been awhile since I did a Sunday post, but being new to the world of writing and publishing, I have learned soooo much! And here it is:

  1.  EVERY WRITER NEEDS TO GO TO A CONFERENCE!!! You will find your tribe. If it’s 2 or 200 people, you will find SOMEONE if not most people believe in you and your work because they know what it takes to get there. They know the hours you have put into pouring over you manuscript until you could quote it in your sleep. They know the struggles of networking, pitching, querying. Whatever stage you are in, a lot of them have been there and will cheer you on.

Theses people are so amazing. Writing a book is hard, and getting your book out there is even more difficult. The writing community is one of solidarity. Others recognize that you put in the hard work and wrote to tell the tale. Beautiful hearts, theses folks.

2.   I learned how to scare people with written words. This I am super excited about. I received tips from horror writing superstars, on how to make grown people pee their pants . I also learned that true crime is glamorized in fiction. Most of the books or TV shows you watch that are “based on a true story” are 75% bullshat.

3. I learned how to talk about my book in a way that makes others excited. The biggest compliment I have received all weekend is that they loooove the premise of my story and cannot wait to read it. COMPLETE STRANGERS want to read my story. (I am floored).

4. (On the note of number 3) I learned how to query and how to pitch my book to an agent in person. I also learned how NOT to by one ridiculously famous editor. He, despite correcting my in person pitch, asked me for my manuscript. I almost cried.

5. After MANY changes, I finally hammered down the true genre of my book. It is Speculative/ Crisis Thriller. This is the first time I have felt it’s been properly labeled.

6. I Have A LOT of work to do. To include a mad amount of writing… Like 8-13k more words to actually qualify to be the genre I intend. I am humble enough to accept that my novel needs work. I did not expect to just do one round of edits and be done. I’ve put hard work into it, I won’t give up until it’s finished.

 

Of course, I have learned and experienced much more than those 6 things, but I am mentally exhausted and ready to get back to my kiddos and the mister. I miss them like crazy. So, hopefully I will have a good short and scary for you later this week. But until then…

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Not me. Not this time.

HappyBirthdayMy Love

I have never been the one to mess with. I have either always knew the rule or researched it enough to know whether my stance on the matter was right or wrong. Health/ dental insurance don’t mess with me.  I know my contract in and out. I know what I am “entitled to”.

“But Dacia, you’re a millennial, you’re not entitled to anything!

I am a ten year Army veteran. I have earned my health and dental plans. (But really they are my husband’s work’s so shut up. Yes I have ‘earned’ them)

So let me tell you women something. You do not have to agree with what they tell you.

You don’t have to go along because you don’t know any better

You can learn negative and detrimental things of you own past that bring to light something you held at high regard.

You can learn that ‘”protection” might not have actually saved you from the danger of your own family.

You can learn that after 32 years of existence, what you thought you had built your own foundation  on was a lie or was kept a secret from you, in hopes that it would go away.

I feel ashamed and defensive. I feel like I am owed the truth on the matter before I go chiseling at the details.

I feel that being so comfortably removed from the situation has, yes, saved me from the physical hurt that others have experienced but also left the remaining victims silent in their recovery, personal remorse, and unable to anonymously share their side of the story.

Ladies- You are not alone. Many have felt this pain. It is not my story to tell, but if you can help others by stepping up, then maybe it’s worth it.

It is time that you have felt this validation. That YOU know that you are loved despite the things that happened to you.

I grew up so far removed. My memories are locked in the photos I own. I try to apply principles to my own little family that has very different dynamics.

If you can please help me to understand why women lay so vulnerable to men;   not allowing their own voices to be heard. Why do you place your husband above the love of your children? Then I may be able to sleep tonight.

Choose Life

This essay was shared with me in confidence, and my dear friend will remain anonymous by her request. This very subject brings out ever primal instinct in me to fight and protect and cry all at the same time.

