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.

Disappearing Act, Redux

“…This whole rubber band theory that is played out in the beginning of relationships? Well, it sucks, guys. When a guy disappears and barely calls, it takes all those wonderful moments you’ve shared and puts them in the BIG question box. Understand- we know you want to keep part of your independence and are probably feeling a bit scared, possibly don’t know if you want to jump into something that can hurt you, most likely you aren’t ‘in touch’ with your feelings or don’t like sharing them because guys generally aren’t touchy-feely like that.
But you hurt others when you pull these disappearing acts- particularly the woman you’ve been seeing. Sometimes her neighbors and friends, if you’ve done your job…
Also, if you keep disappearing and reappearing, you may just break that darned rubber band.

This is my current status message on Facebook. This summer has been one of the most confusing since I have begun dating. It has also been one of the most love-filled. I suppose that is why I haven’t thrown in the towel thus far. But come on. I have spent way more time alone, wondering what the hell is going on, than with him. Sure, those times are awesome, fill me with such wonder for the way of the world and I wouldn’t go back and change them. Like I have said previously, I would rather love and lose than never love at all. But these disappearing acts? They’re getting old.

This time, he has not done so without a reason, and for that, I am happy. But he could call. If he cared, you would think he would. But he doesn’t always do so. It is as if he truly holds a repugnance for the telephone and all its ways. I finally caved and called him after not hearing from him (with the exception of two text messages, one oddly worded) and he did answer. But he ought to call me. I’m not super old-fashioned. But that should be a given. It’s already known to me that men like to be the initiators. So when he doesn’t call, I feel pathetic initiating. I’m not going to do it again.

I understand why he can’t come to see me. But like I said, he could call if he cared. If he’s feeling that worried, scared or whatever and wants to, as he calls it, ‘run away,’ then do it, but at least have the class to tell me so I am not wondering what the heck happened. Particularly when the last time we were together, everything seemed fine, in fact, you were more affectionate than usual, caressing my face, speaking of love, saying how much you ‘like’ me- I could see love in your eyes. Tell me you just turn it off. If so, tell me how you do it because I’d really like to do that right about now.

For my poetry enthusiasts, sorry I have not been posting poems, I’ve been in a place of some inner turmoil, but not quite ready to explore it yet. I did write this today, however:

Leapt across time

Braved a few storms

Protested, rejected, loved, hurt

Loved, oh yes, in many forms

You, oh yes you, mine?

We said hello, goodbye

Miss you, majestically grand, lofty dreams

Now I sit alone & Sigh

Slow song feelin sad staring high

Why you never call?

Disappear, reappear, love me more

Tell me what

What you got in store

I see you and I forget

the hurt

The Hurt from before

Ladies: What’s in your bra?

I have seen this time and time again. A friend of mine will stash her cellphone, money, or other personal item in her bra and then nonchalantly go about her regular activities as if she didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. I would stand there and kind of stare for a few seconds, wondering how it could stay in place, what if she lost her money, imagining all sorts of scenarios that don’t go with boobs and bras and things stuffed inside them.

I mean, sure, I’ve done it. What woman hasn’t? But sticking a few dollar bills in there to go to a convenience store is a far cry from sticking an entire cellphone, house keys, and wad of bills in there! I look down at my bra as I type this. Nope, my Android wouldn’t even fit! I can picture my Kyocera Hydro falling out of the bottom of my bra, crashing to the pavement and shattering. I read just now that a gal had a $50 bill in her bra and she forgot it was there. What?!? My sensitive skin would be screaming at me, “Attention, get Ulysses S. Grant out of here, now, before we break out in a rash!” I would feel every centimeter of that paper as it scraped against my delicate cells.

I suppose I don’t need to do this, because I always carry a purse with me. I would be lost without my purse. My purse is my best friend. I go nowhere without it. When my purse breathes its last breath, I mourn. I recently crocheted a beautiful purse. It’s very colorful and bright. And big. Much bigger than the biggest bra. 😉

Tell me what you hide in your bra. What are people’s reactions? What’s the biggest item you’ve put in there? Why do you do it?

