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.


Domestic Violence


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:

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…



Most of all,

Feeling, once more,


at the same time,

as Hate.

A cycle.


Excerpts from my poetry book, Lost & Found

From my published book, Lost & Found.

See You (2003)


I thought it impossible,

Not being able…

To see…


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.


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…


Exquisite though it may be.

Still too awful to be perceived by anyone but me.



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.




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


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

Review of Best Intentions by Emily Listfield

Review by Violet Yates

I loved this book. It has just the right mixture of suspense and thrills to carry one through to the end. Emily Listfield is a gifted writer; one can tell just by reading the book that she put her all into writing this book.

The story is about thirty nine year old Lisa Barkley, whose marriage is at a stand-still. She thinks her husband, Sam, is having an affair. She is a PR representative at a firm that was just sold to a cutthroat firm from Boston. Her best friend is acting distant. Surrounded by the upper crust of New York’s finest, genteel society, she feels her lack of money is a failing she wishes she could change.

Lisa confronts her husband on his guarded actions and is mollified by his explanations. He is a writer working on a difficult story. When his explanations no longer suffice, she turns to a new found friend, David, for comfort. A man with resources, he gives her information she didn’t really want to know, and things begin to spiral. Suddenly, her best friend, Deirdre, is dead of suspicious circumstances. A few people are suspect, including her own husband.

This book was a great read. I do recommend it to anyone who likes a thriller with a twist at the end. The characters are rich in flavor, as are the descriptions of the upper echelons of New York City and their quirks. I feel I know now what it must be like to live in a society such as this, to always feel as if one is not up to par. Thank you, Emily Listfield, for enriching my life for a short time.

Eleanor the Wise

I wrote this in college, in one of my medieval lit classes. I hope you enjoy it. Stay tuned, next I will post a review to Stella Deleuze’s novel, No Wings Attached.

Eleanor the Wise

Eleanor the Wise


Long ago, in a place far away, there was once an Abbey where women could seek refuge in times of need. Although many did not choose to stay forever, there were a few who had forsaken their former worldly lives, choosing instead to live a holy life under the direct shadow of Christ. So here it was that, a long time ago, a group of unlikely women all came to gather under this most holy roof, to speak their minds, in that Abbey, where they did not have to fear reprisal from their male counterparts.

Juette, who upon the death of her husband, had escaped her fate of becoming trapped by another marriage she despised, had sought the solitude she longed for at the Abbey. The day that this story begins, she had received a letter from Merri, an old childhood friend from back east. She ran to share this letter, this most sad letter, bereft of hope, to Dhuoda and Drusiana, who had been visiting from a town not far from the Abbey. Dhuoda was the eldest of the group, save Eleanor, who had yet to arrive that day. Drusiana, Christianly and chaste, took great pride in her position at the Abbey, and hoped one day to become an Abbess.

“Merri writes of the grief that her solitude has caused her, as her Lord is absent. She also fears intrusion due to conflicts between her warring neighbors, and she has little ability to defend herself,” Dhuoda remarked once she had read the letter in its entirety, her wizened eyes a bit forlorn.

“Why a woman would suffer from the lack of a man’s presence is beyond me,” Juette said, her voice vehement. Juette detested men. Often she was chastised by the more dutiful, matronly women in the Abbey whose soul focus was to ensure that the ways of the past, that is, the male oriented societal bonds with which they lived, were kept in place.

“A woman’s only power comes from being a virgin, a nun, or a widow,” Drusiana agreed. “Their power is given to them by Christ. The right way for women, who do not desire an earthly marriage, is to wed Christ and forsake all worldly desires.” Drusiana wanted Juette to join the Abbey, and Juette, knowing what could befall her if she did not, saw the option as desirable. Compared to submitting to a man’s whims, that is.

Just then Heloise, having been married to her love, Abelard, and subsequently sent to the Abbey by him, came into the room after her daily devotions. Unbeknownst to most of the women, with the exception of Juette, Abelard had gotten her pregnant and forced her to marry him.

Then, Abelard had shunned her. Faced with the prospect of losing face in the eyes of the Church, he had forced her to cloister herself within the Abbey walls, doomed to know his love no further.

Heloise shared her lamentations with Juette, who sat in wonder, for she had never viewed the act of sex in quite the same way.

“You liked it?”

“Yes,” Heloise sighed. “Yet never shall I experience it again, I fear, as Abelard wants me to become a bride to Christ, rather than remain his wife.”

Catherine followed Heloise’s path from the chapel, intent on going to her room to write poems to her beloved. But on her way there, she overheard the conversation and sat down with the other women, a bit apart from the rest.

“Catherine, why don’t you read us the poem you wrote last night?” Dhuoda asked, indicating that she should move closer to the group. Edging in so as to close the gap between them, Catherine removed a slip of parchment from her robe, took a deep breath, and began.


“Of late I long to lie beside my love,

To feel the pulse of your skin beneath mine.

Although you are loyal to no one, I cannot glimpse another way.

My heart cries out, for I am betrayed.

You love me not.

It is her you pine for.

If I could but choose, I’d set my path straight.

