#Poetry: Desolation




Even tho the sun shines,

I feel no warmth


While the moon rises at night,

my eyes are shuttered against its rays


My heart’s hard and

the red fluid of my flesh runs cold


I long for the quickening

of my essence once more


But all I see is darkness

and the way back now forever shut




Feature: Winner of the March 6th Story Prompt Challenge

Congrats to Susan Furniss as the winner of the March 6th Story Prompt Challenge!



Give me a shout if you like to see more of these story prompt challenges in the future!


Vote for the Best Micro-Story!


#WIP: Novel In Progress Update

As mentioned in previous posts, I am in the planning stage of a (my very first!) romance-suspense novel, Storms of the Heart.  Using Canva, I created a book cover.  What do you think?

Here’s a draft of the story’s synopsis:

Kathleen Burman moved to the small town of Walden, nestled in the prairie valley near the Rockies, in search of a new life.  There she meets the locals each with their own troubled past as herself.

Joe Tucker is one of the locals who deliberately keeps busy to keep his painful past at bay.  Along comes Kat who reawakens something within he thought he’d never feel again.  Dr. Weaver Teems, a city dweller who temporarily moved to Walden to help out a colleague, deliberately steps in between Kat and Joe, to convince her there’s a better life outside Walden.

Soon the past and present collide as storms of the heart erupt.  Who will survive?

The Power Of One’s Imagination

Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images


I’ve met countless writers and creatives from various artistic backgrounds who hailed how one’s imagination and dreams have enabled them to heal from painful and traumatic experiences.

Can a mind be that powerful?

Personally, my answer to this is Yes!

With the number of violent incidents increasing in our nation, I believe that having art of all kinds (music, drama, writing, etc.) included in all schools and colleges.  To go one step further, we should also have Art Therapy in schools.

With everything being so structured these day (structured play-if any, structured classes, structured lunchtimes, video games are also structured, and on and on), for a kid to utilize his own imagination to create play, a new game, an imaginary place or person, is becoming a lost and untapped ability.  An ability that will become crucial at various events of one’s life.  The ability to transfer oneself out of a stressful circumstance and into a place of magic, safety and love.  Even if only for the briefest of moment this will allow one to reset the mind (and emotions) and be better equipped to deal with the current situation.

Meditation. Strumming on a guitar. Singing.  Journaling.  Doodling or sketching.

Children and adults who’ve been abused, or had a traumatic experience tend to heal better through Art Therapy. There’s also Poetry Therapy.  Music Therapy. Journal Therapy.  The list could go on. These types of therapy enable one to express the pain and abuse in other ways where words may have failed.

For me, journaling and writing poetry have been cathartic and healing as I worked through the various losses I’ve experienced.  Without them, I don’t think I’d feel as emotionally and mentally whole as I do today.

What about you?  Have any of these above helped you through a challenging time?



WEP Challenge #WEPFF In Too Deep (Poem)

Click on image for original post

For this, I used the image they included in the Challenge’s post for inspiration:



in the simple act of living





breathing is torture

until you can’t






#Writing is a Journey


Photo Credit: Pixabay Free Images CCO


You may have noticed a few subtle changes on this blog.  One’s the color.  The other is the name.

Since 2007, I’ve been blogging and (seriously) writing, and have used “a writer and her adolescent muse” as a title because I was still exploring genres and forms to see which were the best fit for me.

It’s now 2018 and I believe I’m close to the answers  I’ve been seeking.


I enjoy writing horror and dark stories and dark poetry.  And I plan to continue. As for writing books, I will be focusing on inspirational romance-suspense.  Hence, the name change of this blog to A writer and her sentimental muse to reflect this shift.

I also have a memoir in me that wants to be written.  This will be titled, The Whispering Shadows.  I already have a blog by that name, and will be revamping it in the near future to start the memoir.  I will share more on this in the future.

Sunday Story: The Vanishing

Click on image for original story

*Author’s Note: I wrote this short story over five years ago.  It’s dark.  It’s creepy.  It’s one of my secular, mainstream stories that I decided NOT to submit for publication now on Wattpad. 


Story Blurb:

Leesa, a mother and wife, contemplates on the undesirable state of her life…but one should be careful, you might just get what you wished for in the most unexpected of ways.


Shadows wavered in the expansive backyard as the woman peered through the round window in front of her.  The reflection within the twilight didn’t reveal a happy face.  The skin under her brown eyes, fixed on the deck that spread beneath the small set of panes, sagged with a purplish hue.  Premature wrinkles lined her eyes and mouth.  No, she definitely wasn’t a happy person.  Her hands mindlessly moved each dish from the stainless steel sink, rinsed under cool water, and then carefully placed in the racks of the dishwasher.  She then reached for the knife and grabbed the wrong end.

“Damn it!”  She recoiled and placed the bleeding finger into her mouth.

Nope, it’s been the week from hell, and this was just another reminder that it hasn’t end yet.

Voices drifted into the room from a nearby television.

“Here are our top news of the hour.” A male news anchor said. “State and Federal law officials are investigating multiple cases involving children who have gone missing in the past three days. In every cases, each child reported to have disappeared sometime between bedtime and morning…”

“Frank.” She turned her head towards the living room. “Please turn it to something else.”

“Yes, dear.” A man’s voice said.

A click sounded and a commercial about a brand of soda came on.  She went back to rinsing a coffee mug with the uninjured hand when the floor board creaked.  She turned and smiled at her four-year old daughter who stood, wearing a pink nightgown, at the entrance of the kitchen.

Renee.  The small child was the only source of joy in her otherwise joyless life.

“What’s the matter, Renee? Did you have a bad dream?”

The girl shook her head, locks of blonde curls waved over her petite shoulders. “No, mummy.”

Mother picked up a towel to dry her hands. “What’s wrong then?

“There’s a boogeyman in my room.”

Click here to read rest of the story on Wattpad…




I have two other short stories also on Wattpad.  These two have been previously published.

His world was ending. How will he choose to go out? (Click on image to read the story)

Four college-aged people are dead on an island. The killer? Unknown, but definitely not human. Anna Mae Hart and her partner are called to help with the investigation and things get bloody from there. (Click on image for story)