Calling All Creepy Clowns

I hate clowns.  No, wait.  I detest them.

My mother always loved surprising me on my birthday.  Whether I came home from school to a homemade boxed birthday cake (Betty Crocker’s Super Moist Party Chip Flavor is my favorite), letting me skip school to take me clothes shopping at Kmart or Merry Go Round at the mall (we were always excited to sport a new pair of Chic brand sneakers or a plaid skirt with white knee socks), or deciding to redecorate my bedroom without telling me. 

By the way, who had a Merry Go Round in their mall back in the 90s?  It was my favorite before Express became popular!

 

In most cases, her surprises were a hit.  But the one time it was a total disaster (I’m talking gut-wrenching, tears bursting, screaming like a wild banshee) was when I was two years old.  You would have thought I was possessed as my head twisted away from the surprise to retrieve out of my house and run as far away as I could from the motley themed circus which blew up inside my bedroom.

While my mother's vision looked somewhat like this...

I couldn't help but to envision this...

 

Yes, people... my mom thought it was a good idea to completely sabotage my warm and delightful place of sleep with everything having to do with clowns.  Picture this... you walk into a room after your mother tells you to keep you eyes shut.  Once you have planted yourself, front and center, and she tells you to open you eyes, Voila!  A freak show of clowns and all things having to do with the circus.  I could have swore she hired someone from Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey's circus to help her design this catastrophe. 

 

My mother managed to find clown lamps, a bed with a clown theme and big red shoes at the end of the frame, clown picture books resting on my bright red bookshelf, stuffed circus animals and clowns, and a circus banner wrapped all around my room suffocating my imagination and childlike wonder.  My bedroom was stripped the following day and a new sanctuary of bliss was created because I refused to sleep in the clown bed.

I still remember a toy clown she had bought for both of my sisters and me.  It would laugh when you pulled the little white string out of its back.  There was this one time it had laughed without any of us pulling its string.  I thought the toy was cursed so I tossed it in the endless black hole of circus décor, never to be played with again. 

How many of my readers have had one of these vintage, laughing clown dolls?  Still scares the heck out of me!

 

As the years went by, my fear of clowns became a real pain in the ass as nightmares blossomed into my burden.  And movies like It and Killer Clowns From Outer Space didn't help mend my animosity for clowns.  Stephen King's character, Pennywise, from It scarred my dreams for weeks after I watched that movie.  Balloons?  Never again.

 

And who can forget about the blood sucking clowns from outer space?  With their monstrous, crusty large lips and grotesque yellow eyes.  Sometimes I wonder about the people behind these movies!

 

Edgar Allen Poe wrote a story called Hop-Frog about a vicious court jester setting a royal court on fire in 1849.  Poe tells writes about Hop-Frog's revenge on the king for always taunting him and his dwarf girlfriend, Trippetta.  Here are a couple of my favorite lines from the story.  

 

"It was broken by just such a low, harsh, grating sound, as had before attracted the attention of the king and his councillors when the former threw the wine in the face of Trippetta. But, on the present occasion, there could be no question as to whence the sound issued. It came from the fang- like teeth of the dwarf, who ground them and gnashed them as he foamed at the mouth, and glared, with an expression of maniacal rage, into the upturned countenances of the king and his seven companions."

the story continues on and the final paragraph reads:

"The eight corpses swung in their chains, a fetid, blackened, hideous, and indistinguishable mass. The cripple hurled his torch at them, clambered leisurely to the ceiling, and disappeared through the sky-light.It is supposed that Trippetta, stationed on the roof of the saloon, had been the accomplice of her friend in his fiery revenge, and that, together, they effected their escape to their own country: for neither was seen again."

 

 

 Currently, we have American Horror Story's Freak Show to thank for introducing us to one of the most grotesque and terrifying clowns of all time; Twisty.  If this character were to meet Stephen King's Pennywise, I think he would kick his ass.  This new character murders with no remorse and seems to bask in his ability to scare the hell out of his prisoners by performing some of the creepiest shows I have seen a clown put on.  He murders by stabbing his victims to death and then enslaves children and young woman in his dungeon he calls home; a broken down school bus.

