Celebrating Five Years as a Published Author

Can I be real for a minute? Hmmm...that sounds weird. I try to be real all the time, but I suppose I'm asking if I can be real about a particular thing. Today, February 10, I am celebrating five years of being a published author. I was told in the beginning of my writing career that it takes about five years of a book being out before you really get your name out there. Truth is I've never had much of an interest in "getting my name out there!" What do I mean by that? Well, I want to help people and touch their lives through the stories I write. The stories are where I want the focus to be centered—not on me, the author of them.

I suppose there are writers who are driven by fame, but I think in general most writers simply love telling stories. My desire is to have the memories of the stories I write embedded in the hearts of those who read them. That’s what I want to last.

Well, it is five years later now, and things have started taking off in a small way. Plain Jane, my first published work, is listed on a college professor’s reading list for her class. I had no part in that. She simply came across the book and put it on her reading list for her class. It is also being read in a literature class in a small private school. While I know the person over the school, I did not promote the book to her. I simply shared as she asked questions about it, and that brings me to the other point I wanted to be “real” about…promoting my writing.

I'm not much of a promoter, and if I'm going to be real honest with you, I don't expect that to change. It's just not in who I am. I'm constantly told in the writing world that I need to get out there and promote my books, but I just can't seem to make myself do it. I enjoy getting on my Facebook author page and telling everyone what I'm presently working on; I was thrilled to have those who like my page help me pick out my new cover for Plain Jane, and I always inform people via social media when a new book is being published, but I just can't seem to push myself out there and say, "Hey, read my books; they're awesome! You'll love them!" I've always felt that the book would speak for itself. 

You’re probably wondering what my point was in saying all of this. I just wanted to share where I am in my writing career after five years, and I wanted those who have read my books to know that I sincerely hope the stories moved them in such a way that the characters left a residue within their hearts. That's all. Help me celebrate today by giving someone a hug and telling them you love them. I'm heading out in a few minutes to go to the hospital and tell my dad that very thing. He's having surgery today...nothing major, but I want him to know I love him.

The Creative Cycle

I began a work back in 2007. It was the first time I sat down and started typing a book and knew it had to be finished. I had started a couple of stories in high school and set them to the side, lacking the confidence to be an author, and again in college, I started a couple of books, getting only a chapter or two written before the hideous creature titled Lack of Confidence swallowed my dreams and caused me to give up. 
The work I started in 2007 was a work of fantasy. It was to be a series of four books. I wrote the first and second draft of the first book. After finishing that I wrote Plain Jane and had it published. I started on the second book in the fantasy series once I finished Plain Jane, but then I had a request to write a companion novel to Plain Jane, so I set the two or three chapters in The Called Ones to the side and wrote Pretty Boy. After completing it, I went back to the fantasy story that started it all for me and writing. I added a few more chapters in the second book before I had another story come to life in my head. Wildflowers was birthed, so I once again set The Called Ones to the side and typed away, giving birth to a beautiful and tragic love story. Then I went back to my fantasy series, adding more chapters. It was at this point that I realized the first book needed more, so I went back to the first book and added additional chapters, a lot of them! 
After completing that, I expected to go finish the second book, but a different book was being birthed. I wrote the first half of it while it flowed and went back to the second book in The Called Ones series. It was during this time that I felt led to write a book for ministry. My husband and I are ministers, and I write teachings for adults, teenagers, and children. 2014 was dedicated to BASIC Training. I did not write within the realm of fiction during the entire year, outside of a chapter here and a chapter there! And now I am back to having that creative flow that is needed to write fiction. I've been mulling over the world I created in the first book in my fantasy series, and I am anxious to reenter Halanea and discover where the Called Ones go from here!
I'm expecting a great creative year in 2015! It would be nice to finally complete the second book and maybe even the third one! In a way it is the series that caused me to get serious about writing as a career, so I wonder at times if having it always lurking off to the side needed a little more here and a little more there is meant to keep me writing. What do you think? Do you have a motivator in your life that keeps you going back to your love or your hobby?

Even Though I am Gone

This is a song I wrote a few years back at the sudden passing of a friend's husband. I felt as if I was hearing him singing the words to her. I know that this was a personal message from him to her at the time, but I still feel that it can touch the hearts of others in a time of loss and grief. Even though those we love have left this life to enter the next, there is a part of their spirit that remains here with us, reaching out to us and letting us know we are never alone. 

