Well I, Mila Ramos, your fellow author extradinaire, have been moved up to the 23rd. Nice day don't you think? Why do you ask? Hmmm...good question, so I'll just give you guys a little bit of fun while we're at it.
So what am I going to bring to your lovely little eyeballs today? Well...a little bit of this...a little bit of that. I'll start off with sabbaticals. Which is what I am currently on; a sabbatical from writing. Now normally breaks in writing is either the sign of the author not coming back or flat out they just ran out of material to write.
Why am I taking a sabbatical?
Because its close to thanksgiving.................and christmas..................and new years!
Did I mention its the holidays?
Seriously, its just time for a little bit of a break. There are times when an author is just stuck, and sometimes the best thing to do is just to leave it be. They say the great ones start out as that. Could this be the transition of something new? Is this a revamping of writing in the works? Could I just be scaring all my readers into thinking there is nothing left?
I'm honestly just taking a well deserved break. So as we are approaching the holidays, I wish to give you all a wonderful Thanksgiving, and give you a great holiday poem to make you smile....and of course, a little "light reading" to make you swoon.
Happy Turkey Day to all out there!
~ Mila Ramos
No Thanksgiving Dinner
Tis the night before Thanksgiving and all through our house
No turkey is baking; I feel like a louse,
For I am all nestled, so snug in my bed;
I’m not gettin’ up and I’m not bakin’ bread.
No pies in my oven, no cranberry sauce
Cuz I give the orders, and I am the boss.
When out in the kitchen, there arose such a clatter
I almost got up to see what was the matter.
As I drew in my head and was tossing around
To the bed came my husband, he grimaced, he frowned.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He scared me to death and I thought, “Here he goes!”
He spoke not a word as he threw back my quilt
And the look that he gave was intended to wilt.
So up to the ceiling my pillows he threw
I knew I had had it, his face had turned blue.
“You prancer, you dodger, you’re lazy, you vixen
Out yonder in kitchen, Thanksgiving you’re fixin.”
But he heard me explain, with my face in a pout:
"I'm just plain too tired and we're eating out!"
Contributed by: Mariane Holbrook
Excerpt of Shadowed Heart
Sin –noun- any act regarded as such a willful or deliberate violation of some moral principle.
Boy did Webster get it right.
She was without a doubt, with absolute certainty, and irrefutably, sinning.
To Madelyn Wagner, that word said too much about her life. That word was a jack-in-the-box held tightly on the last note before it sprung with its surprise. It was unsuspecting. Sin stared at her with a soft purr and gentle demeanor; it revealed itself in a small package wrapped with a great, big, fluffy bow. It has no intention of wanting to be bothered nor discovered but it sat there looking endearing, and adorable.
Just that misrepresentation in and of itself made the unaware suspect come closer. Lower its guard. Curious, intrigued. How could such an adorable representation ever tempt?
Easy, it just did.
What it really did was stick its tongue out while dancing the jig then turned into a little leprechaun with horns when he, her sin, walked by. When sin walked, it demanded and never asked. It conjured up specific moments where her judgment was overridden by the pure adrenaline rush pumping through her veins. Everything in her brain shut down, and she existed just to feel. The more morally conscious side of her brain always managed to fire alerts as to just how her behavior would be deemed ‘un-lady-like’ in certain circles. But with every morally conscious alert, there came twice as many intense, riotous and erotic pleasures countering any possibility of her turning things around for the better. Sounded reckless but, that’s how you lived life; wild, free, and sucking the marrow out of every single second.
She had sins, loved her vices, and damn well enjoyed them. Her top two were simple: driving in her mint-conditioned 1970 Chevy Chevelle far past the speed limit and enjoying a delectable, rich Godiva chocolate, and letting its chocolate cream melt ever so slow. The where, when and if together, made it damn interesting. How can someone not feel free when those little deviances assaulted their senses? This was living, life wasn’t glamorous, but it was publicized. And her choice of activities without doubt brought attention to herself, her family, and perked up a rather book-enclosed, library-filled, exam-crammed lifestyle.
He was wicked, unadulterated, hedonistic sin.
I’m going straight to hell with front row tickets.