 

Do you like clowns or do they creep you out?  What is your favorite scary clown story?

 

I'm sharing this picture of Luna because I thought it was super cool!  I didn't touch this photo up.  The green glow screaming from her eyes is unreal.  I've never seen anything like this before, have you?  Have a creatively spooky week my friends!  

 

 

The New Mrs. Collins Blog Tour and Book Release

Today is a very exciting day for friend and fellow author, Quanie Miller.  Her second novel, The New Mrs. Collins, is being released today on Amazon!  I've read Quanie's first book, It Ain't Easy Being Jazzy and absolutely loved it.  I couldn't stop laughing throughout its entirety. 

This is the perfect time of year to be sharing the release of The New Mrs. Collins.  The genre is quite different than Quanie's first book because it is paranormal.  I honestly can't wait to find the time to light some of my favorite autumn candles, curl up with my new black kitty, Luna, and read this book.

Update on Luna 

She is slowly getting used to her new surroundings and spending a lot of time snuggled up next to me, especially when I am writing.  I took the following picture of her in the wee hours of the morning as the sun was returning from its adventures on the other side of the world.  I moved some of my Harvest mantle so Luna would have an ideal spot in the window.  I must say, she really goes well with the Halloween décor!

Here she is sleeping on my bed next to me while I type at my desk.  And I promise, no more cat pictures for a while!

One of the main reasons I am excited to read Quanie's book is because of the mysteriousness which lies behind the new Mrs. Collins.  She seems like she is the type of woman who has a past and covers it up by using her beauty, style and powers.  I haven't read this book yet, but when I saw the blurb, it reminded me of my ex-stepmother; the one who murdered my father.

This evil, monstrous woman remarried six months after my dad passed away.  And before she married Daddy C, her two previous husbands also mysteriously died.  This is all true and maybe one day, I will find the time to write my father's story. 

We miss Daddy C dearly and I hope he is haunting the hell out of the black widow. 

AND NOW FOR QUANIE MILLER'S BLOG TOUR FOR HER NEW NOVEL, THE NEW MRS. COLLINS!!

Book Blurb

In the small town of Carolville, Louisiana, no one knows that Adira Collins inherited mystic powers from her great grandmother. All they know is that she’s beautiful, poised, graceful, and ruthless—especially when it comes to love. And no one knows that more than Leena Williams, who was all set to marry the man of her dreams until Adira swooped into town and stole the man’s heart.

Being left at the altar is bad enough, but Leena and her ex share custody of their son, so she has to see the new Mrs. Collins on a regular basis.

And it burns every time she does.

But soon, Leena starts to suspect that there is more to Adira Collins than meets the eye. And it’s not because she owns some kinky lingerie shop or allegedly insulted the pastor’s wife—it’s the strange way she can make a door close without touching it, or take one look at something and make it drop dead at her feet.

Leena starts digging for answers and soon discovers that, unlike her public persona, Adira’s true nature is somewhere on the other side of grace. She also learns, a little too late, that some secrets are better left buried. 

Excerpt

A woman who could not remember her name walked towards McCullens Bridge with no knowledge of why she was going there. Her nose was running, her throat was on fire, and there were a multitude of images swirling around her head. Someone had lifted the top of her head, poured the images in, and mixed them together until they became pictures in motion. She knew the pictures were true because when she thought of the poor seamstress who had given birth to a daughter who was touched, she was overtaken by a tremendous wave of sadness and wept. The sorrow went to the bone, and she threw her face to the sky and cried out to God when it hit her: wasn’t she the woman named Auggie with the mother named Pious? She knew no other name that could be hers, so that had to be it. But why had such a thing happened to her? What had she done but love her daughter? Wasn’t it enough that the world was against her? Hadn’t she fought for her child? Even when others thought she should have given her away, or worse, aborted her?

But they were right. She thought of the knives flying in the kitchen, and the one that grazed her shoulder. She looked at her right shoulder and wondered what happened to the scar. That bitch. Hiding her abilities like that. The sorrow quickly turned to rage and she said, “Mama was right.” She got on her knees and apologized to Pious right on…wait. Where was she? She looked around and saw a dirt path lined by trees. It looked like it should have been familiar but she could not recall its name. What was she doing there? Hadn’t she just been shot? And arrested for trying to protect her life? She grabbed her aching throat and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She was freezing. Why hadn’t someone given her something to put on her arms?

