The air around me hummed with the caffeine-fueled energy of humans starting their daily routine. My nostrils were flooded with the scent of freshly ground coffee, pastries, bacon and. . . her. I opened my eyes just as she paused at my table. 

“Good morning, Cedric! What are we drawing today?” she questioned. Her face was flushed with the pinkness of exertion. The cafe was very busy this morning. 

I glanced down at the blank page of my notebook and took in a deep breath, savoring her scent of lilies and coffee. “I’m thinking something to do with the rain,” I replied.

Irena smiled back at me and I basked in it. “I love the rain,” she said with a sigh. “Other people find it gloomy but I just find it . . . peaceful,” she almost whispered the last part.

My dark eyes met her blue for a second and then she said “so, the usual today?” I nodded the affirmative and off she went. I watched as she glided through the maze of tables, taking orders and spreading smiles as she went. I always loved to watch her move. I’ve never seen anything more graceful.

When I met Irena, she had been a dancer. I flipped through the pages of my sketchbook and stopped. There she was. The only thing missing from my drawing of the moment I first saw her was her graceful movement. Everything else I had spent over one hundred years perfecting. Her blonde hair wasn’t just blonde, it was a shade between the rays of sunlight shining through the clouds and the golden sweetness of honey. Her lips were ideally shaped to fit mine and their softness whisked my roughness away. I can still remember how red they turn from our playful kisses when she’d tease me to bite her. I’d only nip her lip and the blood would fill the thin skin there, making a cherry look pale. Her skin is milky white and just as smooth. Oh and her eyes. Any man could get lost in their oceanic depth. The shade of blue changes with her mood. Bright blue for happiness, light-almost-white blue for anger, and a deep dark blue for sadness. And those are just her colors. I could talk about the shape of her for hours. Hell, I think about it all day long. 

My sketchbook is filled with drawings of only her. Luckily, she doesn’t think I’m a creep because I’m careful to disguise them so she only sees what I want her to see on each page. A little magic can do that for you. 

Irena returned with my coffee, apologizing that she was too busy to talk much right now and hurried onto her other tables. She knew I’d be here awhile and I knew she’d talk to me when she had time. I sipped the mud brown liquid in my mug and felt my soul do a little dance as the first drops warmed my body. The feeling of it brought me back to the memories of Irena’s skin warming mine. It was always on the days where the sun was hidden behind clouds and the rain dripped from the sky. I would impatiently wait for the rainy days I could spend with her but I couldn’t walk in the sun until a hundred years ago, with the help of a witch. If I couldn’t spend the day with her, we’d spend the night together. However, the days were more fun. I fingered the feather I wore on a chain, preserved by it’s magical quality. The memories flowed through me as I finally put my pencil to the page. 

The last day we spent together it rained steadily all day. Irena persistently attempted to splash me by jumping in the puddles as we held hands. She giggled after each effort. She’d jump and I’d keep her from coming down again by holding her in the air. Then the routine would repeat itself. She’d try to distract me by pointing out something in our environment but I’m not a fan of getting wet so I was much too attentive to the moment her feet left the ground. Who am I kidding? There was never a time I wasn’t paying some attention to her. 

We were walking the streets of Seattle, Washington on that rainy day on May 7, 1918. A lot of people were out and about in spite of the rain due to the warm air. A band was performing under the awning of the local bakery. Irena could never resist the urge to dance. She grasped my hand tighter and pulled herself into me. In one hand we held our umbrellas, in the other we held each other. We gracefully moved together to the music. A crowd gathered to watch us but it was clear the spotlight was on Irena. Her liveliness and childishness always attracted people to her. When the song concluded, we embraced for a kiss. When the kiss started to heat up, we broke apart and headed for home. At home, we savored each other’s touch and kissed with a passion that developed into a different kind of dance. 

Later that night, while I was painting a portrait of her, she said to me “Cedric, I want to share my life with you.”

I flinched slightly at her words. Irena and I had discussed the traditions of my kind in regards to mating and marriage weeks ago. I am not ordinary. She knew this from the beginning because she is not so ordinary herself. I am a vampire. She is an angel. I looked up from my painting to get the exact feathery detail of her wings. I preferred to paint her as she was, not who she pretended to be in front of humans. Her white wings filled the room and shimmered in the dim light. I could tell she was feeling nervous from my silence when she started absently stroking her wing. 

“Darling, I don’t know what will happen if we do the blood ceremony,” I finally replied. I was pleading with my eyes for her to drop it but she was too fiery for that.

“I don’t care what anybody else thinks. I don’t care that we’ve been shunned by our kind because of our love. I just want you,” she stated defiantly. Her eyes became such a light blue they were almost white as she dared me to deny her. 

I sighed. I knew I wasn’t going to win this argument. It’s not like I didn’t want the same thing she did. I was just afraid as to what was going to happen. The blood ceremony was a unique kind of magic. It was something usually completed between two vampires or from vampire to human, not vampire to angel. The exchange of blood forms a bond so that one can call the other and hear the other’s thoughts and feelings. 

