Tag: writing

There Are Reasons To Fear What Hides In The Night

by debrazauthor

Dark Night Of The Soul

Pat wasn’t afraid of the dark, she wasn’t even aware of it. Fear held her in its thrall, fear of the unknown, of the uncertain future. Her husband of thirty-four years had left her. She wasn’t sexy, romantic, or pretty enough. She was a large women, always had been. She wasn’t more than five pounds from the weight she had carried the day he’d sworn to love and cherish her always. The twins had come late in their marriage. When Richard left, she sold the house to pay their college tuition. If not for the shelter, she would be homeless. She desperately wanted to avoid returning to her parent’s home. They lived two states away. She didn’t want to move so far from her children. She feared telling her friends. She feared life without Richard. She was afraid of how important the local pub had become. She found she could no longer sleep without it. She was afraid the shelter would find out she’d been drinking. The smell of her fear, carried on the night wind, went before her.

    Knowing the shelter would frown upon her new and all-too-frequent habit of visiting the local bar, she went to the backyard, purloined key in hand. Grabbed from behind, she threw her considerable weight on the body pressed against her, but his grip only tightened. She clawed at the hands biting into her chest. Slowly, he forced her to face him.

    Her hands clasped in supplication. “Please, I beg of you, I have children. I’ll do

    “Yes,” he whispered softly in her ear. “You will.”

    “Please…”

    Whatever she had planned to say was left unspoken. Snarling, he tore through her tender flesh. He was careful; he didn’t want this one to die too soon. Pat began to cry. Gregor brought his hand to her face, seemingly to wipe away her tears.  Instead, he used his hideously long fingernails to slice through her soft cheeks. He tore into the flesh of her thick arms. The pain was so great, she could no longer cry. Her eyes rolled back, head falling.

    “Not yet.” He tenderly slapped her cheeks, keeping her awake. “You fear me?”

    The answer was a whimper. He smiled. “You should fear me more. Your children, I’ll find them.”

Dark Night of the Soul – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B074T2Y22K

Amazon Author Page
https://www.amazon.com/stores/Debra-Zannelli/author/B07SW1BF1T?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2&qid=1725737741&sr=8-2&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

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You can hear Gregor’s voice when you listen to the audio book or the upcoming podcast. Read the book and see if you can answer the questions I’ll ask you.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK

by debrazauthor

It’s a new idea of mine. I thought I would title the upcoming posts as thought for the day but the truth is I doubt I’ll post everyday and I don’t want to disappoint you. I’d also like to get to know you, so please feel free to give me your thoughts.

Do you ever feel that whenever you get close to making a touchdown, the end zone gets moved further away? Sometimes I do. It was better for me. I was raised in an era that had lots of jobs for those just starting out and you could save for college even working in the mills. Most of the mills are gone, those jobs with them and college is out of reach without debt. A mortgage without the benefit of a home, rent so high you may never save enough for a downpayment.

We hear people talk about the American dream, how we all have the chance to reach the finish line, have our dreams come true, get that house. But do we all have the same chances? Did we ever?

THE HUMAN RACE

Greyhounds lined up at the starting gate,

chasing wooden American dreams.

Only one can win, the rest must fail,

is not as it seems.

We know the losers didn’t really try,

blinded by the rabbit, we do not see.

The winner loses the next race,

how shallow his victory.

The rabbit is always a step ahead,

the weight of the world on the hound’s backs.

They suffer, they live, continuing on,

it’s caring the rabbit master lacks.

So intent upon the rabbit run,

we allow the race to continue on.

We do not try to see the truth,

look beyond the glitter, to see the harm.

And so the masses struggle, running the race,

not knowing that they are lead.

Will understanding come at last,

when all the hounds are dead?

Debra Zannelli 

A Bark Of Love

by debrazauthor

If you’ve read any of the Sister World Novels you’ll notice the dogs. It’s obvious how much I love animals, especially dogs. There is a reason.