McCullens Bridge.

The voice, as sweet as cotton candy dipped in maple syrup, sliced through her thoughts. That’s right. She was going to the bridge because her face was on fire. How could she have forgotten? She was not very far away, and it would not be long before she made it to the bridge and found peace, peace like a river, in the depths of the water below it.

 

The New Mrs. Collins is available for purchase here:

 Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/New-Mrs-Collins-Quanie-Miller-ebook/dp/B00OAC362I

Paperback (Amazon) http://www.amazon.com/The-Mrs-Collins-Quanie-Miller/dp/1502489252

 

 

 Author Bio

Quanie Miller grew up in New Iberia, Louisiana. She fell in love with reading at an early age and spent most of her time at the Iberia Parish Library discovering authors like R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike (she was often found walking back home from the library with a stack of books that went up to her chin). She holds degrees from Louisiana State University and San Jose State University. She has been the recipient of the James Phelan Literary Award, the Louis King Thore Scholarship, the BEA Student Scriptwriting Award, and the Vicki Hudson Emerging Writing Prize. She is the author of The New Mrs. Collins, a southern paranormal novel, and It Ain't Easy Being Jazzy, a romantic comedy. She lives in South Carolina with her husband and is currently, as always, working on another novel. To find out more about Quanie and her works in progress visit quanietalkswriting.com.

 

 

Social Media Links

Twitter: @quaniemiller
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/QuanieMillerAuthor
Blog: http://www.quanietalkswriting.com
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/QuanieMiller
Website: quaniemiller.com
Email: quanie@quanietalkswriting.com

I'm off to Amazon to buy The New Mrs. Collins! Don't forget to get your copy.  I'm sure you won't regret it!

Waiting for Inspiration & Greystone Park Insane Asylum

Someone once told me she was waiting for inspiration to come knocking on her door before she submerged herself into her novel.  She was, and still is, a very good writer and storyteller; has been for years.  She also has hands-on experience to write her book but as I already mentioned, she is waiting for a revelation to beam down from the Heavens, run through her veins, and write the story for her.

 

I simply told her this… "If you choose to wait, you might be waiting for a very long time.  Your story isn’t going to write itself, nor is inspiration going to stalk you until you do.  You have to find the time, dedication and dig deep within your mind and heart to let your novel unfold.  The mind and heart will battle each other constantly.  It’s going to be gut wrenching and frustrating at times and you are going to want to CRY or PULL YOUR HAIR OUT.  You are going to fight with your plot until you get it right.  Your characters are going to set up their camp inside your head until the story is completely written, edited and sent off to the publisher or agent.  Literally, they will talk to you even when you aren’t writing. “

“BUT, this is the raw and unfiltered beauty of your story.  Inspiration will start to show its face when you least expect it because you have the fire lit inside your soul.  And this fire is going to burn so bright, by the end of your first finished manuscript, you are going to be a different person, a better writer… someone who didn’t wait for a lightning strike carrying a river of visions behind its tail.” 

Sometimes, we have to pull the ladder out and climb up it ourselves in order to reach for our dreams.  Inspiration comes and goes, but perseverance will always be there to get us through the dog days of our writing as well as the untamed highs of our story. 

AND NOW, A HAUNTING IN MY BACKYARD! GREYSTONE PARK, located in Morris Plains, New Jersey.

 

We literally live a few minutes away from one of the most haunted places in northern New Jersey, Greystone Park.  This haunted asylum was famous for electric shock, insulin therapy and lobotomies.  It sits on the lavish green hills of Morris Plains, nestled amongst 1000 acres of land.  Greystone hospital opened its doors in 1877, housing 342 mentally ill patients.

 

Geystone Park is known for having one of the largest continuous foundations in the Kirkbride building which was built in the Second Empire Victorian style.  The Kirkbride building has been used in numerous shows and films, including House and Marvin’s Room.  The only other building surpassing Kirkbride is the Pentagon built in 1943.