EVEN THOUGH I AM GONE

Tears roll down your face

 As you watch me leave this place

 I always said, “I’ll be there for you.”

 My spirit just took flight

 You sit and cry all night

 I promise I’ll still be there for you!

Even though I am gone

 You are never alone

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

 And when you feel sad,

 lonely or mad,

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

My heart will never leave

 Grab a picture of me and cleave

 I promise I will be there for you

 Just look up to the sky

 And feel me by your side

 I promise I will be there for you

Even though I am gone

 You are never alone

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

 And when you feel sad,

 lonely or mad,

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

 

 Standing in a crowded room

 You feel over come with gloom

 I promise I am still there with you

 Alone at night you cry

 How you never said, “goodbye”

 I promise I see the tears that you cry

Even though I am gone

 You are never alone

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

 And when you feel sad,

 lonely or mad,

 Just remember I’m right there next to you

I Heard a Rumor

I released my first novel in 2010 but had some issues arise with the publisher, so I went through the process of getting out of my contract with them and re-released it. Since Plain Jane has recently been re-released, I wanted to share a small excerpt from it, along with a piece of my heart, on this site . I shared this once on Facebook a couple of years back, but I think it's worth another read. 

(excerpt from Plain Jane)

Mr. Stanley knew something was wrong, so he checked up on me. He approached my teachers and inquired about my status; then on October 28, he called me to his desk at the end of class. Being his aide, I assumed he had an errand for me to run, but instead he asked me to hang around after school because he wanted to talk to me. Mona Hampton overheard his request. 

     When the last bell of the day rang, I hung around to find out what Mr. Stanley wanted to speak to me about. I happened to notice Mona slowly edging her way to the door with a curious look spread across her face. As soon as she slipped out, Mr. Stanley shut the door. He sat me down and told me he knew I was barely passing all of my classes. Quizzing me, He asked about what was going on in my life to cause such a drastic change in my grades. I quietly sat with my head hung low, never answering any of his questions.

     “Aralyn, you are a brilliant young poet who can really make something of herself,” he said, encouraging me. 

     With tears in my eyes, I looked up at him and replied, “Nobody cares about poets, Mr. Stanley.” 

     “I do,” he insisted. “But if you don’t get your act together, I’m afraid you’re going to mess up your opportunities.”

     After at least ten minutes of prodding me for an explanation for my failing grades, he lectured me for an additional thirty minutes on the importance of a college education in the work force. When he was finished, he permitted me to leave. I left the room knowing I had messed up my life. I shut the door and looked up to see Mona standing at the end of the hall; the shame weighed so heavy on me that I quickly shifted my eyes to keep her from seeing through to my failures, but what she saw in that was something totally different. 

     The following day I woke up with a determination to change the path I was on. I set my mind to focus on my schooling. Since it was a Friday, I resolved within myself not to go out partying with Rhonda or Sheena that night. “You’re gonna have to shape up, Aralyn,” I told myself as I looked in the mirror and primped my hair.

     Ray picked me up as usual and walked me to my first class. As we walked through the hall, girls whispered amongst one another. Occasionally one would break out in a snicker. Guys looked me up and down like they were checking out my body or something; then a girl named Abigail walked right up to me and asked, “So, how’d you do it?”

     Perplexed, I asked, “Do what?”

     She laughed, “Oh, come on, for a teacher he’s hot. How’d you get him to sleep with you?”

     “What? What are you talking about?” I belted. 

     “Everybody’s been talking about it since last night. The whole school already knows; don’t act like little Miss Innocent. Mona saw it with her own eyes.”

     At the name Mona the light bulb in my brain turned on. What Mona had suspected when I couldn’t look her in the eyes was guilt, not the guilt I felt (the guilt of being a failure) but the guilt of sleeping with a teacher. I couldn’t breathe. I felt trapped in a small room with the walls closing in on me. I jerked my head from side to side searching for an escape route to no avail.

     Once again words were unleashed as weapons into my life, but this time there was no lone assailant clothed in white with tiny horns hidden beneath a thick head of hair; this time almost the entire student body had gathered to unleash my demise---words that came together and formed a heinous rumor!        

(Plain Jane, pgs. 251-253)

     The previous excerpt is from the chapter of my book titled “I Heard a Rumor.” 