Hateful are the days I cannot see you.

Long are the nights we do not speak.

My body is weak.

My mind’s eye is aware of the danger.

Yet still I persist.

If you would but give me a chance,

I would be content to share my life with you.”


After heaving a large sigh, Catherine announced she was finished. She reached up to her cheek and swept away a tear, then hung her head low.

“Oh, Catherine, that was beautiful,” exclaimed Heloise. She reached out to Catherine and drew her into her arms in a sisterly embrace, glad to have found a comrade in the game of love.

Iseult and Fenice glided into the room like two angels upon a cloud. They were sisters, but unalike as can be. Iseult was to be married to King Mark in two weeks time, and although she loved Tristan, she could see no way to escape the destiny laid out for her. Fenice was to marry Alis shortly thereafter, yet she had devised a way to be with the one she loves, Cliges.

She told the women her secret and Iseult stared at her in horror. Fenice stood up. “Although you love Tristan, you would rather let him die than betray your elders. You accept the fate handed to you as if you have no other choice. I choose not to accept it. I will not be like you, my dear sister.” With that she took her leave, only to return moments later.

“There is a woman outside, disguised as a male minstrel, singing her heart. Come!”

The women rushed to the window, where sure enough, there stood a fair woman, a trifle mannish by her get-up. She was one whom they had never laid eyes upon before, singing of a land and love far away.

She spread her arms out wide, opened her mouth, and crooned:


“Over hill and over dale, I have traveled far.

          Seeking my mate, Aucassin the Great.

          Whom I love more than anything,

          And for whom I hold such high esteem.

          Aucassin and me, we pledged with a ring.

          To seek each other to the ends of time,

          Thus, I am here singing this rhyme.

          So ever more, I will plod wearily,

          And repeat my story as necessary,

          Until I meet him.”


Upon the end of her song, the woman announced, “I am Nicollette, daughter of Carthage. Lo! I have been through many crises and tribulations during my journey, yet still I cannot rest. I must find my beloved Aucassin. Have any of you, my good women, seen or heard of him hereabouts?”

“Nay,” the women chorused.

“Forgive me, but I must take leave of you good women. Good day!”

Thus the fair Nicolete passed on, still singing songs about her love of, and search for, Aucassin. She came upon Eleanor, an elderly matron who was still a bit of a rebel. Thereby Nicolete repeated her tale of woe. Eleanor shook her head and bid the woman good fortune upon her travels, then she continued on to the Abbey.

“I must set these young women straight,” she muttered to herself as she drank in the view of the Abbey. Once Eleanor had reached the main entrance to the Abbey, Dhuoda met her upon the steps and led her inside.

“Here you will find peace and comfort, my dear Eleanor.”

“I hope so,” Eleanor replied as she stared at the women who surrounded her. She knew their stories, each and every one, for many times did Dhuoda write to her and share the news of the Abbey and the surrounding area. Releasing her hair from its hooded shelter, she said, “I desire rest for now, but later, I would very much like to meet with the girls.”

“Very well.”

Dhuoda led her to a room, where Eleanor and her maid rested for a bit. Later, they joined the others for supper, and afterwards, retired to the drawing room for tea.

Once all had gathered, Eleanor stood.

“Dhuoda has shared your stories of woe and chagrin with me, my dear ladies. Know where your discomfort lies. It is men who have done these things to you, and you allow it to happen.”

“It is unwise to rebel against male authority; it is a sin against God to do so.” Quite distraught by Eleanor’s treachery, Dhuoda had stepped in to admonish Eleanor.

Dhuoda began to instruct Eleanor on the way in which women should behave, especially when it came to being submissive to men. Heloise chimed in, showing her support of Dhuoda’s statements.

“I would rather die than ever submit to a man again,” Juette declared.

A chorus of disagreement ensued. The entire room was in turmoil, one woman pitted against the next, until finally, shouting over the uproar, Eleanor broke in and stopped them all in their tracks.

“Have you ever gained a single thing from men?”

The room became hushed as the girls pondered this question. Dhuoda opened her mouth to object, but was silenced by Eleanor, who held out her palm.


“Our children,” Dhuoda said.

“Your children, whom you have never seen in your entire life?”

Dhuoda bowed her head and nodded, “Their life was not for me to lead. They were male children. If they had been female…”

“If they had been female, their futures would have been even more dreadful. Iseult, Fenice, the two of you know something of this. Both of you are to be married to men whom you don’t know and even despise. Is that not true?”

They nodded their heads in unison.

“Each of us loves another. Yet there is little hope,” Iseult said, her eyes filled with tears.

“No hope? Is that so?” Eleanor asked as she stared hard at Fenice. “What say you, Fenice?”

Fenice blushed, “There are ways.” Her face brightened as she added, “Ways that women can resort to, without having to betray herself or her husband, as well!” Her enthusiasm was catching; many of the women in the room leaned in, intrigued.

Drusiana shook her head, got up and walked over to Eleanor. “What are you doing, Eleanor? There are many ways in which a woman can live a satisfactory life while pleasing both her husband and her Lord above.”