Friend- I can find no words. You have always been a strong personality in my day to day, but I shamefully underestimated what was underneath. You are strong beyond measure. You chose to overcome rather than be defeated. You continue to look for ways to build yourself against all odds. You are beautiful and worth every ounce of respect given to you. Thank you for choosing life.

Choose Life

Note to readers: I feel like my heart is out in the open as I write this, but at the same time, I feel empowered now that I have the courage to share what was once considered shameful, something that was never to be acknowledged as events that actually happened. This. Actually. Happened.  Sadly, it’s happening to someone else as you read this. I hope sharing my story helps raise awareness and gives another survivor the courage to reach out, get help, and regain control of their life.

“Either you can tell them, or they can find out when Child Protective Services comes to your house tomorrow.” my youth pastor told me.  I felt my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes welled up as I shook my head.

“No, no, they can’t know! They can’t know, please don’t do this.” I responded fervently.  My pastor and I were talking outside of my youth group and people were around, but my surroundings quickly faded at the urgency of the dialogue.  How could I tell my mom that her father, a man loved by all, had sexually abused me from ages six to twelve?  And furthermore, how could I tell my parents on Mother’s Day? I knew my mom would believe me and that she wouldn’t be mad at me, but I didn’t want our “perfect world” to be flipped upside down.

I don’t remember much about what happened that Mother’s Day.  I told my mom that Grandpa abused me every time he saw me for the last six years, and I recall silent tears streaming down her face.  She didn’t have a chance to tell my dad, so he found out when CPS and the police officer knocked on our door.

The first time it happened, I was in the shower when my grandpa came in.  My whole family was on the other side of the bathroom door. Grandpa was bold. I remember asking my grandpa, “Is this sex?” He answered yes and told me that if I ever told anyone it would tear the family apart.

People were around a lot of the times when he abused me. He would ask me to get something from the garage, but I wouldn’t know until we got there if he wanted to touch me or if we were actually getting something.  Other times it would be just me, my brother, and cousins in the house and Grandpa would take only me into his room. Later, my brother admitted that he and my cousins often excluded me because they were jealous that Grandpa spent so much time with me.

Eventually, my own behavior starting manifesting warning signs.  I used to pretend that my dolls were having sex, and one time I put a towel over my and my younger cousin’s head and began kissing her; thinking that nobody would notice since the towel was over our heads.  The abuse was literally right under my family’s noses, and from a young age I was exhibiting “red flag” behaviors.

Strangely, my family’s perfect Pleasantville never altered after they learned the truth.  My family did not want to treat me like a victim, so they acted like nothing ever happened to me. They could not bear to hear the details, so nobody asked me what happened, and I never told.  It felt as if my family thought I should be “over it” since the abuse was over. The police never heard the full story either and my grandpa was never charged for something that would have caused him to spend many years in prison. It also didn’t help that CPS sent a man; I did not feel comfortable speaking with him.  Instead, I spoke with the female police officer, but I was never asked to share the details of what happened to me.

My parents thought they were doing everything right, protecting me from seeing my grandpa until I was ready and taking me to counseling. I attended therapy throughout high school and it helped, but it was always situational conflict resolution instead of addressing the core issue.  I remember working through my relationships with my dad as well as an abusive boyfriend. Both byproducts of the abuse—my hesitancy to get close with my dad and being overly submissive with my boyfriend.  It was as if therapy addressed the aftermath of the abuse, but not the abuse itself.  Imagine a broken glass jar.  Therapy cleaned up the tiny shards of glass on the floor, but did nothing to repair the shattered jar itself.

I was a high functioning teenager and learned to cope without ever having to verbalize the things my grandfather had done to me.  Looking back on my late teen/early adulthood years, it seems everything was normal, including my mental health. I graduated high school with good grades and studied nursing in college.  However, during college, I felt strong emotions resurface about the abuse.  Pediatric nursing taught me about play therapy, how kids reenact what they’re exposed to, and that psuedoseizures often correlate with molestation.  Suddenly, I was filled with anger toward my parents, wondering how life would have been different if they’d recognized my warning symptoms and intervened.

