A Violet Fancy now available on Kindle Unlimited

I am very pleased to announce that my short story collection, A Violet Fancy, is now available on Kindle Unlimited.

Over a decade, Violet Yates has written and compiled numerous short stories and a novella. Her fiction stories deal with life issues such as relationships, medieval women, modern women, hardship, love, marriage, abuse, infidelity, betrayal, sex, childhood memories and lessons to teens based on experiences. These stories contain life and vibrancy, and it is Violet’s hope that you will not only enjoy them, but gain something from them.

Life Advice 3.0

I am sure that none of this is original, yet I have been thinking a lot about life and love lately, and although its been a struggle, I am in love and experiencing a roller coaster of emotions. My boyfriend is terrified of love because of the past. Because of that he refuses to admit what is so obvious to me, that he is falling in love with me just as I am with him. I can see it in his eyes, his actions both when he is with me and when he is not. Even his pulling away is indicative of someone who is falling hard and afraid to let go and enjoy it in all its ways. I was writing in my private journal about this very thing a short while ago, venting on my frustrations regarding his lack of contact while he is away from me while listening to Avril Lavigne’s “When You’re Gone,” when I began to think of the ways in which this oddball relationship has changed me. You see, I was once like him: so afraid to love that I refused to allow anyone in all the way- indeed for many years after my ex-husband and I split up, I broke a few hearts. I would meet someone, sort of like them but terribly unsure. Within weeks or maybe a couple months max, I would have found so many things I disliked about them that I had multiple reasons to break things off with them. But the truth was, they weren’t my ex-husband and so I deliberately sabotaged myself by looking for men who had glaring flaws to begin with. Or, I would outright turn down men who could make the grade, because a few times when I did not, I wound up breaking their hearts. They just weren’t him, either.

So now, many anguishing years later, I have come up with a dozen sayings that I truly believe in. Some I’ve heard, some are very wide-spread, one my ex-husband said to me once, and some I am just fond of. I have found true beauty in the world since recovery.

If you love someone, show them.

Better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.

Don’t let your loved one pay for another’s mistake.

Live in the moment and cherish it.

You’re not really living if you live in the past.

We are not meant to be alone.

Don’t expect someone to save you, only to hold your hand.

Be child-like in your appreciation of the world.

Don’t be afraid to fall in love.

Love yourself.

Dance in the rain.

Remember that beauty exists everywhere.

 

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

Catherine & Henry

Oh Catherine, Duty commands, to England
Ye shall be a Queen
In this foreign land
Marry, she did, Arthur, a prince
A sad story, this
For he soon died, her a widow, unfortunate consequence.
Stranger in a foreign land
Young Henry looked upon her
Glorious! New King & Queen crowned
They had everything
Love, youth, with the Church they were bound.
Grief soon laid them low
They still had Mary though.
Over 20 years had gone by, yet England had no prince.
Catherine ignored the women, the talk
Henry’s heart had changed since.
The Lady Anne had come into his eyes
Separate from Rome!
I care not if my soul dies!
In isolation and poverty
Catherine separated from her love,
Writes ‘mine eyes long for thee,’
To the Church and for her daughter she was true
Heartbroken she died without Henry
For his love he did discontinue.

Dreams

 

 

Oh I’m just sick of it, I just can’t stand another,
If you come to me in my dreams once more I feel I’ll smother.
With your loving smile, sweet blue eyes,
Deceptive guile and little lies.
I wake with longing or with dread,
How long my heart has bled.
Ten years I have spent alone,
to the wolves I have been thrown.
The ache, the sadness, never feeling complete,
Neglected, cast out, I have been beat.
My heart longs for what it never truly possessed,
When I pondered on my future this I never would have guessed.
I am unable to love anyone else in this manner, a defect.
Why this is so, why can’t I connect?
I feel this will be my life evermore,
Isolated, alone, dreaming of before.

Leaves of the Fall prologue

Prologue

The Past

Rose first met Ethan during her sophomore year in Hudson high school. As she was walking to French class, an obnoxious, overtly tall guy veered too close to her, causing her to drop her books all over the floor. The jerk turned his rounded eyes on Rose, shrugged, and then proceeded to pass as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Rose scrambled to gather her belongings; she knew this would make her late to her first class.

As if on a rescue mission, a golden-haired, sunny faced young man approached her and stooped to help.

