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:

A link to my novella, Leaves of the Fall:

A link to my short story collection, A Violet Fancy:

Two short stories, Forgotten Forest of the Innocent & Learning to Drive: &

My autobiography, Leaves of the Fall:

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:

Falling into the Lord’s Hands is available in paperback here:

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! 🙂 ❤ 😀



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.

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, 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.


“Alone? How do you do it?”

“I don’t know. I just do.”




So I’m finally a published author

I took the plunge and published a book of poetry, as well as a short story, this past week on Amazon and Smashwords. I am officially a published author. I was totally excited about this all week, but the fervor as dimmed somewhat.
I am a bit concerned with the fact that, as an independently published author, I don’t have a marketing department to back me up. So whatever I publish, I have to promote, and I’ve never done this before. I know of the typical things, such as writing a blog (check), letting my friends know (check), starting a thread about my books in Amazon’s discussion forums (check), and adding links to my books on all of my online profiles (check). But I am not sure what else there is I need to do. Also, I’m a bit worried that I’ll lose track of something or forget to update things, as there are so many places I have to go on a regular basis now in order to promote my book.
Being mentally ill is not helping me. Having bipolar disorder has never been more of a curse than it is now. True, my meds are helping me immensely; I would not have been able to pull it together enough to compile a book of poetry without them. But my head is feeling totally jumbled and it’s hard to focus on what I need to do. It’s not unmanageable though.
Now I have to figure out how to use this blog to drive people to my books. I guess I’ll start with the links to my book, as well as their descriptions.

Forgotten Forest of the Innocent:

On Amazon

On Smashwords

…I wrote this short story while in college as an English Undergrad, as a way to escape from the drudgery of research papers and text books. I had an idea: what if the world of fantasy and reality were to intersect? What if, say, a fairy found a telephone ringing in the forest? What would technology mean to the people who populated the fantasy world? Voila: Forgotten Forest of the Innocent was born.

FYI: 1763 words approximately

Lost & Found, a book of poetry:

On Amazon

On Smashwords

Picture this: a turbulent marriage, four years of college and post-graduate work, single motherhood, a devastating divorce, disabling illness and a debilitating addiction. Anyone else might have just given up. But Violet Yates is a fighter. Embark upon a journey with her as you read thirteen years worth of poetry that comes straight from the heart.

Now I have to figure out how to drive people to this blog! lol


Violet Yates