I don’t remember how old I was, neither do I remember why I was so sad. I hate crying in front of people. I hate it even more if it’s someone in my family. I’ve been known to climb out bathroom windows to find a good place to hide. Part of this may be that I can’t make a coherent sentence when I cry, no matter what I’m crying about. Maybe you feel like this too. I’d like to know I’m not the only one. Anyway back to dogs. Back then I lived in a small older home with a large farmers sink that sat pretty far out from the wall. The cupboards on either side had drawers that also didn’t go to the wall. For whatever reason, I was crying and there was no escaping the house. Small and skinny, I opened the door and managed to fit behind the pipes and the drawers. My cheerio box fit too. Munching on my treat, I suddenly heard a soft whining. I was worried Chipper, our dog, would give me away and I was enjoying the silent moments. I opened the door to shew him away. Chipper, so called because his beautiful white fur had round chocolate spots, had a better idea. I’ll never know how he did it, but somehow he managed to crawl inside. I could even close the door. He put his head on my shoulder, whined softly and enjoyed the cereal too. He understood me, he cried with me and made me feel less alone. I’ve thought of him in some of my saddest moments. You can’t buy love like that. He’ll always own a special place in my heart, just like I hope Spirit (Sister World) will find a place in yours.

TO BECOME

by debrazauthor

This is what I hoped I’d become. First there was the singer. I was sure Barbra Streisand would love me. Believe it or not, I really could sing, but now my voice has aged. I’ve written songs that will never be played. I have a rather limited knowledge of notes and timing needed for writing music down- self taught-so I developed my own method of writing my songs down, this means they’ll die with me. Jeffrey, if you read this, I have often wondered what would have happened had I joined your band and headed to California. You wanted me to be the lead singer, I was afraid of failing. Then there was the dream of being an author. I had so many things I wanted to talk about and no one to talk to so I made up stories that sat in the back of my closet, most still do. For a while I wanted to be a free spirit with no ties tethering me to the dirt I would one day be buried under. My best friend and I planned on taking the money we earned working after school, to buy motorcycles and head out. She decided to stay home, go to college and take care of her family. I choose to go to college, become a nurse and marry my new boyfriend over the open road, but since there’s no way a person my size could ride anything bigger than a scooter, and we’ve been married now for many,- I’m not telling- years that was the right choice. Nursing wasn’t for me, so I got my degree in business management, once again putting my writing aside. At least I got to sing in the chorus, then the choir and finally at weddings. I loved it, but I stilI wanted to be a famous author. I finally left the free spirit thing completely go, deciding that now that I was a wife I might as well be a mother. It took a long time, but in that I finally succeeded, so maybe that was what I was meant to become. I’ve never stopped wanting to see everything, know where every road goes, see the miracle of life in all its guises. I still do. Later I became obsessed with staying alive. The Headaches making me wish I’d die didn’t change this. Survival only increased my desire to write. I still wanted to be a famous author. I still poured out my soul in my poems and characters, so I settled for being an author. But the dream never dies.

New Covers, Audio Books and Old Age

by debrazauthor

I hate that head line but it’s true. I’ve gotten new, beautiful, covers for the books in the Darkness and Light series. My first, and unless I become a John Grisham, my only audio book will be released soon. When I first published Dark Night Of The Soul, the first book in the series, I was too concerned with the cost of publishing, than what the cover should look like. Titles are what draw me to books, but that isn’t true for most of us. Though I don’t regret making my own covers for the Sister World Series, BookFest loved them almost as much as I do, I do regret not following my instincts. Once Dark Night became the first in the Darkness and Light series, I knew the other covers should have Marcus on each of them. I just didn’t know how to do it. I created covers showing what he went through, not uniting them by who he was and what he became..

Although I can’t think of a time in my life when I didn’t love books and hoped to one day be more than just someone who read them, I was swimming in a pool without a life jacket. You would have laughed to see my 14 year old self taking beginner swimming lessons with the little kids (6-10 years old). I was more self-conscious than I am today, but I wanted to swim, so I put my head down and swam across the pool. I hope you see how I, once again, put my head down and swam across the pool, only this time it was pen, ink and a keyboard filling the pool. It really wasn’t that different than what I’d done before, Though the water is still over my head, today is different. Today I have a husband who, though he may not understand my desire, wants me to follow my dream, I have time to sit at this computer and however frustrating it is, I can try to figure out what I have to do,. I have friends and colleagues who help and support me. I don’t know you and you don’t know me, which means I really cannot offer you advice, What I can say is you should seek out those who support you, move forward even when your tired and force yourself to learn, even when you’re told the technology involved has left you behind. I’m frustrated, but I’m alive. Tomorrow may not come, but I have today. Yesterday is a fading memory that can and always does bring back memories showing a life well lived, but today is all we have. Live it well.

