%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
Blog -not for everyone but yes -I talk to myself |
|
Why I Write By Tee M. When I was in seventh grade, my teacher, Mrs. Banks, asked what I wanted to be when I grew up. Without hesitation, I said, “I want to be a writer.” She looked at me and said it would never happen. Never. Fast forward. In high school, I became editor of the school newspaper all four years—grades nine through twelve. Later, I earned a full scholarship to college because of my passion for journalism. So why was she so certain I couldn’t do it? Because at the time, my reading comprehension was poor. I couldn’t spell. My grammar was atrocious. But what she didn’t know—what no test score could measure—was that I had a gift for storytelling. I could hold a room captive for hours, spinning tales for friends and family straight from my imagination. That was my superpower. It still is. The best writing advice I’ve ever received was simple: Just tell the story. Write your first draft without worrying about spelling, grammar, or the “small stuff.” If you focus too much on perfection, the story itself gets lost. So that’s what I do. Even with all the modern writing tools available, I still write my stories the same way—heart first. The first draft is just me, telling the story as it comes. It may not be the way everyone writes, but it’s what works for me. Because at the end of the day, I write because I love to tell stories. My journey to becoming a reader was a long one, but now I read everything I can get my hands on. And yes—my favorite stories always end in happily ever after. Someone once told me I must be a hopeless romantic because I’m obsessed with happy endings. They were right. To be a writer, I believe you have to love storytelling. To become a published author—that’s a different journey. Not every story is meant to be shared with the world, but when you write one that is… you feel it deep down. There’s a lot of self-publishing happening these days, but that’s not the part I know. What I know is this: I tell stories. That’s what I do. I also journal and blog—but not about writing. My journals are filled with daydreams, character conversations, and little scraps of future stories. My blog is more of a break—an outlet, a place to learn, explore, and connect. My head is often in the clouds, and I like it that way. I don’t like nightmares. I prefer dreams filled with love, kindness, and a little magic. Because in my world, the story is everything. |
| Prologue Sharp’s Awakening Heart Raymond Jackson, call sign Sharp, had never flinched from violence. Special Forces had carved him into a blade—forged for silent kills and cold decisions. Threats were targets. Emotion was noise. He had lived that truth for years. Tonight, it faltered. The objective was simple: intercept insurgent leaders before they slipped into the mountains. Fast. Clean. Final. But as Sharp’s team ghosted through the shattered compound, a scream tore across the night—high, panicked, female. His jaw locked. Civilians weren’t supposed to be here. Through his scope, he found her—two insurgents dragging her across the dirt, limbs thrashing until a fist cracked against her temple. She went limp, the sight punching through him with a fury he didn’t recognize. No waiting. No orders. His signals cut the air; his men moved like shadows. Seconds later, bodies cooled in the dust and silence returned. Sharp was already kneeling beside her. Dirt streaked her skin, yet even through grime and fear, he saw beauty. Long, wavy chestnut hair tangled across her cheek. A tank top hung ripped at the shoulder, losing the battle to cover generous curves. Mud-caked jeans clung to a slender frame no taller than five and a half feet. Bare feet. Pink polish chipped, toes scraped raw. Fingernails broken, ragged—proof she’d fought like hell. Wildcat, he thought. Not a shrinking violet. Her breathing trembled in shallow pulls. Blood traced the curve of her lip. A bruise spread along her jaw. Carefully, more gently than he’d ever handled anything in combat, he lifted her, her weight fragile against his armor. As he carried her toward extraction, the thrum of rotor blades rolled across the dark. Something shifted under his ribs—feelings protective, primal, possessive in a way that had nothing to do with duty. What in God’s name was a girl like her doing here? A little sprite like that had no business in this hell. At the bird, the medic knelt beside her, hands quick and sure. Sharp hovered too close; his men noticed. They didn’t speak. “She’s dehydrated, a couple nasty bruises,” the medic murmured. “No signs of sexual assault. She’s stable for transport. We can drop her at base, let them take over.” “She goes with us.” Sharp’s voice cut like steel. “That’s final.” The medic blinked but didn’t argue. One of the men exhaled softly. “She kinda looks like that singer, Lindsey Case.” Sharp didn’t answer. He didn’t even know her name. But he knew this: something in him had shifted—clean and sudden, like a blade catching light. And Raymond “Sharp” Jackson—the soldier, the weapon, the master of the knife—wasn’t walking off this mission the same man who walked in. |
| Confession I needed to step away from the paranormal for a while. As much as I love writing prophecies and impossible worlds, it takes a different kind of energy — the kind that bends reality and asks me to hold entire universes together. Right now, I don’t have that in me. So instead of forcing myself into Book Two while I wait for my first human proofread, I’m giving myself permission to breathe. I’m going back to something simpler, warmer, and more human. I’m picking up Sharp’s Heart, the love story I started a few months ago. No magic. No spirits. No destiny weighing down every scene. Just two people learning how to love each other in the middle of their own scars. It feels good to slip into something grounded again — something real. A small break from the unbelievable so I can find my balance, refill the well, and remember why I love writing in the first place. |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