The Kirkbride Building

 

The main building had 40 wards which were split into two wings; one to house men and the other for women.  There were also dormitories built to accommodate the growing number of patients.  Two people occupied each patient room. 

 

Greystone became so massive that its grounds included staff housing, a chapel, a post office, fire and police stations, a working farm, recreational facilities, ponds, green houses, morgue stables, and its own quarry as well as gas and water utilities.  A trolley line connected Greystone to the New Jersey transit.

 

Train depot at Greystone

 

While mental abuse was accredited to demonic possessions, some doctors believed these patients could be cured by kindness and the comfort and care of their surroundings.  Sadly, tales of abuse and neglect of patients grew in the later years.  And the population peeked in the 1950s with the return of soldiers from WWII suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. 

It’s even speculated and stated in an article in the magazine, Weird New Jersey, Jack the Ripper may have died here.  Rumor has it a Norwegian sailor named Folgema (thought to have been Jack the Ripper) was committed to the Morris Plains lunatic asylum for fits of rage and insanity, describing scenes and incidents clearly connecting him to the gruesome murders in London.  But no one knows if there is any truth behind this story.

Once Greystone was abandoned in 2003, tales of ghastly hauntings grew among the teenagers who trespassed (including my dear) and those were worked there.  A lot of these hauntings occurred in the frightening underground tunnels which connected various buildings and was used to transport patients.  People who have worked on the grounds have claimed, “feeling watched,” or “not able to get out of there quick enough.”

Ghost Adventures visited the asylum after hearing about the hauntings during their first season of filming back in 2008.  I believe it was episode six if you are interested in looking it up!



Greystone Park tunnel

When my dear was in high school, he and a group of friends visited the grounds.  They claimed to have seen a disturbing image in a window of one of the buildings.  They were so horrified they ran as fast as they could to get back to their cars. 

 

I drive past Greystone all of the time but because it resides far back from the main road, I can hardly make out any of the property.  Maybe one of these days, I will get a group of people together to scope it out but until then, I will share with you a clip from the movie Oliver Stone’s son, Sean Stone, filmed on the grounds in 2009. 

Apparently, he and his crew got a lot more than they bargained for!  Here is a trailer from the movie based on their experience in the asylum, Greystone Park.






That’s it for me!  Have you heard about Greystone Park before?  Will you be checking out this movie?  Do you prefer paranormal or gory?  I have an interview tomorrow with an award winning author on her radio show!  More about this next week=)  Happy Wednesday!

Oh, How I Love Thee, October

October is one of my favorite months of the year.  There is something spellbinding about it as the autumn leaves and ghostly fascinations leave me feeling nothing less than an unexplainable rapture.

 

There are several things to celebrate this October.  We rescued a beautiful, black cat over the weekend after my mother's Liver Life Walk.  She was previously owned by an elderly woman who, unfortunately, had to move into a nursing home.  My mother and her neighbor said she was a kind old woman who probably loved this cat very much.

Sadly, the elderly woman's degenerate son overtook the property kicked the cat out.  I can only assume he had something very tight around Luna's neck (I named her Bella Luna in dedication to the "beautiful moon" I saw driving home from work two weeks ago) because she has a circular scar around her neck where there is no fur, just skin.  Luna also hides a lot, especially when the dear is around.  I can only imagine she fears men because of the previous ill-treatment she received from that monster who kicked her out.

Luna is about six months old and the most adorable thing in the world!  She talks to me all of the time.  I can't fathom people who abuse or kick out indoor animals, resulting in them either dying on the streets or becoming homeless for good.  My mother doesn't live in the safest of towns so there was no way I was going to let Luna be terrorized by other stray cats or God knows what else.

So let's give a big round of applause for my beautiful moon, Luna!

I also love decorating my home for the fall.  I usually have mums and pumpkins outside while continuing to purchase anything that has to do with Halloween at Walmart or Target, ha!  We have a gorgeous mantle which overlooks the mountains and trees where I have a Harvest theme going on.  I'm going to retrieve the rest of our decorations from the storage downstairs but here is a sneak peek at what I have created so far.

