“A blog? I’ve heard the term, but what is it?”

My young publicist explained the concept to this much older, somewhat Internet ignorant woman, and urged me to embrace the idea. Where her expertise is promotion, I a recently published author in search of expanding my audience, adopted her suggestion with an open mind.

This form of communication offered another avenue to “get the word out” about my first book. Yet, this isn’t intended to become a neon billboard flashing twelve-foot high headlines to promote sales.

Here, I express ideas, thoughts, experiences, beliefs, and observations. In essence, I am giving myself to others. A bashful, close-mouthed individual, this arena suits me quite well, and a type of freedom is realized.

Emancipated from a personal hell, the clutches of a dangerous demonic entity who kept me isolated and silent, this is the time for voice. No audible sound, but the written word can be as loud as a detonating bomb or as melodious as a songbird.







In the throes of chronicling my far from perfect life for my book, the re-visitation to deplorable happenings cast me into despair. Exposing the ugly and dark truths of one’s life isn’t for sissies.

More than a few times, my body heaved in uncontrollable sobs and tears streamed down my face as long forgotten, and destressing buried realities slammed into my consciousness.

Past traumas appeared like they were happening in the present, leaving me a confused and grieving mess, thinking, I thought I dealt with that. What horror to discover I had not, at least, not entirely.

The actual act of writing proved arduous and painful, but I remained focused on my mission. While providing my children with a comprehensive understanding of their mother, another reason for detailing my story dawned.

A possibility exists my rather sad tale, but with smatterings of wry humor, may serve as a warning, provide support, and be a beacon of hope.

In the belief, positives will arise from the mountain of crap endured, I delved into my memory bank, wrote, cried, and battled depression to bring the grisly facts to light. A long process and a smidge cathartic.

After the final proof-read, closing in on a three-year task, I leaned back in my comfy brown leather chair, swiveled toward the window, and thought, Wow, I’ve been through a lot for one person. A whole bunch! Within a few months, * A Good Little Girl hit the major online retailers, and I erroneously believed the end had arrived.

Oh woman, think again.

A level of attention is needed to advocate the cautionary aspects, insights, and encouragements so carefully detailed in my autobiography. To pen a book is only the beginning, and now I find myself in the world of self-promotion and blogging.

Who would ever guess? Not me.

Each week, I ponder, What should I write? So many topics infiltrate my mind, but nine blogs later, and after reading several other’s posts, I realize this forum is quite therapeutic.

For my fellow bloggers, let me say, “Thank you,” for sharing your inner selves, having the guts to put everything out for all to witness, and may the gamut of subjects upon which I comment bring a smile, invoke thought, and/or assist in some way.

Let our voices rise, even if they are only in printed format.

Ah, for awe-inspiring, liberating blog therapy.

*  In the interest of convenience, for those who may be interested or curious, the following links are provided, but they aren’t smack-dab-in-your-face, buy me, buy me blinking ads.


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