In the end, I decided to do it. We joined in the flesh and I fed from her right above her heart. She cut me above mine and drank from the blood that flowed there. After she fed from me, I smeared my blood on her heart and she smeared hers on mine. Then we put our hands to each other’s hearts and there she was in my mind. I could feel her sureness in her love for me. I felt her warmth and happiness surround my soul and caress it. We were one. Irena and I drifted to sleep after that.

Cedric! I heard Irena scream my name and woke with a jolt. The bed was cold and empty next to me. I could feel where she was though, through our blood connection. I threw on pants and ran out the door. I was sprinting as fast as I could at 3 am, the witching hour. I didn’t care that I was getting soaked from the continued rainfall. All I cared about was the fear I felt streaming from her. I finally found her alone in a field. She was suspended in the air with her wings spread out. I watched in horror as lightning struck her and she was gone. Her wings drifted to the ground and turned to ash. I ran to the remains of her wings and collected one lone white feather. All other trace of her was gone. 

It took me years to find a witch knowledgeable enough to explain to me what happened. Apparently our connection had angered God and he chose to punish Irena by making her a fallen angel. The witch explained to me that fallen angels are mostly still angels but without wings and without their memories. She told me that her soul would inhabit a body until death and then she’d be reborn again. Also, I could still feel her connection and use it to find her in each body she inhabited. That’s how I found her again. I haven’t let her leave me for long since. Each new life, she has no memory of me. I keep my distance for fear that something worse will happen to her if I get too close again. The only thing the witch didn’t know was if Irena could ever get her wings or memories back. 

Today marks exactly one hundred years since she fell from grace. Over the years, I’ve slowly lost hope that we’ll ever be together like before. The feather I wear on a necklace is the one I pulled from her ashes all those years ago. The witch said it might be a sign of hope. That’s the only thing that’s kept me trying. I started going to church. I can’t actually enter a church but I watch mass online. I also began volunteering my time to help the sick and needy. I’ve read the bible countless times. I don’t know what else to do. The only thing that has kept me sane is art. However, all I can draw is her. I’ve had multiple exhibits, all under different names to hide my identity and they’ve made me quite a bit of money. I didn’t do it for myself, I did it for her. She urged me over and over to introduce my art to the world. I finally did but it was too late. 

“More coffee, Cedric?” Irena’s voice pulled me out of my reverie. 

“Yes, thanks,” I smiled at her and realized she must’ve been by multiple times to refill my cup already and I hadn’t noticed. 

“You seem out of it today. Are you still going to be joining us for yoga?”

Her sister, Winnie, and her own the coffee shop together. They didn’t want it to be the same old boring coffeeshop that is on every street in Seattle, so they added yoga to the mix. Every day there’s at least one yoga session run by the two of them while one of their employees serves the coffee. I participate every time because it’s the only time I find peace anymore. 

I nodded.

“Great!” She said as she peered at my artwork of the day. “Your artwork never ceases to amaze me.” She reached out and traced the lines with her hand. On the paper was her, suspended in the air with a lightning bolt through her body. All she saw were birds. 

“I’m no Picasso but I try,” I humbly replied. 

The yoga session began in late afternoon. We went into sun salutations and progressively altered ourselves into more difficult positions. Even during the yoga sessions, I was keeping tabs on Irena. My eyes were closed so I relied on my hearing to find her breathing among the rest. I let my mind empty as we entered tree pose. I startled when I felt Irena’s hands on me. She was making slight adjustments to my posture. Her hand accidentally grazed my feather necklace as she pulled away. It was then I felt something change. The air became charged with electricity. Lightning connected her hand to that feather which immediately turned black and Irena shied away from me. I forced myself to look at her although I was terrified of what I’d see. She was standing there, her wings stretched out in their full glory with only a few changes: her wings were as black as night, her eyes were a piercing red instead of blue, and her hair was white. In those piercing red eyes I saw recognition. 

I held my breath and realized the scene around us hadn’t changed. None of the humans had realized what had happened. She went over to Winnie and whispered something in her ear. Winnie nodded and assumed leading role of the session. 

I got up off the floor and followed her out of the coffeeshop. We turned to face each other.

“I remember it all. You were always there,” Irena smiled and took my hand. Before I knew it, her feet left the ground and I was splashed with the water from the nearest puddle.

The post Zen and the Art of Waitressing first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

It’s been a while. I feel like I begin all of my posts with that lately. Sometimes I feel like I’m slacking on my dream. But if I really was giving up I wouldn’t still be posting and still putting in the effort to write. For those of you that don’t know, I got into writing poetry through my therapist. She encouraged me to write my feelings down. One of the other things we discussed once was labels. Labels aren’t all encompassing. You don’t ever have to entirely fit in a label. Your individuality and lack of conformity to one title in life is what makes you who you are. So in honor of that, because sometimes we need reminded, the following poems have no common theme except that I like them.