 

 

 

My birthday is also in October, yay!  This year, we will be taking a long weekend while engaging in a road trip as well as a Harvest theme party for the big day.  I will be looking forward to October 25th!

I'm also hoping to get a lot more writing done this month.  October and November provide some amazing writing material as I gaze out of my window each morning and watch the sky slowly awaken.  The sky seems different during the fall.  There is something comfortably cool and pristine about it. 

Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing some ghost stories which have happened in my life as well as my mother and grandmother's.  I'm also hoping to get one of my most recent poems up but it still has to go through some edits. 

For now, I'm sharing an ode I wrote in dedication to my late great-grandmother.  She was a divine soul who was always conjuring up ghost stories or spooking my sisters and me by acting like a witch, chasing us around the house.  She had such a presence about her which until this day, radiates from the memories in my heart.

I love Florence and the Machine so I decided to write an ode against the lyrics of "Only If For a Night."  This poem reflects a ghostly dream I had about my great grandmother and is perfect for celebrating the 1st day of October.  I hope you enjoy!

“And I had a dream about my old school” She was standing behind my sophomore English professor in a white, tattered dress.   Her skin; porcelain white, reflecting off of the decadence of dancing dust bunnies fading into the sunlight streaming through the classroom window. 

“And she was there on pink and gold and glittering” She took my hand and walked me through dark halls until we met corundum gems in pink skies...and a sun so strikingly golden and bright...inevitably blinding my judgment as we continued to walk toward the old church behind Alumni Hall.

“I threw my arms around her legs” When we arrived at the church, we were suddenly thrusted into her backyard where a cemetery once haunted my dreams as a child.  I was no longer a young woman but a frightened little girl; wrapping myself at the seams of the bottom of her torn dress.

“Came to weeping” (came to weeping) As I fell to the ground, tears poured into the graves of my loved ones, including hers.“Came to weeping” (came to weeping) She wrapped her ceramic white hands around my face and lifted my head toward her captivating rapture.

 

“And I heard your voice as clear as day” It pierced through my veins like a thousand climatic echoes thrashing through the Himalayan Mountains of my most beloved memories of her as a child.

“And you told me I should concentrate” I knew I was throwing my education away because of my addictions and every other demon college had provided my tortured soul.

“It was all so strange” She stood before me; silken and cold, yet, warm and bounded by the blood and comfort of our home. 

“And so surreal” I felt her pain straggling to take hold onto all of my senses; almost to scare the darkness out of my confused inhibitions and longing for her to stay.

“That a ghost should be so practical” As sorry and desperate as I had been, I knew in my heart I should have always listened to her. 

“Only if for a night” I wanted to stay lost in her existence so I clung to my remembrances for as long as I possibly could.

“And the only solution was to stand and fight” I stood up as my rage banged against the hands of time trying to take my apparition away.

“And my body was bruised and I was set alight” Only to be thrashed back by an angry force; suppressing my fight for her to stay.

“But you came over me like some holy rite” Her existence appeared over me, white and sapphire silk covering the flames that engulfed my aching and crumbling body.

“And although I was burning, you’re the only light” Throughout my life, I knew she was the angel who saved me when I was beaten and left for dead by my sins.

“Only if for a night” I lost the fight as she picked up my burned body and wrapped me in the safety and coolness of her silken rapture.

“And the grass was green against my new clothes” After my body reconciled with my sin and His Greatness, she carried me to her old house among the meadows; the grass beautifully woven against my dress as we moved toward greater pastures together.

 

 

“And I did cartwheels in your honor” I praised her presence and danced in the light of my awakening.

“Dancing on tiptoes” I circled around her; my everything.

“My own secret ceremonials” I felt afloat as my feet glided against the grace of the green grass and conjuring of my newfound judgment.

“Madam, my dear, my darling” My nana, my love, my grandmother.

“Tell me what all this sighing’s about” Why are you sad, grandmother?

“Tell me what all this sighing’s about” You’re sad because I have to go back now, aren’t you?

“And I heard your voice as clear as day” Don’t worry nana, I will listen from now on.

“And you told me I should concentrate” I kneeled and nodded as I held onto the last moments I had with her.