     Words form weapons in the lives of many young people. Sometimes that weapon is a knife that stabs straight through the heart leaving the recipient with a deadly wound. The blade is often serrated with gossip and rumors.

     While writing Plain Jane, I felt led to place tiny pieces of myself within my character. That chapter was one of the most difficult for me to write because it tapped into a place within my soul and my past that I wanted to never reopen. While revisiting the time in my life when I was viciously attacked by my peers through a heinous rumor, I found an open wound.

     As I expressed Aralyn’s pain and emotions when one of her peers saw an innocent situation and twisted it into an ugly monster, I was truly conveying my own floodgate of hurt that surged to the surface of my heart as I typed. My heart pounded, my chest constricted, and tears flowed as I bore my soul; consequently, it was healing the lacerations left by my attackers.

     I made sure to form the weapon that shattered Aralyn’s life in a very different manner from the one that had been used upon me, yet I could not escape the similarities. Both weapons were sharpened by rumors and gossip leaving the victim to bleed out. Just as her rumor was not the same as mine, the placement in her life was different as well. For Aralyn it came during a time of misery and pushed her closer to the edge. For me it was the catalyst into the black abyss of depression that follows me to this day.

     You may be asking yourself why I am sharing this side of me. I think it is because I feel that people need to understand the consequences of gossip and rumors. I was fifteen years old when I was stabbed repeatedly in the heart by that blade. I was thirty-seven when I wrote Plain Jane and received my healing. Although I no longer have an open wound, I will forever carry the scar; unfortunately, there are those young people who never have the opportunity to heal.

                                                                                           Schledia Benefield

How Far Does A Criminal Have To Go?

How far does a criminal have to go before their crime is met with a punishment that will bring a sense of safety and justice to the victim? This is the question I find myself asking right now. How can a knife wielding man attacking another person be considered a misdemeanor? Isn’t a knife a deadly weapon? The definition of misdemeanor is a relatively minor misdeed. When did a grown man attacking a teenager, punching him in the face, and coming at him with a knife become a relatively minor misdeed? How can anyone consider that to be the case? I know the victim doesn’t consider his attack to have been a minor misdeed. He thought the man was going to kill him! Is that what has to happen? Seriously, does a criminal have to attack and kill a person before the laws we have set up in this state classify that person as a dangerous criminal? How could that young man go to sleep feeling safe when he knew the laws set up considered his attack to be a minor misdeed? 

Yes, I’m angry! This young man was left with a swollen eye from being punched in the face, superficial wounds made by the knife on his arms and legs, and whelps on his back from being hit while CRAWLING away from his attacker. Should it matter that the knife wounds are superficial? What? Are our laws set up so that we have to have a medical doctor measure how deep a knife wound is before we consider an attack with a knife to be more than a minor misdeed? What’s the desired depth? One inch? Two inches? I’m really confused about this right now. What about the wounds that aren’t visible? Trust me, they are there. The terror inflicted upon the young man is real! Do people really have the right to attack someone and terrorize them and basically get a slap on the wrist? 

You may be wondering if this is a real situation. It is. I know the young man and his mother. You might even be thinking, Ah, well, it must’ve been some punk kid who pushed the man too far. It’s not. He is a very respectful teenage boy, one that any teacher would be proud to have in his or her class.

I felt prompted to write this last night after finding out about the situation because I was upset that his attack was considered a minor misdeed. I asked permission of the mom and will send this to her before publishing this to my blog. Something needs to be done. As a mother, I remember all too well when my daughter was in a situation that was a dangerous one. She was still considered a minor by the state we live in, but there were no laws set up to help us as parents to get her out of the situation. My daughter had gone into the situation of her own free will but ended up trapped in abuse with all outside communication with friends and family severed. She was still in high school. I felt helpless as a parent, so I understand how my friend feels right now. She feels helpless. She can’t undo the trauma her son has endured, yet she has the job of helping him to cope with the emotional distress left behind by this man. 

If the laws of Mississippi are written in a manner that allows a person who has attacked you with a knife and caused you to fear for your life to only be charged with a misdemeanor, the laws need to change! We need our congressmen to do something about this. We should be able to feel safe. We should feel that our laws not only protect us but seek justice for us as well.

Two Sides to the Coin of Depression

I was saddened to hear of Robin Williams leaving us all too soon. He brought so much laughter to us all. What has saddened me even more is reading comments that lack compassion concerning his death. 