In the creation of life our lips graze those of death 
Something so essential could lead to our demise
It’s with sheer stubbornness that we prevail
To keep ourselves and progeny on the living side of the veil
-childbirth

You know that moment when it’s not light but it’s not quite night?
You can see the glow of a streetlight
And the birds in flight
It might be one of my favorite moments
One stuck in between times
-dusk

Right? Wrong? Neutral?
Which one is it?
Or am I just too guarded 
Won’t let you in?
I want to
I want to get tangled in your limbs
And let your neurons intertwine with mine
Then our lives would mesh too
No longer separate 
‘Cause one plus one equals two
Would we be a force of nature ?
Or another mess in disguise?
Something neither one of us can recognize
I know we will stumble
All relationships do
But what keeps them together?
What is the glue?
Do we really need it?
Or are we magnetic?
In tune?

Dangling a carrot
Anger, hurt, broken hope
Time wasted

A dream already crushed 
Time already mucked
Grip me with a new hope
I hold tight to that rope

But the rope is a snake
Just another fake
Use what I have learned

From this dream I refuse to wake
I must let go ‘fore it’s too late 
-tease

Poem #1: My closest and oldest friend recently went through her child bearing journey. Pregnancy is a crazy wild ride for anyone but for her it’s as if the rollercoaster gods wanted to put her in their hall of fame. I don’t know if I could’ve been as brave or as strong as she had through it all. And that’s the thing, there are a million trials and tribulations through pregnancy and then the icing on the cake is childbirth. As women and mothers we all have some sort of story about the insane things that happened to our minds and bodies during this time. When writing this poem the irony really hit me: that there is or almost is death with every creation of life.

Poem #2: I wrote this poem on a summer evening while sitting outside drinking wine. The temperature and breezes were just right. It was a truly sublime moment. I wanted to capture it’s essence and how I feel after the crazy heat of summer days and the temp finally drops. Bliss.

Poem #3: Ah dating. This poem I wrote when I had feelings for someone I was dating but there seemed to be a roadblock. So I began questioning myself and my mental health and theirs.

Poem #4: This one I wrote after liking a lot of things about a romantic interest except for one quality (there were more but this one drove me nuts). I felt that he didn’t respect or value my time.

The post Moments of Reflection: Verses on Life, Love, and Transience first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

I traced my name across the spine of the book, “SHATTER ME by Haisley Adams.” Careful not to pick it up, lest someone sees a floating novel. I still couldn’t believe it: my book was being sold at little corner booths like this all over the world. The fog was so thick today you could cut it with a knife. So I was able to grace the streets of Seattle undetected. It’s the main reason why I chose to settle here. It’s almost as if the sun shies away from the place.

 Long ago, my mom traded the soul of her first born daughter to a demon for someone to love her. After I was born she realized the mistake she made. She used her magic to make me invisible. But instead of my physical properties being akin to smoke, they are akin to glass. Kind of sounds like a cosmic joke, huh? The thing you so badly want to protect becomes made of glass?

Anyway, it’s been centuries since then. My mother is long gone. One of the side effects to my mother’s tamperings with my body was giving me eternal life. Which is how I find myself still alive at the ripe age of 222. I don’t know if I’ve aged well since I haven’t ever seen myself. 

You would think that it would be easy to hide if you were invisible. But you can still be touched, still be heard, and still leave a mark. My mother would be disappointed to know that being invisible wasn’t enough. Eric, the demon she dealt with, found me. It only took him 222 years but still. 

I’ve grown tired of trying to exist without existing. I’ve made repeated attempts to fit in. A few times people thought I was a ghost and tried to exorcise me. That was fun. You know, maybe in another life I would’ve kept going down that path. I probably would have a few horror movies made after me by now! I watch people communicate and long to gaze into someone’s eyes and see mine reflected back. There is no life to live when you’re made of glass. 

I turned the corner onto an old residential street. When I reached my home, I made my way up the worn stone steps and let myself in. Sitting at a table doing a puzzle, was John. His glasses were slightly askew and his cigarette was ashing on the floor. He was too focused to notice. Somehow his arthritic fingers couldn’t keep him from picking up his puzzle pieces.I sat down in the chair across from him with a creak and picked up a piece to join him. 

“Good afternoon Ellie, dear,” his voice came out raspy from the smoke. In response, I patted his hand. 

Bless the old man’s heart he thought I was the ghost of his late wife. He must’ve really loved her since he lets her “ghost” reside here. It’s like winning the lottery for me. I’ve had a stable home in Seattle for a few years now. Ellie was a writer so John thinks nothing of it when I use the computer to write. It has allowed me to finally communicate with the world. Unfortunately, it also gave Eric a huge beacon to use to find me. But I knew it was going to do that.

A week after my book hit the shelves, Eric found me in the park. Of course I knew he would show up soon. I could smell his scent of woodsmoke before he announced his presence. He couldn’t tell, but he had approached me from the front, mistaking it for my back. I had a good clear view of the soft brown hair brushing his eyelashes and below that, his chestnut eyes. For once, I didn’t shy away in the other direction. I stood there in the sun and let it reflect off of me, smiling when it blinded him.

“I haven’t come here to bring you to death’s door,” he began. “In 222 years I’ve found many other souls to do my bidding. Plus, you interest me.”

“I don’t want to be invisible anymore,” my voice caught in my throat from disuse. 

