February 11, 2019
1:22 p.m.

I am taking on a challenge to write a story based on this photo prompt.

(Please note: the images used as prompts are free-use images and do not require attribution.)  

I'm not the only writer taking this opportunity. Please check out the following link to read what other writers were inspired to write after seeing this picture.

Write the Story, February

An Unexpected Homecoming

She hadn't expected to love the place, but for Maggie it was instant infatuation. She hugged Josh enthusiastically, and held up their infant son. "Look, Johnny," she cooed. "We're home."

Josh looked less enthused, but admitted grudgingly, "It has...potential."

Getting home had been a painful process of misunderstandings, outright prosecution and near-bankruptcy.

Johnny had been the center of a controversy that Maggie still could not wrap her head around. She had suffered with severe toxemia in the latter part of her pregnancy, had been hospitalized and had elected to have an emergency Cesarean section in her 30th week due to the dangers of continuing the pregnancy to term.

Her medical record stated: "Patient elects to terminate pregnancy at this time."

Her medical record further recorded the Cesarean birth of her son, and that he was delivered alive and transported to NICU for further care, but the anti-abortion mole working in medical records, and stealing information in charts so that protesters could target women who had abortions, hadn't read past that sentence fragment: "terminate pregnancy..."

Protesters had Maggie's name and hospital room number and showed up in droves to persecute her, accompanied by members of the Press.

Bewildered and frightened hospital staff had them removed by police immediately, but the damage was done. Stories of law-breaking by medical staff made headlines. Maggie and a few other unfortunate women had their names brandished about on protest signs, declaring them murderers of the worst kind.

During all this, Maggie sat in the NICU, stroking her son's cheek, singing to him and thanking God for every ounce gained. She pumped milk so he'd have the best nutrition possible. She was released in good health after a couple of weeks, but rarely left the hospital.

After all, she had nowhere else to go.

Josh had lost his job shortly before Maggie became too ill to continue the pregnancy, and with that loss came the loss of their medical insurance. They'd been forced to sell their house and one of their cars in order to pay for many unexpected bills.

The mole was caught and arrested for violating privacy policies.

The protesters ignored any evidence that refuted their zealous vendetta, and continued to chant and brandish their signs.

Redacted news stories clearing the hospital and Maggie of any "wrong-doings" appeared in the back pages and the mostly ignored television news banner-feeds, and did no damage control whatsoever.

All the bad publicity took a toll on Josh's job search, and he wasn't able to secure employment again until just before Johnny was finally ready to go home.

Josh rented the one-bedroom flat sight-unseen, borrowing money for the deposit from his mother. He picked up the keys from the realtor and went to the hospital to pick up his family.

When he and Maggie exited the hospital that afternoon, a protester recognized Maggie and screamed, "That's her! Murderer!"

Maggie, finished with all the false accusations, screamed back, "My baby is alive and well, you vultures! Go to hell!"

The nurse quickly ushered the little family back inside and locked the door.

The next time they exited the building, it was with a police escort. Protesters swarmed about, wanting to see the "miracle baby". Some were so enthusiastic in their approaches that they were given an immediate trip downtown to the Police station. Maggie and Josh were more than happy to have them charged with malicious harassment.

Now they stood in the doorway of their shabby little place. A lone, rickety chair sat before the iffy-looking brick fireplace. There was nothing else in the place yet; their furniture would be delivered soon.

"Mom's going to faint," Josh said, sighing.

"Paint," Maggie said. She beamed at him. "A little elbow grease. There's nothing here that can't be improved upon."

Josh smiled down at her, kissed her lips and then kissed Johnny's tiny forehead. "They got one thing right," he said. "He really is a miracle baby."

"Yes," Maggie agreed. "And we'll be just fine."

--Paula Shablo
   2-11-2019

__________________________________________________________________________________

A note to readers who may want to blast me with back-lash:

This is not a Pro-Life or a Pro-Abortion story. This is an attempt to highlight the many misunderstandings that can occur when people jump to judgement without having all the facts.

Things happen. Take a breath.

Cheers!

February 10, 2019
3:44 p.m.

I wonder if you have any idea how hard it is for me to type 2019? This will be the last full year for me to be in my 50s. That's a bizarre concept for me. I didn't actually think I'd make it this far.

Let's be real here: the year 2000 was a sci-fi plot. It couldn't possibly happen. How on earth could I--young Paula--EVER turn 40? How on earth could the human race still be around in the year 2000?

No, I wasn't biting my nails, expecting the earth to blow up or something on New Year's Eve, 1999. By that time I had pretty much wrapped my mind around the concept of a continuation of life beyond the 20th century.

But at 16? Nope. Not possible. I would never get that old, and that would be that.

Now the year 2020 looms before me, and at some point in that decade, I will turn 60--if I make it that far. All indications point to a good possibility, but one never knows.