I managed to graduate from nursing school and marry an amazing man, but anxiety always loomed in the shadows of my mind. I remained a victim to what I now know as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I suffered alone, not realizing that my mind was constantly functioning in a state of high alert; seeing threats, causing panic at every turn.  I was scared to walk down sidewalks by myself, afraid to shower unless my husband was around (lest someone break into my home and abuse me).  My brain worked like this—always on guard, and if I let my guard down, then I’d be vulnerable.  I had nightmares, panicked at the sight of fathers kissing their daughters, was anxious because a male doctor cared for me as a patient, and felt dirty inserting a urinary catheter in an elderly man.  I felt alone, like nobody else was experiencing what I was going through.

When I realized that PTSD was affecting my career, I sought further counseling.  For the first time, I endured the painful memories so that I could reconcile my past.  I had to relive my childhood, as a grown woman, and think about events that hadn’t crossed my mind in over a decade.   It was as if I rewound time, passed the “recovered” stage of college and young married life, and resurrected the memories of a child trying to hold it all together.  For the first time, my story was heard.

After coping with these horrendous events, I determined that I would not be defined by the abuse.  I chose not to be a victim to PTSD; I chose LIFE! I learned coping mechanisms like: assessing risk versus fear, realizing that nobody can hurt me with their glances or their words (no matter how inappropriate), allowing myself to ask someone to accompany me to a restaurant bathroom, and remembering that what my husband and I do in our bedroom is safe and consensual.

With this change, however, comes new fears.   I need guidance with many things that people take for granted because they grew up in a home with healthy boundaries.  I reformat every thought in my head and assess if it’s PTSD or a rational thought.  It’s a constant change that needs to occur, and success is dependent on this change. For example, I had to be taught that bathing my nephew and teaching him basic grooming skills is caregiving rather than incestuous.  I wish I could say that I made that dramatic change once and it fixed my life forever, but it’s a change that I have to make every day in order to succeed. Now I choose courage over fear. Now, I’m no longer the victim—I’m the victor.

I have overcome many challenges on this journey, but I know there will be many more to face.

Like how will I manage the trials of pregnancy and child birth? Perinatal checks, strangers touching my baby bump, and everyone wanting to hold my baby? How will I feel safe as a patient if I need narcotics or anesthesia? Choosing courage requires me to lower my guard and place trust in my caregivers.

This abuse will stay with me forever, and I will constantly have to change my natural responses in order to have a life worth living.  But I can be a conqueror, overcomer, and regain control of my life.  I don’t have to be known as, “the girl who was abused.”  I am the woman who picked herself up, has a successful marriage, a thriving career, and wants to be a mother someday.  I choose to change my perception every day so I can have an enjoyable, authentic life.  I am worth it.

The Mountain Climb!

Miscarriage is devestating. I know I’ve told my stories about my struggles with fertility, but please know that though it is extremely common, it is heartbreaking to lose a child. I went through a cycle of feeling dead inside and hated myself, too. But we don’t have to suffer alone. This post was written by my sister. Love you girl. Welcome back!

ladyandrea81

My husband James and I have been married for 7 years and in 7 years our one goal was to become parents. The sooner we could start planning and making that dream become reality, the happier we would be. I had no idea Infertility was a thing or that we would have issues. The question “Why Me” has been asked and I still ask that question. Every year our resolution is to have a baby. That’s our wish, the one thing our hearts desire for is to be a Mommy and Daddy to our very own children. We have a fur daughter Aubrey but we would love nothing more than for Aubrey to be a Big sister.

We had a hunch that this year would be “Our Year”, the year that our dream would in fact come true. The New Year started and we knew our appointment with a Specialist…

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The Generation That Built Us

Having a daughter has completely derailed me. Things that I have kept high on a shelf, have come down to tiny hands that don’t understand the frailty of the memories they hold.

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This bunny has a good 25 years on her new owner.