Eric propped himself up against a tree and said “Haisley, I’m not the one meant to break your glass.”

“Then who is?” I countered. He only shrugged and was gone. The bastard was as mysterious as the Cheshire Cat. He even had that blasted knowing grin down pat.

I sat on the park bench and pondered our conversation for a while. It was then I decided I was going to try to break my glass. Of course, I had tried before but fear of Eric had held me back from really putting my mind to it.

I tried hitting myself with everything I could think of. Let me tell you, it’s incredibly hard to smash glass by hitting yourself when your flesh still feels every strike. After healing from those wounds, I hiked into the mountains and tried shrieking. I shrieked until my throat was raw and I was coughing up blood. 

At this point, I’m feeling pretty damn angry.

After working on the puzzle with John, I decided to walk back out into downtown. The city was aglow with streetlights and the distant rays of the setting sun. I paused at a pastry cart getting ready to shut down for the day and nicked myself a raspberry danish, leaving cash in its empty space. My mouth flooded with the sweetness of it as I shoved the soft dough past my lips before someone saw a floating bakery item. A breeze blew through the street, in it, the charged energy of a coming storm brought goosebumps. I tried to relish in the fact that I was alive and no longer had Eric to fear. Even if I still couldn’t be seen. In the middle of my musings, I noticed a man carrying an armful of books and as he passed a trash can, he dumped one in it. In its fall I glimpsed the cover. My cover. 

“What are you doing?!” I demanded, no longer concerned about what others might think. The man looked around in confusion as the other pedestrians walked on, ignoring him. 

“That is not trash! That is my book! I’m Haisley Adams!”

The sound of glass shattering assaulted my ears like the crack of a gunshot.

The post Shatter Me first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

I have mentioned some poets in the past that inspire me. But I think I forgot one. I only forgot them because they are a little unorthodox. So, without further ado, will the real slim shady please stand up?

When I was in high school I became very angry with the world. Right around that same time Eminem’s album “Not Afraid” was released. As I’m sure most of you know, Eminem’s song “Not Afraid” became a huge hit and was on the radio a lot. That introduced me to his music. You would think his older music would’ve found me first. And it did. But it didn’t resonate with my emotions like this song could. So I started listening to that entire album and found a way to cope with my anger. That album was the soundtrack to my senior year. Now I listen to all of his music. And even now, 12 years later, I still find solace in his music when my anger burns.

When I started writing poetry I noticed the lyrics of his songs more and was in awe of them. Eminem’s ability to manipulate the English language fascinated me. I feel that every time I listen to one of his songs I find another punch line in it or notice a new way that the words fit together. Enter inspiration. This one’s for the Eminem fans.

There’s vomit on her sweater already
Moms spaghetti
She’s nervous
But on the surface she looks calm and ready to drop bombs
But
she keeps on forgetting 
“It would be so empty without me”

Her thoughts are sporadic, she acts like an addict
She won't get another chance, life is no Nintendo game

She fears how she feels inside
It may seem a little crazy pretty baby
But I promise mamas gonna be alright 

In the dark it’s time to exercise these demons. These motherfuckers are doing jumping jacks. Now she’s not afraid. Her pen’ll go off when she half cocks it. Then they’re gonna taste her venom

-anger inspiration and admiration 
-the Eminem show 

The post Let Her Roar first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

Throughout life we are asked a lot about our favorites. One my indecisive self has always struggled with is ‘What’s your favorite season?’ There are reasons I like and dislike each one. Usually though, I fall back on autumn. When writing this series of poems though I found myself stuck choosing one. How can one decide when there is beauty in each one? How can one decide when there is so much to learn from nature and society every time the season comes around? A whole lifetime of learning. Nature isn’t the only thing that cycles through the seasons; society does too. We have the same holidays every year with the same traditions. And not just that, our human emotions and routines cycle as well. I’ve been working on this series of poems for about a year now. Fitting, since each one is about a different season (albeit there’s two for spring). I wanted to make sure when I wrote the poem I was in that season so I could draw from as much of my feelings towards it as possible. I hope they pull at your memories and emotions too. Enjoy!

Frogs provide the bass
Birds sing the melody
Raindrops are the percussion
Warm breezes bring the dance

Pull of a puddle on a child’s rainboots
Hyacinth perfume graces the air
Heaviness of winter lifts
Color and warmth return

World awash with new growth, new life
I can only hope to learn 
from nature in the spring

Warm breezes
caress my skin
Sun rays
battle the chill in my bones
Pattering rain
drowns my fear
Blooming flowers
show me the way
-hello spring

Taste sun in fruit
Don my new bathing suit

Dreaming of ice cream
Don’t forget sunscreen!

Go play outside!
Let bedtime slide

Air brimming with moisture
Bugs buzzing annoys her
 
Watch thunderstorms roll in
Moscow mule with mint 

Marshmallow melting chocolate
Colors of the sunset

Sand between my toes
Firefly glows in hands closed

Sweat out of every pore
The birdsong I adore

Boats on the water
Can it get any hotter?