Rose looked down on the boy and felt a strange jerk in her stomach. He’s beautiful, she thought as she sucked in a huge breath, surprised at this thought. He gazed up at her with alluring brown eyes. He looked strong, like he worked out, but not body-builder muscular. Some softness, just right to round off the edges.

“Some people are so lame,” he said as he stacked her books in a neat pile, handing her the books before rising to stand next to her. He was tall and cute in a model sort of way.

Rose wanted to say something, but she was tongue-tied. Gathering courage, she murmured her thanks and offered him a hesitant smile. Rose wasn’t normally shy like this.

“I’m Ethan Hathaway. I just moved here from Coxsackie,” Ethan said, breaking into a dazzling grin. He looked down at her books and noticed she had a text on creative writing in the pile.

“Rose Boyne.”

“Hey, you write fiction?”

“Yes, I do,” Rose replied, frowning. She was still trying to get her brain to work.

“I write poetry. A lot, actually. Hey, maybe we could get together sometime, write together or something.”

From that point on, she and Ethan had become good friends. Soon, they were sharing lunch together and hanging out after school. Then they met Trevor Dunn, Rose’s future husband, an outgoing, light brownish blonde, stocky athletic type who chased after Rose like she was the last girl on earth. She found herself having to choose between the two, and Trevor’s magnetic charisma won her over. Ethan took it in stride, glad that they could all still be friends. The trio soon became inseparable; they never did anything without each other. If they had plans, and one of them couldn’t go, no one would. It was never discussed; rather, it was just an unspoken agreement between them.

Now, a decade later, they had all grown up; Rose had married Trevor, and Ethan had married a girl who’d come into the picture during their senior year in high school: the fiery-tempered, red-head Sherri Tate, a girl who was either one’s best friend or one’s worst enemy- there was no middle ground.

Three years had gone by since Rose had spoken with Ethan, even though she occasionally ran into him in town. Three years did a lot to a person, changed them in ways not easily defined. Rose and Trevor’s marriage was failing. Whenever she thought of peace, her thoughts turned to Ethan. So when Rose heard of the accident last month, events began to snowball. After that time, Rose’s life as it had been would cease to exist.

During the first nasty storm of the fall, the buzz was that Ethan had crashed his truck and wrapped it around a tree. That was the story Rose was able to piece together, anyway. Rumors of his death began to circulate two days later, starting with Missy Stotski, who had called to tell her the bad news.

The phone thrilled in the background, its shriek a violent assault on Rose’s ears. Rose had been washing dishes, and resented the intrusion.  She ran to pick it up.

“Rose, sit down. You’re not gonna believe this.”

Missy and Rose had known each other for years and become fast friends. They both worked at Point of View, a small fiction publishing company in Albany, New York. Their calls seemed to always start like this, with one of them dishing out juicy tidbits of gossip to the other. Only this time, Missy’s tone was one of sadness.

“What’s up, Missy?”

“Ethan Hathaway is dead, Rose.”

Trying to keep her voice steady, even though her belly was performing a series of gymnastic moves at that very moment, Rose bade Missy to continue.

“There was a bad accident the other night.”

Rose sat down on her couch with a thud. Dead? Ethan? NO. Darkness began to descend on her.

“Is this a joke? Cuz it’s not funny.”

“I’m not kidding. Rick just called from work and told me. Everyone’s talking about it. Isn’t it awful?” Missy whispered.

“Good Lord.” Rose fought the tears, although a few escaped. How could this be? She just saw him the other day, in the supermarket. He had been fine. Living, breathing, and alive. Broken, she told Missy she had to go. She fought off a wave of nausea.

“You okay? Do you want me to come over?” Missy asked, but Rose’s mind was elsewhere.

“What?” Rose shook her head to clear the cobwebs out. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Rose pulled herself back from the slump she’d fallen into, thanked Missy and hung up the phone. Ethan couldn’t be dead. There was so much she had never told him.

Click here to purchase and read the rest of the story: http://www.amazon.com/Leaves-of-the-Fall-ebook/dp/B0052XQL7Q/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1310813197&sr=8-1

In Trevor’s Words

This is written in Trevor’s words, my character from Leaves of the Fall. I found it while searching through my creative writing class folder from college. I hope you enjoy. 🙂

 

With a river of tears streaming down her face, she turned to me and said, “Forgive me… without him I am empty … I’m sorry!” Stooping, she gathered her suitcase and purse, gave me another regret-filled look, and left; walked right out my door.

