Author Archives: Rose Fay

Blue Morphos

While in South Dakota, I went to a Butterfly House and Aquarium. I have many, many pictures, but blue morpho butterflies have been my favorite since I was little. They’re so vibrant. I had never seen so many blue morphos in one place before! Unfortunately, these four pictures were the only clear ones I could get, as they insisted on constantly flitting about the place. And I’m pretty sure the last three pictures are of the same butterfly. Which is fine by me. I was happy to have at least one poser.


Idea Sketch

I’ve had this idea for awhile, and I finally got a sketch out. Don’t know when I’ll finish it, but I want it to be the new banner image for my blog. Hopefully, I’ll get it done soon!

I Can Schedule!

Happy Freebie Friday, readers! I’ve actually been out of town. Where? I ain’t telling. Shh. It’s a secret. Nah, I’m in South Dakota. However, I figured out, on Wednesday, I can schedule posts onto my blog for a designated date and time. I am not saying this is a new feature or anything. I’m sure it’s been available for awhile, and I’m just now noticing it for the first time. Not going to lie, I’m a little technologically impaired. Nevertheless, it’s a neat feature, and I thought I would try it out to see if it works. If not, no biggie. If it does, then I’ll know for next time! Well….that was all, really. This turned out shorter than I thought it would. And rather uninteresting. Hmm. So, I guess I’m going to awkwardly end this post here…bye!



Hundreds of years ago
Pilgrims came here from their foe
Their main desire–freedom

Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves
From their chains cold as caves
He gave them all they wanted–freedom

Troops have fought in wars
To save the country they adore
Now we have–freedom

Our ancestors many cultures they bring
They all say, “Let freedom ring!”


*Author’s Note: For this Poetry Thursday, I chose a poem I wrote back in late grade school, early middle school. I entered this into the local library poetry contest held at the time. Did I win? No. Did I even place? Nuh-uh. The poem that won for my age group was terribly (even by my young standards) written and only talked about sugar, glitter, and unicorns. Do I still hold a grudge? Maybe….

Winter Leaves



Today, I was honestly going to talk about abandonment. My fear of it, how I respond to it, how I deal with it in my everyday life, etc. However, that’s not going to be today’s memoir subject. This morning, I woke up and said no. I will say I’m stuck in an emotional rut right now, but I’m tired of the negativity. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. Tired of taking everything personally. Because, guess what? It’s not all about me. It’s not all about one person. And I’m glad. I don’t want that pressure. I’m not sure of anyone who would.

I feel like if you survey 100 people, most will give you different ways for how they define “hope.” I’m not going to pull the dictionary out for this one. (Yes, I use physical dictionaries instead of Google. Thesauruses, too. I’d rather personally smack someone upside the head with knowledge if it came down to it. Burglars, beware!) Instead, I want to talk about how I define hope. Also, I’m just lazy. I’m not even going to lie.

When I hear the word, I firstly think of one of my best friends who goes by the same name. I’ve always been a person of few enemies and even fewer friends. However, my pretty much sister-from-another-mister and I have been friends for several years. Sometimes, I honestly wonder how we’ve made it this far. It’s no secret I’m an emotional person. I’ve put her through things she nowhere near deserved, so we’ve had our ups and downs like any relationship. But, we’ve made it work, and that’s how I know she’s a real friend.

What do I think of secondly? Well, when I try to think of how I would define hope, my brain flat lines for a few moments. Then it’s all over the place. So I never get a clear answer. People like to say things like, “Oh, I hope the weather stays nice,” or “Man, I really hope my team wins this year.” The only sport I repeatedly watch is NASCAR, so I’ve been known to say, “I hope my favorite driver wins at the end of a good race.” I’ll delve into NASCAR some other time.

All that is fine and dandy. I’m not saying it isn’t. I feel like there’s something more to those four letters than just wishful thinking. I’m a Christian; I was raised Southern Baptist. (Shocking since I tend to write dark and supernatural stuff, eh?) So hope can be capitalized when using it as one of God’s many, many epithets. Even still, I think the meaning of hope can dive deeper because I don’t believe it only pertains to religion. Although one could argue hope can be aligned with faith. Or dreams, for that matter.

My hopes and dreams? Of course, I hope to become a published author. I’ve been diligently working on my first novel. I hope people will read it, and it will touch them in some way. I hope they’ll connect to my characters. I hope readers will walk away with a new perspective on life. I have the typical aspirations of every author. Becoming published is my goal in life.

Yet, there’s still an itch that needs to be scratched. And it’s rather personal. I’m constantly hoping I will change. I mean, down on my knees, begging and hoping I will change. Not in a physical sense. Nor the idea I need to change to fit the world’s mold sense. An emotional sense. Most of the time, the only way I make through each day is hoping I’ll eventually be better. I don’t handle stress well. I tend to lash out at those I care about most. I have no self-confidence. I question my own judgement. I’m always lost in the vast oceans of my inner demons and turmoils. Wrestling with myself day in and day out. As a result, I’m perpetually exhausted. Both mentally and physically.

Hope keeps me alive. I know I’ll be better one day. I have to be better some day. I could go on a whole “religious rant,” but I’m not going to. Here’s why. I’m learning that I am not in control. No matter what religion you are, whether you’re religious or not, one thing stays the same. Life was not created to be controlled. Our best attempts fail. Such is the way of humanity and its hubris.

Long story short, my hope is my reason for life. My passions, my dreams are all funneled through this tiny little of strand of hope I desperately hold on to. That is how I would define the word. Outside of my friend, of course. The will of life is what hope means to me. The motivation to move on, push forward. And, yes, there are actual steps I can take to better myself. I’ve been taking them, slowly but surely. To me, though, it all means nothing if I don’t have hope.


Taming the Beast

Breathing in
Breathing out
Knuckles turning white
Heartbeat tracking seconds
And then…flying
Hair stands on end
Wind charging past as
Vision blurs with tears
Ears popping then defeaning
Thinning air sucking out breath
Electricity coursing through veins
Perception of control slipping away
There is no control
Only suggested guidance
Who can truly control such power
More acceleration excites
Raises goosebumps on the skin
Shouts reinforce shared joy
The essence of true freedom
A wild sense of a bond
Partnerships intending to survive
Companions like these come rarely
Preserve them at all costs
You can experience the liberating rush
All without taming the beast

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