Time for vacation
Fireworks on that freedom occasion

Tangy barbecue
Poison ivy you’re allergic to

The memories sublime
Sweet Summertime

Crisp Chill
Scary Thrill
Leaves Aflame
Football Game

Knit Scarves
Pumpkins Carved
Grins Wider
Apple Cider

Blue Jeans
Chili Beans
Fuzzy Blankets
Candy Baskets

Bonfire heat
Trick or Treat
Hot Tea
Bye Bees

Reading, Writing
Decreased Lighting
Summer’s Over
Hello October

Snowflakes begin to fall
Million trips to the mall

Cuddled up with you
Lips turning blue

Baby it’s cold outside
Go for a sleigh ride

Evergreen scent 
Wrapping their present

The season of giving
Memories reliving 

Icicles glisten
Start a new tradition

Marshmallows floating in cocoa
Smile for family photo 

Holiday cheer
Happy new year!

Box of chocolates and a rose
Be my Valentine I suppose

Pinch me I’m Irish 
Ugly Christmas sweaters stylish
 
Ice skating with grace
Mistletoe in place

Jolly red suit
Hat, gloves, and boots

Ornaments on the tree
Peppermint so sweet

When does it end?
That winter wonderland

The post Cycle of the Seasons first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

It’s that day again! The day single people dread and significant others scramble over. And then there’s the little kids that are just grateful for another excuse for a school party and candy! Surprisingly, I fit in neither of these categories. Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday. And when I say that, I usually immediately feel judged. Hear me out though.

My absolute best memory of Valentine’s Day is when I was a kid. I don’t remember how old I was, probably 6 or so. My mom woke me up the night before and we snuck downstairs and into my dad’s car to decorate it. We taped cut out paper hearts with handwritten sayings on them conversation heart style on the windows and seats. We hung a banner across the rear windshield that said “I love you Dad!”. The final touch was a fake rose on the seat with his Valentine’s Day card. I absolutely loved doing that. I felt so excited and thrilled for his reaction. And I felt like I was showing him how special he is. Little did I know my mother had something similar in store for me. When I woke up on Valentine’s Day morning there were streamers hanging in my doorway. She had taped cut out paper hearts (some even layered) with conversation heart style sayings written on them (some even in glitter glue) to ribbons and hung them in my doorway. I love(d) those silly little things. These weren’t grand gestures or material based. These were just small things to show someone you love how much you think about them. Right there is the moment my thoughts on the spirit of Valentine’s Day unfurled. Throughout life I used my philosophy to do fun and thoughtful things for the people I love on Valentine’s Day. Also, those handmade streamers? They hang in my home every Valentine’s Day season. My mom had saved them and sent them to me when I went to college.

I can’t remember if I was in high school or college but I found a movie called “Valentine’s Day” with a bunch of famous actors in it. I watch it every year now because it was able to put out there exactly how I feel about this holiday. Love is love is love. And this day is for celebrating all kinds of love. Love between significant others, love between friends, love between parents and kids, etc. Don’t let society limit love on this holiday.

Now, I’m a single mom and I haven’t had any major love interests in 3 years. But am I bitter on Valentine’s Day? Not ever. I choose to spend it with my son and celebrating the love I have for him. However, below I’ve included some poems I’ve written over the past few years about finding a partner to love. Enjoy! And show someone you love them today, even if the gesture is small and inexpensive. The right person will appreciate it.

Your lines and my curves 
and playful words 
Create a piece of art 

The paint, slick and warm 
Elicits soft moans 
Stroking in places 
I’ve never known 

You draw my quiver 
The arrow you’ll deliver 
and make your mark on my heart 

The situation is impossible
Your beauty, improbable
an indefinite longing
Our paths never crossing

Hope and frustration
They silence my elation
and leave the sting
That loneliness brings
-give me something to believe in

The ease of all our conversations slips into my bones
Melting like the creme brulee on my tongue

The lust of all this time spreads through my blood
Rushing like the river

The kindness of our souls seeps into our words and touches
Shining in the night like stars

A glimpse of what could be
No longer just a dream
-still feels like one

And Just Remember. . .

The post It’s A Matter Of The Heart first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

It had been three weeks and five days since Darya came to shore and there’d been no sign of Marlowe. It’s been ten years since she saw his figure fade in the distance, waving from the sandy beaches of Florida. Darya wiggled her freshly manicured pink toes in the sand, enjoying the feel of the fine grains creating friction against her skin. The sun from the past three weeks had tanned her skin to a golden brown. The joy she should be feeling from being on shore was being eaten up by her longing to see Marlowe. They always met on this beach and enjoyed the short time they had to spend together. The conch shell around her neck was already ringing with the sound of the ocean, calling her back to sea. Marlowe called it her “shell phone.” She wasn’t ready to answer it. She wasn’t ready to trade her legs in for fins. Her mood soiled despite the beautiful day, she got up and gracefully walked towards the bar. Heads turned, male and female, but she took no notice. She’d always been beautiful, always would be. When she ordered a margarita on the rocks her voice was an enchanting melody, floating into nearby ears. It was then she saw him. Marlowe. He was leaning against one of the columns holding up the roof to the outdoor bar. She made to rush towards him but something in his posture made her pause. She could see he was on the phone, his face was lit up and out of his mouth came words like “baby” and “sweetheart.” The conversation ended with an “I love you too.” That was the final piece that crushed her heart. He looked up from his phone and their eyes met. Marlowe stood there in shock. He shook his head, mouthed “I’m sorry” and hurried to the parking lot. Darya knew it was bound to happen. She knew he was bound to move on someday but never let herself dwell on the topic. There’d been a long string of men she’d visit every ten years and then they’d find someone else. Start a family. Forget about her. She viewed it as a curse, the curse of being of and belonging to the sea. 