Releases

by debrazauthor

The audio book for Dark Night Of The Soul is still in process but the covers and their back descriptions are complete. The artist who created those covers has my highest regards and respect. Not only was he reasonable, he was reliable and easy to work with. I’m very happy with my Sister World covers and that they also received 2nd place from BookFest for a JPEG designed cover, makes me proud. I did them, (I’m bragging now) but if I ever needed another cover I would not hesitate to go to him. Remember
info@rockingbookcovers.com if you need a cover.

Now to a more personal note. Dark Night was a labor of love. I wrote it a long time ago and I rewrote it twice as many years have passed since its inception. Always, its many versions stayed true to the message of hope, love and the importance of seeing beyond appearances that brought the story to life . Receiving notice of it’s being a finalist by the American Legacy Awards helped me to feel like the time, which I cannot get back and the cost, which I can never replace, was more than worth it. I know I drove my husband crazy. I’m pretty sure the man who formats the books has also suffered with my lack of knowledge and neediest, but for me this will be a legacy second only to my son. The woman who told me to continue Marcus’ story, is very dear to me. Claire Mary, wherever you are, I hope you know this. She was right, not because she said series are popular, but because Marcus had, I had, so much more to tell. In Vampires(spoiler alert) Marcus finds himself living as so many of us have, only as to be expected, in extraordinary ways. Rising above a monster, of the problems that beset us all, is what makes his journey worth the effort. Now for the big, you must read the book moment. I ask you when is it too late to find redemption. Is it ever too late. We make many decisions every day, some without thought_Possibly my next book-so think about those little decisions. They may end up being not so little.

Book Descriptions

by debrazauthor

It’s funny, but for me it was easier to write books than to tell my readers what they’re about and don’t even ask me to talk about myself. I’ve done pretty good here but I actually hate doing it. It seems to me that when you talk about your life it can seem like you’re being overly dramatic. Most lives are lived, as is often said, in the quiet spaces between adventure and boredom. I was mostly on the side of being boring but then I learned that even a life lived quietly can have moments of deep anguish or joy, sometimes both. I knew I’d marry the man I’m still married to when I was seventeen. If you want to hear the fairy tale version, you’ll have to read fiction. It hasn’t been a fairy tale. What it has been is love, its triumphs and pain. He hurt me as no other could and I’m sure I returned the favor. No matter. He loved me and I know I returned that favor. He still makes me laugh. I do most of the laughing, he does most of the protecting. A fair exchange of abilities. It is in this relationship that I created the ones lived out by my characters. We aren’t easy. Complex and quite often perplexing, we struggle to find our place. I think this is true, though I won’t say this is something I know. The place we make for ourselves is not our destiny. I’s a complex cohesion of what we want, what we need, what we accept and what we’re forced to accept. To those who rise, you have my support and admiration, to those who accept the imperfections of those we love and those who find a way to move forward, I will forever be in your dept. I’ve heard that love is enough, but it must always start with loving who we are and who we need to be.

2025

by debrazauthor

I can’t ever remember not wanting to write. I have at least 20 short stories I wrote when I was a child. They’re awful but they’re precious too. It’s been a wild ride, finally writing a book, then 7 more and having one win second best in Science Fiction published 2024, by BookFest. None of us get what we want. Many of us get far less than what we deserve but we all have just one life. There are opportunities we may not see, but never stop looking.

Seventy is not as far away as I’d like it to be but I’m still here and I’m still dreaming. What er 2025 brings, I know I’ll face it and do my best to be the best I can be.

I wrote this in 1996 and still mean every word.

Line by Line

Sleeping curled upon my lap, 

while rocking to and fro,

is my one and only child of flesh,

born not many years ago.

He is not my first born,

for deep within me lives,

all that are my hopes and dreams,

the words I long to give.

I’ve written down all that makes me, me

What I’ve seen, wished for, my every goal,      

the words I’ve written,

are the children of my soul.

I love words, sung, written, spoken,

their passion and their power.

Mankind could never have come so far,    

for it is words which makes us tower.

Above all creatures, mankind towers,

in our ability to leave a trace,

of what we’ve learned, where we’ve been,

that time cannot erase.

I live for my children,

my son and my words too.

I want them to live on,

and be proud of what they do.

In silence I pray,

for the skill, and for the time.

Time to write my thoughts, and my hopes,

to live out my life, line by line.

Debra Zannelli  8/96