“Great words from the ‘blessed virgin’ herself. But tell me, can a virgin live a full life?”

“Yes, if she is true to Christ.”

“There are some of us who would prefer a life of bliss within the marriage,” Eleanor said, her gaze resting upon Heloise. Heloise raised her eyes to Eleanor and as she did so, her face flushed a brilliant pink. “Is that not so, Heloise?”

“Yes, but Abelard does not wish my presence to bring him shame, thus, I am resigned,” Heloise said with a sigh.

“But you never really forget what you have once experienced,” Eleanor prompted.

“No, you do not.”

“That’s the truth of it,” Juette piped in, “I would rather die than ever be subjected to that misery again.” Memories of the sexual horrors she had borne while married ran through her mind even as she spoke, causing her to cringe.

“You enjoyed it not, for you were forced to marry someone you did not love. Perhaps if you married someone of your own choice, you would feel differently.”


“It is the truth,” Eleanor declared. She turned to Catherine, who had remained silent through all of it.

“Catherine, what say you? Your opinion on this matter is most important.”

Catherine shook her head. “If I had a choice? Why, I would be with the one I love. Yet he loves another. I do not see how my situation applies, Eleanor.”

“Ah, but it does, my dear child. Did he not promise to love you? Did he not betray that promise? A typical man,” Eleanor said, as memories of Henry’s treacheries came back to her.

Tears sprung unbidden to Catherine’s eyes. “Need you remind me?”

“Yes, I need to remind all of you. If you do not fight, you will never have any choices at all when it comes to your lives. Don’t bow down to authority. Stand up to them! Only then will you acquire what you need. Catherine, instead of relenting, and thus, agreeing to take what he will give you, stand your ground! Demand that he love you, or be willing to lose you. Tell him to let her go. If he does not, he is not worthy of you. There are other men who will treat you the way you need to be treated, and love you the way you desire.”

Catherine said nothing, but the spark in her eyes had come back; she seemed to sit taller, and her eyes appeared more brilliant than they had been before. She looked as if she were plotting something within her mind, yet she would not share whatever it was with the others. Instead, she rose and excused herself.

“Heloise?” Eleanor asked.


“Write your dear Abelard. Tell him how you feel about this situation he has subjected you to.”

“Yes, Eleanor,” Heloise said. She too got up and left.

“Iseult? What are you going to do?”

“Marry King Mark. Alas, there is no other way.”

Eleanor shook her head. “Some chose the way of folly, to their own detriment,” she said, then turned back to Fenice, “And you, Fenice? Are you going to go through with your marriage to Alis?”

“Yes, but I’ve got a plan. I shall not betray Cliges, nor Alis.” With determination written upon her face, Fenice rose to her feet and departed.


“I shall remain here. I do not desire another husband. Instead, I shall devote my life to Christ.”

Drusiana nodded her approval, took the arm of Juette and together, they exited the room, heads bent together as if sharing secrets unknown to the others.

Dhuoda stayed in the room with Eleanor, quiet and each alone with their thoughts for a time. They stared at the fire that was roaring within the hearth, its flames almost licking the stone above. At last, Dhuoda turned to Eleanor and spoke.

“You have offered advice to everyone else. What of me?”

“You have accepted your position in life, Dhuoda. Your sons are grown. Your husband is absent. What would you like to do?”

“I would ensure that my sons know who I am, even if I should never set eyes upon them.”

“Write, Dhuoda. Make sure that you are not forgotten, even after you have passed.”

“And you, Eleanor? What shall you do?”

“I am an old woman. I’ve lived my life the only way I could. I’ve rebelled. Now is the time for peace. I shall stay here with Juette.”

“And so it shall be,” nodded Dhuoda, who got up and helped Eleanor to her feet. Together, they traversed the length of the hall, carried their feet up the winding, stony stairs and ascended to their separate rooms, where they both retired.

Cover for Tears of Heaven

I think I’ve found the cover for Tears of Heaven. My son’s girlfriend is a brilliantly gifted artist. She drew me a picture with pastels last summer, and I never really gave it a second thought. Tonight while considering what to use for my cover, I happened to glance at it. It is perfect. It is just stunning enough to grab someone’s attention and abstract enough to make someone want to look closer to see what it is. I feel really good about this.

Here’s the cover, like this or comment to let me know if you think I should use it:


Tears of Heaven, cover art by Laura Whitney

Blurb for novel:

Lena Ka’awa, a dark-haired Hawaiian beauty, takes on the powers of Pele, which causes catastrophe for Kaitlyn McDowell, and Ikaika Leahi. Tristan, Kaitlyn’s husband dies in a fiery car accident. Ikaika’s wife, Beth, and their child, Aolani, are also killed. The two, Kaitlyn and Ikaika meet up at the graveside and look to each other for friendship and comfort. Aolani is now a ghost with supernatural powers; she ‘pushes’ Kaitlyn to investigate the ‘accident’ further, causing them to suspect that Lena killed them… Tears of Heaven is set on the Big Island of Hawaii. It has a lot of Hawaiian culture and history in it, but it is classified as contemporary fiction.

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