Brain Tumor?

Over the weekend, I had a seizure.  I don’t remember how I got downstairs or anything, but the seizure left a huge dent in my kitchen wall downstairs.

ImageScary stuff.  I mean, I should be scared, right?  I ended up going to the ER too, but not because I was scared for me, but because I was scared for my baby.  You see, I am pregnant.  That’s truly why I haven’t posted in the last four months, there’s a bambino growing inside of me right now.

However, the events of this weekend have forced me to write on my blog again, especially under a fake name.  I’m so scared and I need someone to talk to.

My husband is a wreck on the inside, but he is acting so positive on the outside. I can’t drive to work anymore, and so he has been helping me complete the 45-minute commute to work everyday.  My dad, the other great guy in my life, is helping me get to my doctor’s appointments as long as I get him breakfast or lunch outta it.

I’ve never been so scared in my life.  And to tell you the truth, I don’t feel like I have anywhere to turn but this silly blog.  I’ve tried to tell myself that I would never write about my life, but the circumstances of my situation have been leading me to discuss them here.  

My baby looks healthy, I think.  When they did the ultrasound in the ER, my little one was in there, swimming in my belly.  They didn’t tell me I may have a brain tumor at the ER.

My OBGYN told me I may have a brain tumor.  I was hoping she would just tell me it was normal to have a seizure, that it had something to do with all the hormones surging through me, but instead she told me that it may be because I have a brain tumor.

“Brain tumor?”  I have laughed.

“Brain tumor?” I have scoffed.

“Brain tumor?” I cried myself to sleep last night.

Please, for the love of God, have it not be a brain tumor.  The incident brings me to closely to a prayer I had with God at the beginning of my pregnancy.  I prayed that God would let this baby live.  This is my third pregnancy, the other two ended in miscarriage.  I prayed that God would let this child live.  I told God I would give my life for this child, and I would, but I wasn’t expecting it by way of a brain tumor.

I can still feel the bruise on the back of my head from the seizure I had this weekend.  All I want to do when I go home is sleep.  I’m worried about my husband, keeping my job, and staying alive. I hope the neurologist has better news for me tomorrow.

Have you guys ever experienced a scare like this?  Survive a terminal illness?  Please share any of your stories.  I’m so worried my future child won’t have a mother.


Writing in a Publishing World


Astrology predictions sometimes tout that large life changes are in store for you.   You squint your eyes, narrow your eyebrows, and wonder “Really?  Is my life truly going to change for the better.”

We crave change.  We live for change.  Yet, when change comes, all we sometimes can feel is a slight speed bump in the path, a tiny deviation from the direction we were originally going.

What direction do you go next?

Go the direction that calls you.  Let the future take you by your collar and pull you into the next phase and dimension of your life.

Even though it is summer, it feels like fall to me.  The changes in the colorful lives of people seem to be going dormant for a winter that is not here.  People are getting married, having children, moving away, making drastic changes in their lives.

As the changes start to occur, I try to remember that nothing is changing in this current moment.

I try to grab hold of that voice and try to follow it into the future, that future, that constant, divergent change I have been waiting for centuries.


Veronica-Character Exploration

Here is some exploration on a character I am working on:

There is nothing worse than wondering if the baby growing inside you is going to live or die.  This tiny life exists, and sometimes, in a moment, its fleeting life disappears back into the oblivion, the vast ocean from which we also came before we were born, the same vast sea we will return to when we die.

Sometimes, when I think about having another miscarriage, when I think about having to lose my seventh child, my seventh pregnancy, I sometimes can only think about that black sea, ready to swim in it with all my children.

Let the blackness swallow me whole, I think.

The insidious thought is a stark contrast to the interior decorating I plans I have had for a baby room: white classic American style crib, baskets in a cube-like structures for easy to reach items like diapers or clothing, a literary themed nursery with Winnie the Pooh, Peter Rabbit, and the Cat in the Hat as my child’s cast of first time friends, and a draping curtain with Versailles fleur-de-lis printed symbols, as a tiny effort to add a classic and sophisticated flair to the child’s room, as though a nod or acknowledgement to the infant’s future adult taste in superior fashion, history, and any noteworthy intellectual aesthetic.

I’ve already imagined my child as an adult.  I have, in the past, visualized them all into existence, even after they passed on to the other side, long before they have ever been born.

They never even breathed their first breath, and I remember their whole existence—first step, laugh, giggle—even when these moments never happened in reality.

Then where did they happen?

In a land, or place, or a time far away from now.

At one point, we were together, but now they are no longer here.

In the daytime, I encounter stressed out mothers with multiple children, pulling their hair out from their scalp, angry their children don’t put away their Legos, or stressed out because their daughters have been impregnated by men who they believe were never smart enough for their girl to begin with.

And yet, as I watch them complain about their merry-go-rounds of insanity, I cannot help but feel envious.

The older I get, the slower the merry-go-round goes.  It is the same views as time goes on.  The same perspective of life, after a while, becomes mucked up and delirious.  Without sharing the other views of those young and old, it becomes a muted color on a teleprompter, like an emergency broadcast test just to see that the systems are working okay.  And it’s back to the regular programming…

But for parents, their constant stress is an indication that life grows and lives and breathes around them in a myriad of ways that is indiscernible to those who have never shared with more than just a lover.