While I do admit to days when I feel about 912--which is the age I've always cited to inquiring children--I mostly feel pretty much like I did when I was 30ish. You know, until my bones creak and my lungs squeak.

2019. Jeez.

My oldest baby turns 40 this year. Imagine that--ME! With a 40-year-old kid! Yikes and stuff.

I was sick yesterday, and every time I moved, I was dizzy. Last evening I bent to get Molly's water dish and just kept going until I hit against the corner of the shelf sitting there. Thank God I wear glasses, or I might have seriously injured my eye.

I really hate those little reminders that, while I consider myself a strong woman, I am also fragile. Truthfully, it kind of ticks me off. I like strong me so much better than fragile me. Fragile me is a wimp. Her lungs are compromised and she has arthritis all over the place, and if a bear ever chases her she's just going to have to sit down and let it get her, because running is not an option.

Phooey on Fragile Me. Ha ha!
__________________________________________________________________________________

5 Star review of Starting in the Middle of The End

Now this is a Strong Me moment. I will share this, because it makes me happy when people read my books and take the time to write a review.

I don't think readers realize how important reviews are to Indie writers like me. We really, really appreciate the people who buy our books, and getting feedback from our audience is a wonderful way for us to know that someone is enjoying our work.

Sometimes they don't enjoy it, and that's good to know, too. Everyone has different tastes, and we appreciate knowing what is working and what might need to be re-thought.

4 Start review of Starting in the Middle of the End

Not every review is going to be a 5-Star, but they are all appreciated and important.

To my readers who review--THANK YOU!
__________________________________________________________________________________

Okay, last blog was about other books, today's was about mine. But we're all Independent writers, and so we need all the exposure we can get, and all we can give to each other.

I hope you'll take a little time out of your busy day and enjoy a good read!
__________________________________________________________________________________

Molly has just squeezed her way in behind me. I don't know why, but she likes to nap behind my behind in this desk chair. I guess it's warm and cozy. She's not a furry fur-baby. She gets cold.

How cold is it where you are? We climbed our way into the 20s today. A heat wave! Of course, the sun is westering now, and it will soon be cooling off out there. Grateful for a warm house, that's for sure!

Hey, you know, I would love to hear from you. Comments are welcome!

And now, we have reached the end of me thinking my thinks for this time.

Blessings!

February 7, 2019
1:24 p.m.

Today, it's all about those books.

I love to read. We all know it. The last couple of days I checked out 2 novellas, and loved them. They're short and sweet, so no excuses! Give them a try--I've provided the links.

My recent review of Cathleen Townsend's "Stolen Legacy":

As a human, I fear the Kelpi. I don't want my last ride to lead to a watery death! I fear the Siren, whose sweet song could persuade me to commit crazy or treasonous acts, or perhaps lead me to a different sort of watery death.

I'm scared of the water. Truth.

I am not the sort of human who kills what she doesn't understand, but I might avoid them.

Silly me.

This is a story of loyalty and friendship that transcends boundries like species and proves there is bravery to be found in all.

While this is likely meant for younger readers, I don't hesitate in recommending it to all ages. It never hurts to be reminded that goodness isn't exclusive to one lifeform or another, but exists in all.

You can find it here:

Stolen Legacy by Cathleen Townsend
_________________________________________________________________________________

My recent review of Lolli Powell's "The Gift":

Sometimes you read a story that turns out to be exactly what you needed at the time you needed it most. "The Gift" was certainly a present for me yesterday.

From the first page, when Carla is suddenly swept up in an emotion she least expected to feel in response to the sight of the person she'd least expect to cause it, I was swept up and knew I wouldn't be putting the book down until I was done.

I was wrong. By the end of the first chapter, I had to pause and get a box of Kleenex.

Reading this was like ripping the bandage off a wound and letting it bleed afresh. I mean this in the best possible way: a good bloodletting is a cathartic cleansing.

This story tapped a well of darkness I've been denying for some time now, and--wow!--do I feel better after letting those tears go. No doubt the well will re-fill. Life is that way. But for now, I am relieved.

Carla, the POV character, has been having a rough time. Following the recent death of her father, she's learned that her husband, a soldier, has gone missing in Afganistan.

It's Christmas Eve, and her now-widowed mother, Elizabeth, has come for the holiday, along with Carla's brother.

Elizabeth has chosen tonight, of all nights, to relate a tale from her past that she's never spoken of. It's a tale of love, loss and profound hope. But will Carla be able to endure the telling?

It has been a joy to read this story, and I highly recommend it.

You can find it here:

The Gift by Lolli Powell

_________________________________________________________________________________

Okay! These are not expensive in the least, they're quick and easy, and they're enjoyable. 

Read on!

Bye!