 “It was all so strange” She faded into the fires against the sky which brought us to this place of peace.

“And so surreal” I knew she wouldn’t be back this time.

“That a ghost should be so practical” My grandmother always knew how to make a point.

“Only if for a night” Even if it meant ripping me away from my dreams into a realm of furious serenity.

 

You can visit the following link for a live performance of this song:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mKTfugNaQpk

That's it for me!  What are your goals for October?  And what is it about this month you love the most?

30 Seconds by Chrys Fey Blog Tour

Today, I’m hosting fellow friend and author, Chrys Fey’s new novella, 30 Seconds.  This is super exciting because she is the first author to ever be featured on my blog!  I read 30 Seconds and I must say, it is quite the suspenseful and romantic read.  Chrys’s writing is thrilling, quick-paced, and leaves you on the edge of your seat! 

I’m also talking about inspiration, friendship and following our dreams.  Chrys has always inspired me to be a better author through her infinite knowledge and support system she offers on her blog.  I was humbled to get to know her through She Writes where she not only befriended me, but showed me the type of support and kindness one can expect from someone as warm and infectious as her.

I asked Chrys to share her inspiration behind 30 Seconds.  The reason I wanted her here to talk about this on my blog is because I am a firm believer in finding one’s passion and never letting it go, no matter what.  We all know how tough this industry is and how many countless mornings, days and nights we spend pouring our heart and soul into our writing and social media. 

 

One of the most important gifts we have as writers is our INSPIRATION.  Yes!  This delicate, yet, boundless word.  Inspiration lives buried deep within our conscious and unconscious states of minds.  It can show up when we least expect it and surprise us in more ways than we could ever imagine. 

With that being said, however, inspiration can also feel far away.  We have our dog days of writing where nothing seems to come out right.  Someone once said to me me, “I’m waiting for something enlightening to come to me before I decide to write my book.”  My response was simply this… “Well, if you are waiting, you might be waiting for a really long time.” 

 

Even though we, as authors, have this gift, we cannot rely on it to always appear.  Sometimes, we need to venture deeper into our souls and rip away at our emotions to get to the core of our story.

 



So without further babble, here is author Chrys Fey speaking about her new thrilling release, 30 Seconds!!

Hi, everyone! This is Chrys Fey. My newest release, 30 Seconds, is now available! A big thank you to Gina for letting me share the inspiration behind my novella on her blog.

My romantic-suspense novella, 30 Seconds, had several sources of inspiration that helped me with its conception.

Dreams are my number one source for story ideas. In one of my dreams, I was spinning wildly on a swivel chair to pounding rock music. My eyes were closed when hands halted my fast rotation and lips touched mine. Strong arms pulled me out of the chair and into a steaming kiss. When I opened my eyes, I saw a hot cop in full uniform. My dream ended when he said, “I shouldn’t have done that.” In the morning, I immediately started to ponder stories about a woman who falls in love with a cop even though she knows she shouldn’t. I even used that dream as a scene in 30 Seconds.

In February 2009, I went to Michigan as a surprise for my brother’s birthday. I had a layover in the Cleveland airport, and when I had to walk into the frigid air to board a tuna can, the cold cut straight through me to the marrow of my bones. The wind was so fierce I could barely walk. When I was back home, I had a vision of my heroine, Dr. Dani Hart, coming home in Cleveland after pulling an all-nighter at the ER, the bottoms of her scrubs soaked by fresh snow. That immediately became the opening scene for 30 Seconds.

Music is my biggest inspiration while I’m writing, so it’s no surprise that my favorite band, Thirty Seconds to Mars, influenced not only the title, but the plot of my story. Nearly every 30 seconds in my fictional world is suspenseful. Something is always happening and there is constant danger surrounding my characters. For one of these scenes, I listened to “Attack” by Thirty Seconds to Mars on repeat, and it’s one of my favorite moments of 30 Seconds.

Many things have inspired my writing, from hurricanes to screws. The great thing about inspiration is that the sky is not the limit, the limit is beyond it.
 

Blurb:

When Officer Blake Herro agreed to go undercover in the Mob, he thought he understood the risks. But he's made mistakes and now an innocent woman has become their target. He's determined to protect her at all costs.