Please leave your comments below. They have to go through moderation because of all the bots that constantly try to post here, but I do check and approve comments daily. Thanks for reading. 🙂

The Word “Obese” is the New F-word

I think the word “obese” is a cruel word and is a derogatory term. Do people know how awful it is to see that term on their medical charts when they’ve struggled with weight issues their entire life? A few years ago, I was up to 189 lbs and my doctors threw around the word obese like it was nothing. I had cholesterol issues as well. I received a phone call after some tests were done three years ago- it was my doctor’s nurse telling me that I had to stop eating red meat, that I needed to basically switch to almost all vegetables and fruit, walnuts, etc.
I had some problems with overeating that I was working on at that time, but it was not a lifelong problem, it was an issue that had a lot to do with a recent breakup. I’ve fluctuated with my weight a lot in my life. They stressed how important it was for me to lose weight, so I started drinking vegetable smoothies every day and the only other thing I ever ate was bagel thins with a little lettuce, tomatoes and lunchmeat on it once a day. I was basically going hungry for almost a year. I lost 50 lbs in that time and my doctor was telling me at the 155 lb mark, ‘oh, btw, now you’re not obese anymore,’ (smile). I got to 140 lbs and my sister had died, I got attacked… and I had stopped eating almost altogether because of grief. Then I was forcing myself to eat. I got sick and for almost a year, my menses was thrown off, I would hemorrhage for weeks… spot for weeks, hemorrhage. I thought I was dying. This went on for nearly a year. I started to gain the weight back because I was so sick. This past February my gyn told me the reason my system was thrown off is because of the weight loss. Now I am doing much better and things are back to normal but my weight is pretty high again. My point is, I already had a self image problem way before my doctors started giving me crap about being overweight. When I saw the word “obese” on my chart, and because they wanted me on a special diet because they were upset about my cholesterol, I freaked out and wanted the weight off. But it made me really ill. So either way, I couldn’t win. Instead of spending 1 minute on the phone leaving a voice-mail for a patient telling her what she can and can’t eat, doctors ought to really sit down with a patient and help them when these sorts of things need to be dealt with. Then maybe they’d understand how terrible I felt.
The reason I’m thinking of this now is because I recently read an article of how a little girl was sent home with a BMI measurement done by her school in which they told her parents she was overweight, and she wasn’t. Even if she had been overweight or extremely overweight, why give a 9 year old a complex? Our country already has enough issues with body dysmorphic disorder which in turn causes eating disorders. The least the school could have done is have the parents come into the school for a conference instead of sending the child home with a letter, expecting the child not to open it. When I was about 9 years old, I was stockier than other children my age and I noticed it. I think a doctor pointed this out, from what I recall. At that point, the kids at school didn’t. But I remember feeling very miserable about it, about not ‘looking’ like everyone else. I didn’t feel pretty or cute like the other kids. Later, I hit puberty and grew out of that stage, but that feeling clung to me my entire life.
In life, people can be cruel. The words people use can be harsh. The least doctors and schools and others in authority can do is to attempt to stop perpetrating that cruelty. A lot of people who are overweight don’t overeat. That was the ironic thing for me last fall. My doctor (who is no longer my doctor, thank God) kept accusing me of overeating, as if that was the only way to gain weight. I kept telling him that I do not overeat. I am poor and so I eat a lot of rice, beans, etc. That stays on and is harder to lose. I didn’t even drink much soda then. Yet every time I saw him, he’d ask. And that word, obese, would be written on my chart. Like the “F” word.

Love, Sex and Cuddling

Being that I am over 40, I’ve had some experience in this venue. I’ve been in a few long term relationships, I’ve been married once and I also went through a a couple periods I can only call ‘self-discovery’ which really involved a lot of drunken nights and ‘dates.’ Over the years, I was able to learn what I wanted, what worked, what sucked and what I was really after. As I grew older, that also changed. Some things became confusing to me over time, however, particularly when I gave my life back to Jesus.