My father being in the military, we rarely lived close to family. When we did go “home” to visit, we stayed with my grandmother; my father’s mother. I only just recently found out my own mother hated it. But my brother, sister and I loved everything about it. The cookie jar that held snack cakes instead of just plain ole cookies, the “haunted barn” we’d explore only supervised by my aunt, who would later in life become my roommate, the smell of coffee and cigarettes at all hours of the day, and Grandma. Her cooking, her gifts, her love, and her pride in us: the grandkids.

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Always so proud of us (I’m the bottom left of the main photo.. My cousin is the innocent by-standard. Her blog can be found HERE).

My Grandmother was the face of everything that the subsequent generations wanted to be to their family: the Matriarch. There was not a get together that she was not in the center of. Her cooking alone is enough for its own post.  It was never ever about what she bought us. What she gave us, she made with her own two hands. I am happy that even at a young age, I recognized the prize that was handed to me that Christmas.

Hand sewn bunnies, like the one gifted to me in the first photo, were given to all the granddaughters she had at the time. Many MANY more came later, but as her eye sight went, and her arthritis worsened, fewer things were sewn and less gifts were made.

And now as a mother, I treasure more the things my mother makes for me and my children. I want her to be proud of my children like my grandmother was proud of us. I want my daughter to know the line of strong women that she comes from. I also want her to know the value and worth behind taking a few abstract materials, a little bit of finesse and a lot of love and transforming it into an heirloom; a token of love and life that will transcend her own if treated delicately.

Grandma, thank you for sharing your gifts with us. I hope I do well to teach my kiddos of your diligence, your love and your pride in them. Even my littlest little who did not get to meet you. We love and miss you dearly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Personality Book Tag

I follow a blog called Trice Read that posted this tag today. I use Meyers Briggs personality types to help me develop characters.

If you want you can do this tag, I’m not going to tag a bunch of people but I’m curious to see what your personality is!

Get your free MBTI personality test at Sixteen Personalities or Personality Page.

All pictures in this post were borrowed from the Sixteen Personalities website.


What is your MBTI personality type?

So I retake this test often. I thought that the INFJ fit me to a T, but T must stand for “today” because after taking the test it says I am an ENFJ, but in my defense  extrovert and introvert are pretty split down the middle. So I’ll play the game today. I have the “Protagonist” personality which I absolutely love.

“Protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. Forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world.”

What is your personality like?

I’m basically not shy and have a strong personality. I radiate authenticity, concern and altruism. I am genuine to a fault. I never have a hidden agenda because I find secrets and animosity exhausting. I am self aware of my own feelings “but if they get too caught up in another person’s plight, they can develop a sort of emotional hypochondria, seeing other people’s problems in themselves, trying to fix something in themselves that isn’t wrong.”

If you were a character in a book, what would be some of you character strengths and flaws?

Fluctuating self-esteem is a common theme for me. I only feel validated when I have reached the standard of outstanding that I know is my best work. Mediocrity makes me nervous and often causes me to question my abilities in everything versus just the one area that I succeeded at but was not my best work.

I am also super sensitive to my own emotions. I do act emotionally but I make this ridiculous attempt to make logical plans in response to my extreme emotional reactions.

Do any authors share your personality type?

Barack Obama, Oprah, MLK, Johnny Depp.

What fictional characters share your personality type?

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I’m not overly excited about any of these.

If you were a character in a book, what job would you have?

“This attitude, alongside their social skills, emotional intelligence and tendency to be “that person who knows everybody”, can be adapted to quite a range of other careers as well, making Protagonists natural HR administrators, event coordinators, and politicians – anything that helps a community or organization to operate more smoothly.”

What personality type would complete your OTP?

Some one with a lot of patience and the ability to work through things for the ultimate goal of being happy and work toward that goal continuously. If at any point I feel that I am the only one trying to make it work, or the other person does something to hurt me, I immediately wonder if my efforts will even make a difference.

Who are some fictional characters that would complete your OTP?

Jon Snow. Easy. (He’s an INFJ)

What do you guys think? Would your personality match up with mine?