After another drink, a man sat down next to her. He was handsome, blonde hair, tanned, and tall. He ran his hands through his hair and she felt sprinkles of sand land on her shoulder amongst droplets of saltwater. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” he inquired.

Darya nodded her head and pieced together a smile for him.

“I noticed you and that guy earlier, on the phone. You’re better off without him.”

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Darya asked.

“Dylan.” he replied. “Yours?”

“Darya.” 

“Literally means sea. Looks like the name fits you,” he winked. 

“You have no idea.”

“Anyway, you’re better off without that guy. He’s up here with a different girl every week,” Dylan gossipped.

Darya’s heart broke a little further. “Thanks. I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t look so sad! Like I said, you’re better off without him.”

Darya shrugged. She never liked the part of the relationship where it ends. The salty taste of a love gone bad never washed away easily. The string of men she’d had in her life had left her feeling empty and alone. Most things about being a mermaid were beneficial but long life and the inability to remain human made matters of the heart difficult. Her mother always told her that “the one” would show up someday but Darya had her doubts. She has waited one hundred years and still no such man has appeared. Becoming human for a month every ten years has come to be something she dreads instead of longs for. It’s hard to spend that much time away from a man pondering about what he is doing without her. Dylan touched her hand, bringing her back to the bar.

“I’m flying to New Orleans tomorrow. I have an extra ticket. You want to go?” Dylan asked.

Shocked, Darya’s instinct was to decline. How could she get on a plane with a stranger? 

“I don’t know. Isn’t there someone else you’d like to take?” she asked politely.

“It was for my wife and I but she divorced me a few months ago. I’d already bought the tickets and they were nonrefundable.”

This time Darya touched his hand, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok. At the rate we were going it was bound to happen eventually. We are just too different.”

Darya understood. She gave him her hotel’s address and he said he’d pick her up at six in the morning. Darya finished her drink and went to her room to pack.

The next morning Dylan picked her up precisely at six. They boarded their plane without mishap and off they headed to New Orleans. Darya had never ridden in a plane before and held Dylan’s hand to dispel some of her fear. It’s one thing to swim and a whole other thing to fly. In the few moments where she could set her fear aside, she stared out the window with her mouth hanging open in awe. The world below her no longer looked like Earth. It looked like a toy set that toddlers usually play with. The mat has roads amongst landscapes printed across it. The toddler guides the cars through its journey on roads and terrain. Except in her view there weren’t any giant grubby toddler hands making the cars move.

When they left the airport the sun lit up the historic buildings and bustling people preparing to party. It was after all, Mardi Gras. And what better place to celebrate than New Orleans? A beautiful city with lots of history, variety, and enthusiasm. The streets were blocked with people parading in blurs of pink, yellow, orange, and other bright colors. Dylan and Darya joined the fun. They walked bar to bar. They danced and met new people. They explored the world. 

The next morning, Darya’s shell phone was roaring in her ears. It was time to go home. She left a note for Dylan, thanking him for his kindness and wonderful time. It was with much regret that she was leaving this beautiful place. She had never enjoyed her time on land as much as the past two days. She didn’t care anymore about having a man at her side. She only cared about trying new things and going new places. Darya wanted to learn everything there was to know about humans and their way of life. She had fallen in love with the human existence. Brooding over this, she walked in the early pre-dawn light. The waves’ call getting louder as she approached. Finally at the water’s edge, she glanced back at the sleepy city and whispered, “I love you.” Her first steps into the warm ocean no longer felt like coming home. She waded into the salty sea but it kept pushing her back. Her shell phone no longer called with the ocean but with the calls of land. It was emanating the sounds of hooves click-clacking on pavement and voices of people, amongst other sounds she hadn’t heard yet. She pushed harder and harder against the waves but they kept pushing her to shore with the morning tide. Eventually she was back to digging her toes into the sand, finally understanding she found her true love. 

The post The Phone Call first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

Alright, alright, I know it’s been forever since I’ve posted anything really. But hear me out. From August to December life gets crazy. Back to school and then back to back holidays! Who came up with that calendar?! Anyway, my time to read steadily dwindled and with it, my finished books and my time to write. The ghost story I mentioned in my “Haunted by the Hands of Time” post? I never wrote it. Guys, it’s been rough. So I’m playing catch up with this post. Below are all the books I read from August 2022-December 2022. Let me know which one’s you’ve read in the comments! Some good Christmas/Winter themed book suggestions would be great too!