It all begun earlier in the day … well, actually, it had begun many years ago, I think, but for the sake of time, and in order to alleviate the risk of confusion, let us just leave it at that.

We had been driving along, going for a Sunday drive, simply minding our own business, when suddenly, quite out of the blue, I saw someone whom I had thought dead not much more than a month before. It was as if a ghost entered the car. I uttered his name. Rose bolted straight up in her seat, as if she had been struck by lightning.

“What?”

“In the back of that car. It’s him; I know it.”

She studied the maroon car for several minutes as we drove in silence, chewing on her pinkie. The maroon car’s turn signal lit up, informing me they intended to make a left turn. I slowed our car down to a steady crawl, then a near complete stop, waiting with impatience for it to be over with.  Anger filled me at the thought that this would delay our drive, that the day would somehow be delayed due to this one person, holding us up. I began to tap my fingers on the steering wheel, and bade my time.

All the while, as I pretended to focus on the traffic around us, and waited for the car to turn off, I observed Rose, watching her facial expressions. She followed the maroon car with her eyes, until her line of vision ran parallel to our car. Beneath her veiled lashes, I glimpsed an emotion I had seen before, and it puzzled me. It also frightened me. So I glared at her. But I am not so sure she saw, and if she did, I am not quite certain she cared. It had not always been that way.

As I brought the car to a complete stop, I peered out of the corner of my eye at the maroon car, and at the eyes just above the back seat. He was staring in my general direction, but for the life of me, I didn’t feel he recognized me, not at all. I felt a mixture of remorse and irrational hatred. He didn’t even acknowledge me. But he was staring, and his eyes held such sadness, and a certain curiosity. This made me think, and wonder…

But I closed off all thoughts to that arena. It does one no good to ponder what is not a certainty, and it would serve my existence no purpose to make a stab at analyzing the way of things.

A few moments later, and we were again on our way. The sun was still shining, the birds were still floating beneath the clouds, and clock continued to move forward. But, I perceived a marked difference in the weight of things. She was quiet, true, but that was not a change. We have had many drives just like that one, and her silence had never perturbed me before. Perhaps the change was in her body language, her rhythm. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I just knew that from that moment on, I could not recapture the emotions we had shared, even just prior to the encounter.

An hour later, we returned home, and I don’t recall exactly what I did next. I may have gone into the garage to tinker with my latest project, or possibly to take a shower. Does it really make a difference now what I did?

She disappeared for a time. I do recollect an irrational fear that had overwhelmed me shortly after our return. It was this feeling that began at the heart of my chest, and traveled down until it settled like a chunk of lead deep within my stomach. It was then, before I even saw her, that I knew.

And because I knew, there weren’t any words to be said. What could I have said that would have made any difference at that point? Words, although often helpful in some instances, would not have changed the outcome of that day. Her mind had been made up.

I do admit, however, to feeling unjust shock at actually experiencing the preconceived moment. My jaw dropped as I drank in the setting: her, with her suitcase, neatly packed, and with her face set in an expression of determination. It made me wonder, just for a moment, if she had planned the whole thing in advance.

But no, that would have been impossible. I see that now, just as I saw it right when it happened. There is no way she could have set that plan in motion.

Fate, however difficult it is for me to accept, must have intervened in order to cause the events of that day to come into being.

So now as I lie in my empty room, with only a cigarette to keep myself company, I must digress. I brought this episode on my own conscience. I did this. In retrospect, I now realize it was my fault that the moment came into being. For if it weren’t for my own weaknesses and imperfections, those events would have never been set into motion. Rather, if I had been who I was supposed to be, then in all likelihood, she wouldn’t have gone.

Now, being forced to shed light on a waning day, I see. But does it really matter at this point? She is gone.

Words fail me. I have never been one to waste time on needless words. I extinguish my cigarette, close the book, and turn off my bedside lamp. It is done. I wish to sleep.

 

To read Leaves of the Fall, click here.

Writing machine!

I have been really busy! I have dusted off a couple more stories I wrote a while back and edited them. I am on a roll and very happy to be doing what I love.

The first is a novella, approximately 120 pages regular print, entitled Leaves of the Fall:

At twenty six, Rose Dunn’s life is a mess. Her husband Trevor has been unfaithful in the past and seems to be up to his old tricks. Her dear friend, Ethan might be dead. Following a terrible accident, Rose is finally forced to deal with the past once and for all and to confront her emotions, in order to decide what she wants for her life.