In my teens I really was all about finding love, really had no clue about ‘men’ who were actually boys and if I had a clue, I would have known most of them were out to use me. By the time I was in my twenties, I had two young men of my own to take care of, an abusive ex I had just said “see ya” to and I was madly in love with someone I had known since I was fifteen. This man had been my friend and had been obsessed with me since he met me, and for once I looked his way and saw something there. He had a lot of experience and I had very little when it came to being with someone. But ultimately, our five year relationship was fraught with breakups and reconciliations that were intermixed with other people so it wasn’t meant to be.  It was a learning experience.

The next man I was with seriously was my now ex-husband. I won’t go into much other than to say I became a bit repressed around that time, because although he expressed desires for things that any other guy seemed to want, he also didn’t want me to dress certain ways and would react funny when I responded to those desires with proposed action. After it was over, I pretty much went wild for a while. Before I evolved into an alcoholic I used to enjoy going out on weekends and I was an attractive woman, so I met guys who really liked me and also those who seemed to. Some guys were still just out to use me though; men who I found later had girlfriends or wives waiting at home or who just didn’t intend to emotionally commit to anything.

Emotionally I was hung up on the husband, and I suppose you could say I was attempting to fill a void in a way. I wish I’d spent less time drinking and more time getting to know someone for who they were, really. In retrospect, I passed up a couple guys who turned out to be really great friends later on in life, and if I hadn’t held that lantern for my ex, who knows? But c’est la vie.

I had a ‘following’ back then. I would go to a pub and dance all night. It was mostly just harmless fun. When I’d get there, I’d get hugged all around and signed up for karaoke. I’d sing Olivia Newton John’s I Honestly Love You, and I’d have guys singing it back to me. Or I’d sing No Doubt’s Don’t Speak, and cry during the last part of it because I was hurting so bad over my divorce. Most of the time I’d go home alone. But I had a few friends. I generally kept my social life to the weekends. I didn’t want anything affecting my daughter.

After a few years, though, I had to wrestle with the alcoholic demon and it changed my entire life. If you’ve ever had a drinking problem, having sober sex is terrifying. I was 36 years old when I got sober and was with a guy who was 21 years old. That relationship was fun at first but doomed. I should not have taken it as far as I did, because I was the one who wound up getting hurt. After it was over, I decided to take a complete hiatus from all men. And I did, for a couple years.

But I had gone home to Hawaii at the time and saw someone from my past, “M,” a man I had a bit of a past with, and started to have romantic thoughts about. I thought how nice it would be to ‘date’ someone my own age for once… I spent some time with him while in Hawaii, just talking. And flew back to the mainland with my heart sorta set on him.

I moved back to Hawaii in 2010 and I didn’t see this guy for a long time. I had this thing about my weight and also I was conflicted about my faith and relationships. I stayed celibate and alone for two years until I just got so lonely. Instead of calling the old friend up, though, I started dating another younger guy, 8 years younger. For about 4 months I was totally ‘in love’ with him. More like ‘lust’ I think, really. Then I started realizing how little I knew about him, and he was staying with me. He did something incredibly juvenile and betrayed my trust out of the blue about 6 months into our relationship, and instead of saying it was over, I wallowed in self-pity and turned to the guy from my past for comfort.

Things went really south from there. The guy, “M,” from my past came down one day and he was not who he represented himself to be. He tried to do something so criminal and horrible to me. I lost all faith in men for a long time after that. My relationship, already failing, fell apart. I had already had issues with PTSD and this just compounded it. Last October I finally kicked my last ex to the curb. It was the best decision; I really feel as if I am becoming who I was before he stepped into the picture in 2012. I am happy with who I am again for the most part. At the end of our relationship I was just miserable.

What made me think about all this is a book I’m reading called Sleeping Around by Catherine Townsend. I began my twenties having a very liberal attitude towards sex, relationships, gender roles, etc. I think the hardest part about being a Christian, for me, is I am stuck in a rut as far as relationships go. I pick the wrong men. The good guys? I don’t find them attractive. Hoping I will one day… with enough therapy. And I like sex. And that feels wrong. Add what “M” did to me and I’ve had terrible issues in that regard. My healthy attitude towards sex also changed because of going to church. I had this burning question in my head all the time: Is it wrong to masturbate?? It wasn’t being Christian, really, it was the fact that I felt ‘judged’ by other people when no one else has the right to judge someone else. That whole he who is without sin verse, you know? Cast the first stone if you are Jesus. Not a human.