Reckless Girls by Rachel Hawkins

4 out of 5 stars

This is a great summer read! It’s basically a beachy thriller that switches between past and present. Written mostly from Lux’s point of view, a woman who experienced a tragedy and since then has been drifting. She has big travel dreams so when her and her boyfriend are offered $50,000 to take two girl on a deserted island vacation by boat, they agree. I decided to read this because I read and enjoyed Hawkins’ other book, The Wife Upstairs. Both of her books are quick read suspense novels.

In Five Years by Rebecca Serle

3 out of 5 stars

The premise behind this book is very intriguing. However, I found the ending to be lack-luster. The novel really isn’t a romance which is what it seems to be at the beginning. It’s a story about all relationships. If you’re into short books, it’s definitely for you.

Every Summer After by Carley Fortune

4 out of 5 stars

This book is a wonderful testament to what it’s like to be a teenager/young adult and in love when your circumstances are always changing. Everything is so complicated in that time. You’re finding out who you are and so is everyone else. Making mistakes. Testing boundaries. Everything is complicated. Then, circumstances bring the young group of friends back together and they have to re-familiarize themselves with each other.

The Bodyguard by Katherine Center

4 out of 5 stars

I really enjoyed the romance between the main characters but I wasn’t a huge fan of the actual storyline. Mostly because it was so quirky/light-hearted. I’m just not into that too much. I’m unsure if I’ll be reading any more books by Katheirne Center. I do love the cover and the spine with all of it’s floral attributes though!

Rock Paper Scissors by Alice Feeney

4 out of 5 stars

THE TWIST. Trying to puzzle out the mystery is so hard! I didn’t see it coming. Read it. A perfect winter mystery! Feeney also has a new novel out called Daisy Darker. I am looking into reading that one as well.

Love on The Brain by Ali Hazelwood

4 out of 5 stars

Ali Hazelwood does it again with “Love on the Brain.” Last year I read “The Love Hypothesis.” That was her debut novel. It was SO GOOD. This one doesn’t disappoint either! A romance novel you won’t forget.

The Broken Girls by Simone St. James

5 out of 5 stars

It’s official. Simone St. James is on my “favorite authors” list. A heart-felt story about a group of teenage girls with trauma who become friends while placed in an orphanage. One of them goes missing. Meanwhile, in the present, a woman is haunted by the disappearance of her sister. She goes on a mission to find the truth.

Darling Girl by Liz Michalski

4 out of 5 stars

I was so excited to read this story due to it’s twist on Peter Pan. In the end though, I wasn’t as impressed as I thought I’d be. In this novel, Peter Pan is cast as a villain. It delves into the Darling family, their relationships, and the impact Peter Pan has had on their lives. If you like re-tellings like Circe, you will probably like this too!

The House Across the Lake by Riley Sager

5 out of 5 stars

Riley Sager is another author that has made his way on my favorite author’s list. He is an author with an affinity for twists you don’t see coming. This book has the slightly over-used drunk/drugged traumatized woman watching neighbors from windows trope. The twists and the characters all make it worth it though.

Not A Happy Family by Shari Lapena

4 out of 5 stars

Lapena had me constantly guessing “who-did-it” all the way to the end. I liked that this novel of Lapena’s was a little more lengthy than her usual. I felt like it was a successful branching out for her.

NOS4A2 by Joe Hill

4 out of 5 stars

A horror Christmas novel? Who would’ve thought that exists?! Hill takes you on a journey following a child through adulthood and her trauma from an abduction by Charles Manx. By some wrongful miracle Manx escapes custody and seeks revenge. I was so happy I finally got to read this book! Christmas is usually too busy for me to be able to read a Christmas themed book but I made time for it this year.

The post Books I Read from August 2022-December 2022 first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

I would like to say that something catastrophic has been keeping me from working towards my life-long dream of supporting myself off my writing but alas, that is not the case. It’s just been regular ol’ life. When I started this website I told myself “you can’t let this website disappear,” “this is the year for your writing,” “you have to hustle,” etc. And look, it’s been months since I’ve posted. I’ve barely been reading. I haven’t been writing. I could sit here and beat myself up over it (and trust me I am to the point of tears), or I could give myself some grace and just pick up where I left off. Taking a break isn’t quitting right? You see, for most people this time of year is still easy. The holidays are coming but they aren’t here yet. But for a single mom in a leadership position, I’m being slammed by the series of holidays and events. They start with back to school for the kiddo and doesn’t end until the post-Christmas madness is put away. Instead of having the brain space and power to read and write, I’m left just wanting my brain to empty. I crave mindlessness and rest. The only space left for that though is wherever I can cram it. So just know, if I ever become a ghost of a writer I’ll always come back. I’m not giving up on this thing.

Let’s catch up on what I’ve been reading. Since my last post about books I’ve read I have finished a total of 6 books. That’s six books in 2 months. That’s 50% of what I’m normally capable of. However, I’m picking up speed so get ready. I’ll make a post later of the books I’ve been reading but for now just know some reviews are on their way!