It’s this impeccable melody and horrendous skip on a vinyl record which makes it impossible to shake off.

How much can I ever really know?

What do you think?

What? You want to PUBLISH me?


I had a wonderful morning when I discovered in my email box an acceptance letter to have one of my pieces, “Separated From the One You Love” published in Guerrilla Graffiti Magazine.  I can’t believe it!  I am so used to rejection letters, I was kind of shocked to find this was an acceptance letter:


Thank you so much for submitting! After reviewing your pieces, we’ve decided to use “separated…” for the magazine! I loved the concept and thought it was short, but contained everything it needed to. I’m paraphrasing, but I loved the line “sometimes it takes lifetimes to find your soulmate.”
The second piece is a little too long for our publication. We’ve set a word limit of 2,000 words for submissions, but it was a good read.
I’m so glad you submitted and hope you will again in the future.
From here, if you would please send me a short bio, including any links to sites you would like included, and a picture of yourself. If you don’t want to include either of these things, just let me know.
I will let you know when your piece is up! Thanks again!
Brice Maiurro
Guerrilla Graffiti Magazine
Big shout out and thank you to Brice Maiurro & Guerrilla Graffiti Magazine for giving a strange writer like me a chance!!

Choose Your Own Adventure Wednesday


You open the doors of perception only to find a thousand paper cranes coming at you head on.  As you try to dive through the paper cranes, you can only make out the light ahead of you.  There are doors beyond the doors of perception, or so you have heard.

There is only one door, actually.  It’s the little red door that you were used to seeing in that big, nice neighborhood that you passed by in the bus growing up.

After you sift through the light, you get to that red door.

You put your hands on the handle. You never imagined the door knob to feel so warm.

You open the next door, and all you see is darkness.

It’s only darkness for minutes, and even an hour maybe.  You can’t even see your hand in front of your face.

Eventually, you see an orb of light in the darkness.  You realize it is God.

God says, “Hello, how are you?”


—What do you say back?

(A)  “I’m okay considering the circumstances you put me under.”

(B) “Good, but I have a few questions.”

(C) Nothing.  You run away out back past the through the red door, wishing you had never opened the doors of perception to begin with.

The adventure continues next Wednesday!

When Life & Creativity Meet


One of the greatest benefits of being a creative person is having hunches or an understanding of what’s hidden behind the blanket of the night.  Artists have been intuition in general.

There is so much discussion in this world about how much the dollar gives us, what the value of the dollar is, who can give us the value of that dollar.  It’s a blessing when you can truly step away from that for a few moments and ask yourself, “What is it that I value?”

When you do this, you enter a world of unknown.  You jump into a sea of thoughts and feelings and things.  Maybe you create a portrait from these feelings and thoughts, and from that, you can draw a greater intuition of what it is that you want out of life, or what it is that you already have.

In my own writings, I continuously find that I write about myself, in some ways.  From there, I learn about different parts of my personality, hidden worlds so to speak.

It’s the nature of these hidden worlds which awakens me to truth.

Truth and honesty are lacking in our culture.  While we are true about monetary things (I buy this, you give me that), we are very untrue about the current tides and climates of our own emotional soul.  When you connect to that, in whatever way you can, you are unlocking something more powerful than a Fortune 500 company.  You are unlocking the truest you that can exist.

How much is your best story worth?  And I’m not talking about what publishers think it’s worth, or what editors at literary magazines think.  How much is your story worth to you?

~~Blessing upon you on this beautiful spring day!~~

UFO Research for New Book

Since I have started to write about the paranormal UFO topic, and I want my story to one similar to reality, I think it’s going to take a lot of research.  (Yay!  UFO Research!)

I’ve already dropped out of Camp NanoWriMo.  Without being able to share my work, I tend to fall down and stop.  😛  What can I say?  I work at my own level.

As for new research coming to light, a “Citizen’s Hearing” will be held at the White House Press Room in the next coming weeks.  Many intelligent officials who used to be part of cover-ups are coming forward to discuss what they saw, and they are demanding to know what is going on.

Dr. Steven Greer, a big component of this project, is a retired ER doctor who left his career to pursue “the truth”.  He is currently coming out with a movie titled Sirius.  The movie is about how we need to care less that there are extraterrestrial beings out there and more about the technology they could give us.  The movie includes a tiny alien.  Wow!  But, as Greer suggests, the movie is more about promoting alien technology  to help solve the climate crisis, and less about alien contact.

Something that hasn’t been discussed during Greer’s work with this new movie is how he has claimed to have a telepathic communication with aliens, sometimes doing “remote viewing” sessions with other people to ask an alien guide to show them the universe.

Good fodder for SCI-FI right?

Patience with Art




Do nothing.

Sometimes, we hold our art in our hands.

We want to let it go out into the world and soar like a dove,

High above the skies,

And shout joyous peace to all.



Our art stay stagnant,

Filling us with impatience,


When we allow our art to grow and live,

Without our own control,

Wreckless perfection,


Ruthless criticism,


It does fly.

It does sing peace.

It becomes everything.


Let your art take flight today.


All you have to do is nothing