Autobiography and Published Works of Violet Yates

Just a short bio:

A love of the English language was fostered in Violet Yates at a young age. Since the time she could first read, books were an escape to a world full of fantasy and imagination, where horses became unicorns and wings, where tornadoes picked up houses and little girls and they somehow landed in an emerald city. Having grown up in Hawaii, there was quite a bit of Hawaiian legend to be told to little Violet, as well as Chinese stories of girls and boys being born from peaches and growing from trees. She wrote her first story at age 8 and sent it into Highlights magazine, who sadly rejected it. But that did not stop her. Throughout Violet’s life, she worked at perfecting her writing, striving to achieve straight A’s in school.
While in New York in her 30’s, Her love of words led her to seek a Bachelor’s degree in English, and during those years she wrote a novel, a novella and several short stories. She went on to obtain a Master’s degree in Higher Education Administration.
Violet loves to read, write, watch movies, listen to music and dream. She considers the Bible to be the best book ever written.
Violet has three children,a 23 year old son who is strong and wise, a 22 year old son who is handsome and makes her so proud, and a beautiful 13 year old daughter who takes after her mother a great deal.
Currently Violet lives in on the Kona Coast in Hawaii.

Link to my Published by Violet Yates Facebook Page, for information & updates on my books: www.facebook.com/publishedbyvioletyates

A link to my novella, Leaves of the Fall: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/62456

A link to my short story collection, A Violet Fancy: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/79143

Two short stories, Forgotten Forest of the Innocent & Learning to Drive: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/61075 & http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/62820

My autobiography, Leaves of the Fall: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/64041

All are only 99 cents, which is a great deal, plus you get to sample free. They are also only 99 cents on the sites listed below and easily searchable.

My short story collection is available in paperback here: http://www.amazon.com/Violet-Fancy-Short-Story-Collection/dp/1463799918/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1397221235&sr=8-1&keywords=violet+yates

Falling into the Lord’s Hands is available in paperback here: http://www.amazon.com/Falling-into-Lords-Hands-Addiction/dp/1466244372/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1397221235&sr=8-4&keywords=violet+yates

My books are available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Smashwords, Kobo, Diesel, Page Foundry, Baker & Taylor (only via Blio right now), Flipkart, Oyster & Scribd. Baker & Taylor Axis 360-will be shipped soon. My books have the capability to be purchased by via Library Direct so that they would be accessible at libraries. If you have questions regarding the sites that I don’t have links for, I don’t currently know much about them but I will find out what I can if you need to know. All but Amazon are distributed through Smashwords.

Thanks! Have an awesome weekend! 🙂 ❤ 😀

 

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Domestic Violence

SAD

Too many disappointments have been reaped from a sorrow-filled life…

Too many tears I have shed, for a man who called me his wife.

Often I wonder what all this is for,

Why is this load so heavy to bear?

Why am I trying so hard?

It doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

Although I have come a long way,

From the misery of before,

Still I have to wonder,

What am I here for?

 

PLEASE UNDERSTAND

Please understand:

It wasn’t just the bruises that hurt.

It was the shame,

It was and is the names.

I was sinking,

Still do sometimes…

So low.

I feel I cannot live carrying this knowledge… must relieve it, but…

I don’t know how…

I sink…

I cry, give my soul to all the world.

Few can understand my plight.

Or could back then, either…

No one can fathom…

My psychology…

How helpless I felt .

I could not emotionally survive without him…

I could not save myself…

I turned on myself…

Blamed myself.

Excused him…

At times, how I loved him! Oh it was higher than the sky!

How I hated him, at others…

Then, confusion…

Then,

Vengeful…

Most of all,

Feeling, once more,

self-blame,

at the same time,

as Hate.

A cycle.

 

Excerpts from my poetry book, Lost & Found

From my published book, Lost & Found.

See You (2003)

You…

I thought it impossible,

Not being able…

To see…

You…

I broke down.

I realized,

I care.

You mean the world.

And when you called,

I danced…

 

Echoes (2004)

Your laughter echoes, in the back of my mind, like a dream,

Like a cascading waterfall, tumbling down, tickling my memory.

An ECHO.

It’s just a memory.

It stagnates inside,

Stifles me.

This Pain (2004)

This pain…

Too excruciating.

This pain…

I told myself:

Never let yourself feel again.

So why did I?

Wanted to feel the love without the pain…

Torture,

Exquisite though it may be.

Still too awful to be perceived by anyone but me.