 

I’ve seen both sides of the coin. I’ve lived in utter darkness, and I’ve lived in the light where I’ve witnessed the shadows creep into the world, those bits and pieces of darkness that intrude when something blocks or hinders the light. I’ve been that person sinking in an unforgiving sea of depression and desperation, and I can say with all honesty, the only thing a drowning person can see are the depths presently consuming them. The voices of loved ones are muffled by the same pressure crushing their lungs, making it impossible to breathe. The pain becomes unbearable, and all you want to do is make it stop. 

If you would, imagine that you are the one being sucked to the bottom of the ocean. The weight of the water is crushing your lungs. Frightening creatures swim about you, lurking and taunting you. Fear and pain have completely encapsulated you. And then the thought comes…if I could just go to sleep never to awaken again, it will all end. I will not feel my lungs implode.  I will not feel the teeth of the shark as it rips my body to shreds. All pain and all further pain will have ended. It will all simply stop. 

That is what it’s like. Some may and do consider it a selfish thing to be consumed by your own pain, but I can assure you, the person in this sort of pain is not seeking to hurt or inflict any sort of pain on another. They simply want their own pain to end. I know this because I was there at one point in my life. I was the person who just wanted it all to STOP! When I took the step to end my life, I never once thought of the pain it would inflict upon my parents or my brother or anyone else in my life that happened to love me. All I could see or feel was my own suffering, and I could not foresee any of it ever getting better. Was it selfish of me to only see the pain I was in? You may consider that to be the case, but my question in turn to you would be: do you consider a terminally ill person in excruciating physical pain to be selfish because they want their pain to end? Most people would say “No” to that question. Why? Maybe it’s because we view physical pain as real and emotional and mental pain as not real. I don’t know the answer to that question. What I do know is my pain was real to me. 

Thankfully my plans that night were unsuccessful, and things did eventually get better. It wasn’t overnight though. It took time and therapy. Then in my adult life, I ended up on the opposite side of that coin. I had learned to fight and battle the darkness from the side of the light, beating down the shadows that crept into my life. I had those to stand by my side. They helped to fight alongside me as I slayed the demon of depression. When I was injured and being sucked back into the darkness, they fought for me. They dragged my injured body back to safety and helped me to stand. 

It was nearly ten years ago when I received a phone call that my cousin had taken his life. He was like a brother to me. As children we all lived together for a two year period, so we were close. I was in shock; I was devastated, and I was able to see the pain it inflicted upon everyone who loved him. I don’t think his mother will ever fully recover. Having been on his side in the past, I was able to tell his momma that he was not trying to hurt her. Having now been on the opposite side of that coin, I was able to see the pain I would have inflicted upon those I love had I been successful all those years ago. 

It was after that incident that I decided to take my experience and my battle and create a fictional story of a girl battling depression, a girl who wanted to end her pain. I had lived on both sides. I knew what it felt like to be drowning, and I knew what it felt like to watch someone I loved end their life. I had heard the words of those not understanding depression, and I knew they needed to be able to see and experience it through the eyes of a character that could help them to feel the pain of it. Compassion comes from relating to someone else’s pain. I had also experienced the heartache and pain caused by those who think it’s cute to be a “mean girl” (or a mean guy) and bully or simply degrade others. I hoped maybe a few people who had those tendencies would read it and see the pain they actually inflict, but most of all I wanted those like my character to know that there really is hope for a better future. Things will not always be as dark as they are at that moment when you just want the voices to shut up and leave you alone. The cloud can be lifted. The darkness can be dispelled, but it doesn’t happen overnight, and you have to make an effort to reach up and grab the hand being extended to you. You have to use that helping hand as a rope and climb your way out of the pit. The hand will be there; the hand will not let go, but the hand cannot do the work on its own. You must work together with your doctor, your therapist, your loved ones, and the angels sent your way.You can do it. 

So, for those who do not understand depression, please do not attempt to tell a person battling it how to handle it. You are not equipped to do so. To those who seek to stand in judgment of those battling it, please be cautious. You may find yourself in the same position down the road, and you should really consider if you want the words you speak to be spoken to you at that point. To those of you helping a loved one to fight, I commend you. Keep it up. I assure you, you are important. To those of you who have found yourself feeling hopeless, I extend a hand of hope and words of wisdom. Please get to a doctor and make an appointment with a therapist. They will help you start swimming for the surface, and eventually you will realize you are above water and you can breathe.