The Mob's death threat turns Dr. Dani Hart's life upside down, but there is one danger she doesn’t anticipate. As she's dodging bullets, she's falling in love with Blake. With danger all around them, will she and Blake survive and have a happy ending, or will the Mob make good on their threat?

Buy Links:

 

The Wild Rose Press: 

http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&products_id=5801

 

Amazon US: http://amzn.com/B00N26EU9G

 

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00N26EU9G 

Bio:

Chrys Fey is a lover of rock music just like Dani Hart in 30 Seconds. Whenever she's writing at her desk, headphones are always emitting the sounds of her musical muses -especially that of her favorite band, 30 Seconds to Mars, the inspiration behind the title.

30 Seconds is her second eBook with The Wild Rose Press. Her debut, Hurricane Crimes, is also available on Amazon.

Discover her writing tips on her blog, and connect with her on Facebook. She loves to get to know her readers!

 

Find Chrys Fey Here: Facebook / Blog / Goodreads

Facebook: www.facebook.com/chrysfey
Blog: www.writewithfey.blogspot.com 
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/ChrysFey

Where you do you find your source of inspiration?  How have your friendships throughout the writing community affected your own journey?  Don't forget to get your copy of 30 Seconds today!!

The Anniversary of 9/11 and Coping With Fear, Loss and Anxiety

Last night, I was driving home from work around 8:30pm.  My job is located just miles away from the Newark Airport, one of the biggest airports in the country.

As I was leaving work and merging onto the highway to head home toward a more embracing giant of lushness and green, I noticed a solace moon enlarged in the sky.  It was hovering just above a mountain range darkened by the sleeping empyrean above.  The moon, however, was wide awake.  There were lonely clouds lingering around his presence but his spirit seemed sadly and utterly alone.

It was almost as if he had lost his best friend or soul mate... as if he had suddenly become a widow to the sky.  His glow was so bright, though, like he was reaching out toward the paradise above to claim an earthly love once again... an admiration for mankind and all of the grace and sentiments we bear throughout our duration here.

As my mind drifted in and out of past and present meanderings a car window can only provide, I noticed the commercial planes flying closely overhead.  They were massively making their way to and from the Newark Airport and their sounds echoed throughout the musings of a somber heart and mournful moon. 

I was in good company last night while driving down an endless highway of inconceivable thoughts.  If only I could have reached up and hugged my desolate friend hanging from an ancient sky soaked in sadness.

As more planes drifted by, I couldn't help but to fear where each plane was destined to go and more importantly, if that plane would safely fulfill the destination of its passengers.  Each time I looked up from the road and saw those distant blinking lights in the sky, my eyes felt gravitated toward the path of the planes.  For the first time in 13 years, I was waiting... watching... hoping that those planes would not crash. 

Several months ago, I blogged about how much joy and comfort the sounds of planes provided for me in "Stories Told by Mack Trucks and Planes Sooth the Recesses of My Heart."  In was in this post where I went into detail about how I could fall asleep to the soothing sounds of Mack trucks and airplanes throughout the night. 

After hearing the president's address to the United States and watching CNN over the last few weeks, the sound of planes now afford me with sleepless nights and grieving thoughts.  I grieve for those we have lost and sadly, for those who we are in jeopardy of losing because of the rising terror threats in and outside of our beloved homeland. 

Last night, each time I heard a plane go by our home, I waited and listened until it completed its journey overhead.  I waited until I heard nothing.  And then, as another one soared by, I waited again... until that one completed its path above my head.  I also couldn't help but to think about the people aboard those planes.  Who were they?  Where were they going?  What were they doing as they flew by my cognizant mind.

Today is the anniversary of 9/11.  Never has it brought about so much pain and fear as it currently does now.  Chaos and heartache has flooded my thoughts taking me back to relive some of my bleakest memories. 

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was 20 years old and attending Rutgers University in New Brunswick, N.J.  At the time, I was staying over a friend’s house several blocks away from where I actually lived.

I remember receiving a phone call from my sister that morning several minutes before 9am.  I was still sleeping because my morning was free of classes.  When I tiredly answered my sister’s call, I remember her telling me a plane had just crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City.