Reality.

http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Found-Violet-Yates-ebook/dp/B0051EZDZ2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1392676691&sr=8-2&keywords=violet+yates+lost+and+found

Writing: A State of Mind

Sometimes when I’m writing, the words flow neatly onto the screen, or paper, timed at an even pace. Other times, it’s like squeezing apples to get the juice flowing. I tend to write in spurts. I don’t write every day like some do. I cannot write on demand. I used to be able to do so, but I spent many years imbibing in alcoholic beverages and somehow my brain has suffered (I am now in recovery, 2.5 years).

I cannot seem to hold words or thoughts in my head for very long. If a thought comes to my mind and I don’t write it down, it is lost in the ether. I am sure many great ideas have slipped by me this way. I have taken to keeping a small notepad in my purse for those moments in which I need to scrawl away. I can then later transcribe my words into digital form. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. If I’m driving, I pull over. If I’m watching a movie, I press pause. If I’m working on something else, I stop and write it down. I must keep track, as well; otherwise, I have a gazillion thoughts scribbled down or written into MS word and no cohesion.

Not everything I write is kept, although when I’m seriously revising a manuscript, I’ll keep a second file open to copy and paste the cuts to. I do hate to throw anything I write out, with the exception of typos. But as most writers know, this is part of the creative process. Just like painting over a mistake, we must omit our mistakes, even beautiful ones. Part of revising, I learned as an English major, is cutting or considerably changing parts of your written works. It is painful, but necessary.

What can be even more painful is those few seconds when someone announces they are reading your work. As anyone who has gotten a less than favorable review can attest to, it is terrifying not knowing what that particular person will say about your hard work. It can be crushing to receive a bad review or a critical review. We often rely on others to bolster our opinion of our own writing, and when that fails, it can be devastating.

Rejection letters work in the same way. My first manuscript was rejected numerous times both by publishers and agents. It actually gave me writer’s block for a long time; it took me years to gather the courage to send anything out again. I am still hesitant. One must consider, however, that an editor or agent is a person with different tastes and ideas, so one must never allow a rejection to stop them from writing, like I did.

But good reviews are awesome! I soar when I receive a good review, or when someone says they loved my writing. When they strike up a conversation about my characters, I look like a Cheshire cat. I adore those people and will remember them always. I have made quite a few friends as a result of my writing.

Writing, to me, is cathartic. I love to write, to see how well the words flow onto the page. If I lost the ability to write, I would be very depressed indeed. Even while I was suffering writer’s block and didn’t write a wink of fiction, I was still writing poetry and blogging. My motto these days is “never stop writing.”

Thank you for reading!

Just This Once

This is a short story (more of a skit) I wrote about 10 years ago. I hope you enjoy it.