To buy on Amazon, click here.

To buy on Smashwords, click here.

To buy in print on Lulu, click here. This is a print on demand service, a real-life print book of my novella. 😀

The second story I have edited and made ready is an 18 page short entitled Learning to Drive (yes, I seem to love L words!):

Lila, 17 and pregnant, leaves home wanting to escape what she considers controlling parents. She marries the father of her child. Through a journey of self-discovery, she finds that she’s given up control to her new husband, Harry, which may or may not be such a positive thing. A cautionary tale to teen girls who might think teen pregnancy will liberate them.

To buy on Amazon, click here.

To buy on Smashwords, click here.

In the coming weeks, I am going to be working on self-promoting, as well as a compilation of all my short stories. I have a ton of them. 🙂 I look forward to sharing them with all of you.

If you’d like to email me regarding my work, please email me at violetyates2@gmail.com, or click here.

Mahalo for looking!

Violet Yates

Short Story~ Grace by Violet Yates

I had always pictured Chris and I together forever. Nothing could ever break us apart, not even time. But one day, things just sort of dissolved, until I woke and there was nothing left. I sat and studied his face for hours while he slept the day before I left, searching for find a resemblance to the man I loved. I saw a stranger.

So I left. Yes, there were times I looked back. I had to. But not because I regretted leaving-rather, because I wanted to know what I’d done wrong, so I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. At least my part was covered that way. I only had to find someone who didn’t have too many faults of his own.

We met for coffee a few weeks after the split. Chris had called me and wanted to talk.

I pushed my way into the café, scanning the area for Chris. Spying him in the corner, I walked over to him and after we had greeted one another, took a seat on a vinyl-covered chair.

I told the waitress I wanted a light, decaf, with no sugar. Chris raised his brows, and with a pleasant smile, he said, “Oh, are we on a diet?”

“No, but I’m trying to live a healthier lifestyle now.”

“Why? You weren’t ever concerned with that before.”

“Well, I just figured…” I trailed of, not knowing how to complete the thought without hurting him. Instead of going on, I fiddled with a coffee stirrer.

“What?” Chris asked.

“Nothing. Never mind. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“Us. This change I see in you, in the kids, in everything. Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just want to know what happened.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Why, Grace? Why did you leave? You never told me why, not even when I asked. You just left. Was it me? Did I do something?”

“Okay. Money. It was the money.”

“What money? We never had any.”

“Exactly. I couldn’t keep up. You were so hungry, there was never enough for the rest of us.”

“And now?”

I shrugged. At least now, I had no one to be angry at. If I was broke, it was because there really wasn’t enough money. Not that it got squandered on meaningless things, like jet skis and boats. Before, it was all I could do not to explode every time I balanced the checkbook. We had a good income between us, and I was always waiting for things to even out, for him to stop wanting this, or that, for the bills to get caught up and to feel secure for once. But as the years sped by, it was only more of the same, until I couldn’t handle it anymore. I left, and I took the kids with me.

“What about this… change? Grace, was there someone else?”

As I shook my head, I thought of the times I had wished there was, just to take the edge off of my irritation towards Chris. Truly, I don’t think I could have done something like that. Not that I wasn’t attracted towards other men at times. It just wouldn’t work.

The waitress brought us our coffees, and we sat stirring for several minutes. I thought of odd, comforting remembrances, such as the times we would argue, then I would drink, and the next day, we would make up by making love and going out to eat. This often happened when the money was low, and a bill would have to be paid late so we could afford such an extravagance.

Each time we would get a lump of money, like when we filed taxes and got a refund, we would sit and talk about what we wanted to do with it. Chris always had high dreams about his share of it (we usually split it up, so that each member of our family got an ‘equal’ amount). The problem was, Chris always wanted the big ‘toys,’ so if he went over on his estimation, as he invariably did nearly every time, it would cut into mine and the kids’ shares.

“Are you happy?” Chris asked.

“For the most part, yes.”

“And the kids, are they content?”

“Ask them, Chris. Don’t ask me.”

A pained look creased Chris’ forehead, and he exclaimed, “How do you sleep at night?”

It was then that I noticed the dark rings under his eyes.

“Sleep?”

“Alone? How do you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”