Alright let’s get on to other things. Guys, it’s spooky season!! My absolute favorite is fall and I’m feeling in my element when I take a minute to enjoy it. Whether you’re a pumpkin fan or an apple fan or both (I won’t judge) this season is filled with so many fun things and amazing cool weather.

Fall
Crisp Chill
Scary Thrill
Leaves Aflame
Football Game

Knit Scarves
Pumpkins Carved
Grins Wider
Apple Cider

Blue Jeans
Chili Beans
Fuzzy Blankets
Candy Baskets

Bonfire heat
Trick or Treat
Hot Tea
Bye Bees

Reading, Writing
Decreased Lighting
Summer’s Over
Hello October

So, let’s talk spooky shit. I’ve been thinking a lot about ghosts. For some reason, this year whenever anything ghost related crops up I’m paying full attention. It’s inspiring a story in me but not just that. Ghosts haunt things. And who doesn’t have a ghost haunting them? I don’t necessarily mean a spirit causing weird noises in your home, although that’s possible. What I mean is anything that haunts you is basically a ghost. This time of year has a few difficult dates for me to get through. They haunt me. Whether I’m noticing it or not my mood changes when these days are approaching. It’s like my body remembers before my brain does. Anniversaries of trauma or anniversaries that are reminders of loss. And what’s closely related to anniversaries? Memories in general. You can be haunted by memories. I certainly am. Sometimes I let the memories grip me so tight it’s as if the memory is playing in front of me elder scrolls style.

The hands on the clock poke, prod, and dig
At my wound
It oozes when pushed like a button
The scab peels like a sticker
The hands dig and come out bloodied
Spreading the gore
-war paint

The thing about memories and nostalgia is that all the feelings you felt at that time come rushing back and follow you for a bit. It could be the memory of a parent that has passed which reminds you of what you lost. It could be the memory of “the one that got away” bringing up loss and loneliness. You think you’re past it. You think you’re healing but there are a million things in life that could act as triggers. Leaving you haunted once again. Words have a lot of power. Something someone said to you out of spite or to manipulate and bully you could be following you around your whole life, replacing your inner voice. Those words could be keeping you from your best self. People can haunt you. Although that kind of ties in with memories, words, and anniversaries. The same person could be involved in all of those things leaving you stuck. Maybe you or someone you love has a big birthday coming up (I’m turning 30 next year. Eek!) leaving you spooked by all the time that has passed and fear of the future.

Keep an eye out for my ghost story sometime this month! And have the happiest Halloween!

The post Haunted by the Hands of Time first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.

I’m lucky enough to have lived near Lake Erie my whole life. Over the past few years craft shows in the area and local boutiques have become overrun with all things “lake life”. It has taken me a long time to come to terms with that. I always thought, why the lake? Don’t most people want the ocean beaches? But in the last week I’ve been to the lake twice and I realized something.

The lake is an ever-changing source of beauty in my life. I’ve never gone on a boat on Lake Erie and I avoid swimming in it from when there were tons of high bacteria level warnings. Not to mention, I’m also much more of a cool-and-dry person than hot-and-wet person. However, over the course of my life the lake is where I went to observe the beauty of nature and find a sense of peace.

My phone is littered with pictures of the lake. All of them are different. Some have the daytime pictures of the water or the sandy beach. Others are of sunsets, each lit up with different colors. The water is either rough and wavy, a mirror-like glass, or something in between. Even the pictures I’ve seen other people share of the lake when a storm is coming in contain the beauty of the anger those waves hold and the ominousness of the cloud covered sky. There are a few times I’ve ventured out on the lake beaches when the water is completely frozen over. The waves never completing their crash to the beach until spring thaws them out again.

Now, as a mother I still go there to enjoy nature but I’m also there to share the experience with my son. I love to observe what he chooses to get into while there. For example, today we brought a bucket and shovel to the beach. I expected him to dig in the sand with me and look for sea glass or shells or at the very least, rocks. Like all toddlers, his love for rocks is never-ending. He also wore his swim trunks which I tried to make him leave behind but he insisted. I figured we would hardly get wet because I wasn’t planning on having us swim. I let him put his feet in the water because I was doing it too and it would help wash the sand off. He never looked for shells or sea glass with me. He did however, throw an infinite amount of rocks into the lake. And when I was busy searching for sea glass, he took his bucket. Did he use it to collect shells? No. Did he use to collect sand or rocks? No. He went to the water’s edge and let the waves fill his bucket and proceeded to dump a bucketful of lake water on his head. So much for not needing the swim trunks right? I sighed the giant universal sigh of parenthood for an unforeseen mess ahead. Then I just let him have at it. He was already wet so it wasn’t worth telling him no and he had an absolute blast! I loved watching him laugh and explore Lake Erie just like every other time I’ve brought him. As a result, it brought me back to my recurring thoughts and dreams about someday having a way to get out on the water with him. Most likely this would be by jet ski, kayak, canoe, or paddleboard. And so through all of the stages of my life Lake Erie has been a place of peace, safety, beauty, joy, and inspiration. It is with this realization that I finally understand why the people in this area are proud of the “lake life”.

The post Lake Life first appeared on Gabrielle Stetz.