Just This Once
By Violet Yates

My hands flew to my mouth, inspecting my lips for damage. I could feel a few hairline cuts and blood, the salty, bitter taste of blood.
“Let me see. Come here,” he said. His previously enraged voice had tapered off into a consoling, professional tone. ‘So now he’s a doctor,’ I thought, repulsed.
Yet I allowed him to examine me. He dabbed my bloodied lips with a discarded tissue, careful not to press too hard. It was easier to give in than to refuse.
“I’m sorry,” he cooed. ‘You’re sorry,’ I thought, staring at his fingertips, coated with my blood, when only moments before, they’d been a part of the mechanism that had brought the blood forth. ‘I’m sorry. As sorry a woman as there ever was.’
Then I stood before the bathroom mirror, checking the damage. I peered into the glass and saw a stranger stare back at me: blank-faced, a sallow complexion, bloodshot eyes. A frown where once there had only been smiles. Eyes that once had lit up with love, now only knew grief. ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated, a tear traveling down my cheek.
Knuckles rapped on the door behind me.
I turned around and muttered, “What?”
“Everything okay in there?” he asked.
“Yeah, sure. Just great.”
I gazed back at the stranger once more, reaching to touch her pitiful face, before I exited the bathroom.
“Let’s go to bed, hon,” he winked. I shrunk away from him. ‘Not again,’ I thought. Another roll in bed after a night in hell. I felt dirty. But I didn’t refuse. What does that make me?
To bed we went, where we simultaneously removed our clothing as if performing an ancient ritual. Even when we fight, it’s like this.
I removed my shirt, torn in the fray, exposing my naked flesh beneath. He turned to me, his eyes caressing my skin, my breasts, burning a hole into them. ‘You’re mine,’ they seemed to say, ‘every inch of you.’
Stepping out of his pants, he kicked them to the side and closed the space between us in one stride. I began to breathe deep, hesitant breaths, steeling myself for the inevitable. Yes, I allowed it to happen, and it’s my fault. But there’s no other way. ‘Just this once, just this last time. That’s it. I swear.’
He ran his work-roughened hands up and down my goose-bumped arms, instantly warming them from the chill of winter like a blazing fire chases ice from cold feet. ‘Just this once,’ I reminded myself, because I knew I could falter.
Taking my hair down from its ponytail, he weaved his fingers through my hair, gathering it in a lump with his fist. He then twisted it and tugged my head back, leaving my neck exposed to his mouth. ‘Just one time,’ I told myself.
Lowering his lips to my neck, he opened his jaws and nibbled the nape, sending chills down my back. In spite of myself, I began to respond to his ministrations, my breasts becoming taught and alert, awaiting his next move with a mixture of delight and awkward longing.
He folded my body into his, whispering apologetic words into my ear as he pushed me gently onto the bed.
“Aww,” I sighed. Then I realized: I live for these moments, after the fights. That’s when he really loves me. Who says it won’t work? Only me, and maybe I’m wrong. I drew him closer so we were skin on skin and flesh on flesh, a tangle of erotic pleasure. Maybe there won’t be a next time.
There we copulated, all actions and words forgotten like so much dust, as time passed by. Just this once, he and I are one person, one body, one soul. Just this once, that is all that matters.
Afterwards he climbed off of me, his sweat mingled with the leftover remnants of blood on my lips. I rolled toward him and smiled into his eyes. He covered my face with kisses then slapped me on the rump.
“Hey, thanks babe. Love you,” he slurred, sleep already closing in on him.
“You too, hon.”
“Nite.”
“G’nite.”
Minutes passed in silence as I stared at the ceiling of our tiny room, the moon casting a glow across our motionless bodies, while thinking, ‘Just that one time. That’s all it took, to start it all over again.’
Turning my body away from his, I laid cupped in sleeps’ embrace, trying not to think of the next time I’d pay to have a moment like this.

Meet the Author ~ Violet Yates

Hello to Everyone!

I am Violet Yates, 38 years old and born and raised in Hawaii. A recent divorcee, I live on the Kona Coast of the Big Island of Hawaii. I often feel as if I’ve lived several lives! I have three children, two of whom are grown. My kids are my life and my solace. I am an author of several books, short stories, essays and about 100 poems. I own more books than I could ever read, but I keep collecting more.

I lived in Upstate New York for 10 years, and during that time I went back to school and earned my Bachelor’s degree in English, as well as my Master’s degree in Higher Education Administration. During that time, I wrote prolifically and am just now starting to edit and publish a lot of it. While in New York, I worked at MetLife as an accounting representative, I co-managed a Domino’s pizza and freelanced for a bi-monthly newspaper (in addition to being their circulation clerk).

I love, love, love to read, and I have wanted to be a published author since I was eight years old, when I wrote and colored a story and sent it in as a submission to Highlights magazine for children. This was my first rejection letter, the first of many. My first real novel, Beginnings, was really rough and contrived, and it did not get published, although I still have every single rejection letter (numbering in the hundreds, I believe!). Following this total rejection, I put myself back into college, determined to become a stellar writer.

After my husband and I separated, I stopped writing much of anything for years and drowned my sorrows in alcohol. Two and a half years ago, while living in the Berkshires of Massachusetts, I got into recovery. The last two years have been a journey of self-discovery. I have published a book of poetry, “Lost & Found,” as a tribute to that journey, and to Jesus Christ, my Lord and Savior. While the struggle was indeed awful, I learned so much from those years and I wouldn’t go back and change a thing.

As mentioned in the previous paragraph, I have just published Lost & Found (last week), as well as a short story, “Forgotten Forest of the Innocent.” I wrote Forgotten when I was in college, as an escape from the drudgery of endless papers and reading assignments. I had this thought: what if a telephone found its way into a magical forest of fairies? What would the inhabitants’ reaction be? And Forgotten Forest of the Innocent was born. It wasn’t a conventional fairy tale; rather, it was a way to explore the affects of technology on our world, good or bad.

I hope to meet many of you and make friends during our time here! Thank you for reading!

Violet Yates

* I posted this on Amazon.com’s Meet the Author Forum and thought it would be a good idea to post it here, as well. 🙂