I also have questions, though. I am single now and don’t have a plan on changing that. Do I have to go without intimacy or get married to someone even though it may fail? My divorce almost sunk me into oblivion. How do I balance being healthy sexually with being Christian? Because right now, I’m not healthy sexually, not after what happened to me. It’s why I don’t have anything to do with any men. Someday I may want to change that.

I just responded to a post on Facebook where a friend commented that she wanted someone to cuddle with. I said I’d like to cuddle then make him go away so I can sleep. That’s really where I am at right now.  Funny? Maybe. But also pretty serious.

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.

 

Why

Every day I wish that I could cry
Staring at a lapis lazuli sky
Sometimes I wish he could see
What exactly he did to me
Turned me inside out
But the tears are all gone, now there’s a drought
If I hit the switch
Who will thread the needle and stitch?
Angry orange sphere blazing down into the atmosphere
Why must you disappear? Why must you disappear?

Image

Image

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

If You Hadn’t Left Me

You used to say, Remind Me

If you hadn’t left me,

You wouldn’t live in such Misery.

Yes, perhaps you are right,

between the red, black & blue,

there would have been moments bright.

He used to say,

When he leaves you,

I’ll do you a favor,

take you back.

Thank you for your ‘generosity.’

Maybe I should be trusted.

Perhaps I can make my own decisions.

Put your guns…

Away.

I don’t want to play…

Anymore.

Introducing Jeff Dawson, author of Love’s True Second Chance

I would like to introduce my readers to Jeff Dawson, author of Love’s True Second Chance. He is an author I met via the Meet Our Authors forum on Amazon’s discussion boards.

I spent the last twenty-five years in the road construction industry. I have been married and divorced once with three grown children. I started writing years ago but never took it serious until I had back surgery in 2010. During the recovery process I looked at and analyzed my life. An article in the Dallas Morning News caught my eye about public speaking. “Hey, I can do this. But what would I write?” I reflected over my life and came up with the first work “Why did Everything Happen?” As turbulent as my life has been (bankruptcy, divorce, business failures and the death of my partner, my father and Debbie), there must be others who might benefit and be able to relate to my travels but were afraid to talk about much less write them down.

Loves True Second Chance is a continuation of the first work. I wrote about the woman I had loved for over thirty years. I wanted to let people know that Love is worth a second chance even if there is a possibility of a tragic end. We packed a lifetime of love in seven short months.

I am currently working on two novels One is a paranormal story occurring during WWII. The Germans might have conquered Poland but they have awoken an enemy they could never imagine except in their darkest nightmares; Occupation. The second novel is based on the largest battle in Eastern Europe during WWII which allowed the Normandy landings to be a stunning success.

I currently live in the DFW close to two of my grown children and three wonderful grand-daughters.


Excerpt from Love’s True Second Chance:

CHAPTER 1 THE END

July 20th, 2009 7:00am I held her hand and kissed her face with the arrival of a sunny beautiful morning, hoping for a miracle. The shift change for nurses and doctors was in full swing. Staff checking in, charts being reviewed, doctors and nurses exchanging information; vital signs being verified. Debbie’s breathing is very labored as it had been for the last twenty four hours. I never knew if each breath would be her last. The cancer was running its course through her beautiful body at a terrible pace. An aide came in to change the sheets and clean her up. She asked if I would like her to wash Debbie’s hair. I pondered the thought for a minute looking at the love of my live and replied in a hushed, choked tone, “She would like that. How long will it take you to change her bed and wash her hair?” She said about fifteen minutes. I stepped out of the room and called her friend Cathey to get an estimated time of arrival. She assured me she would be at the hospital within thirty minutes.

Debbie was in good hands with the aide.  I decided to get a little air, purchase a coke and have a cigarette. I went to the store with one thought running through my mind, Is there anything else I can do for her?  Had I done everything I could for the “love of my life”?  Would God sit by her side and let her live out her life on earth or whisper in her ear, take her hand, and guide her to heaven?  I had no control over what was happening to her.