At first, I thought she was joking.  I told the other housemates but to be honest, we didn’t really think much of it.  We initially thought it was an accident.  However, by the time we turned on the television, we realized not one only one plane was flown into the World Trader Center, but within several minutes after the first catastrophe, a second once crashed into the South Tower.    

 

There was a sudden urgency ringing throughout the streets of our campus that day.  All classes were canceled and we were told to stay indoors wherever we lived.  I remember HUGE military planes flying overhead as we sat on my friend’s porch.  Some of my friends had family members working in the city so there was an immense blanket of worry, frustration, sadness, and anger suffocating all of our hearts.

My roommate called me and told me they could see the smoke of the twin towers falling from the window of the student lounge of our apartment building.  We lived on the highest floor.  I still remember our room number… 1202.

The center of our building had these large, rectangular windows with views of Manhattan.

Even though we were told to stay indoors, no one listened.  Everyone was outside, except for most of the residents in Easton Ave Apartments, where I lived.  They were rounded up in each of their student lounges staring outside of the large rectangular windows.  Those who weren’t gazing out of those windows were either on the phone with their loved ones or heading to the local liquor store to stock up on alcohol since school was canceled.

When I arrived at my apartment building, I quickly rushed up to the 12^th floor student lounge and met my roommates.  All three of them were glued to the window, like breakable statues ready to burst out into thousands of tears.  As I approached them and the window, I saw the sky filling with a colossal amount of unwelcomed smoke.

I can't even begin to describe how much smoke was in the sky.  Our building was located about 45 miles from New York City and the sky was filled with an unforgivable coating of gray floating up toward the Heavens.  We would see, smell and remember the aftermath of this tragic attack on our country and affections forever. 

We sat there for most of the afternoon, at times, silent, and at others, conversing about what was to come.  Military planes continued to fly overhead and we had no idea what was going on.  The moment we found out this inconceivable tragedy was done on purpose, we were all united in a way none of us had ever been before.  We stayed close, watched the news all day, bought some cheap wine and beer, and got lost in the events we knew were sure to follow.

 

And then, after days followed by months followed by years of finally learning to let go of those fears, I find myself here agsain, living just moments from New York City, reliving all of the events which occurred 13 years ago. 

A few months ago, I blogged about Boko Haram, a militant Islamist militant group based in Northeast Nigeria, in "Remembering Their Voices."  Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve watched a tremendous amount of news regarding ISIS, another Islamic militant group who are categorized as terrorists.  The aim of ISIS is to create an Islamic state across Sunni areas of Iraq and in Syria.

 

With the seizure of Mosul, Iraq's second-largest city, and advances on others, that aim appears within reach.  ISIS controls hundreds of square miles where state authority has evaporated. It ignores international borders and has a presence all the way from Syria's Mediterranean coast to south of Baghdad.

My sister has a colossal amount of anxiety over all of this because she works in a major city.  I spoke to her the other day and she, too, fears the worst is yet to come… another terrorist attack or even another World War.  Today, my love will be traveling to a major city.  He won’t be here with me when I need him the most.  I am so afraid of what might happen so I have looked to my writing and God for answers and comfort. 

I’ve been praying and listening to a lot of Christian music to get me through these last few weeks.  Whenever the words of an artist or melody of a song dance around my heart, I’m brought to my knees with a flood of a thousand emotions pouring from the depths of my soul and out of my weary eyes.  "I Surrender" by Hillsong and "Your Grace Finds Me" by Matt Redman have been helping me cope through these darker days. 

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZFORjUcHkKU

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=orY_OWKTyfU

Songs like this have such a strong impact on my entire being because I know God is watching over us.  It might not feel like He is there at times, especially after watching and hearing about all of the ugliness and devastation millions of people are suffering through.  But I need something more powerful to lean upon so I look to my Creator and the music of his followers to get my through the dog days.  I also escape in my writing and poetry so I can hide in a world where I am the creator and no one can hurt me.

 

 

How do you feel about everything going on in the world today?  Where were you when 9/11 occurred?  How do you cope with fear, frustration and anxiety?  Does your sadness and anger affect your writing?