Water Balloon

Love is a water-filled balloon.  

The pricks of an anonymous needle cause it to spring a few leaks, but it is not beyond repair.  

The number of holes will determine the likelihood of love's bursting into nothing but shreds of what it once was.  

Affection and adoration are draining out through the small punctures, a little at a time.  

Don't let it empty, just hoping not to rip the thinning barrier.  

Plug the holes and pray that it holds strong.  

There's too much to lose to let it pop. 

Under the Maple Tree: A letter for Julia

Julia walked through the door to her dark apartment.  She flipped on the light switch and lit up the overfilled room.  The walls were bare and her belongings were packed in towers of moving boxes.  She closed the door and locked it before walking through the tiny living room to the eat-in kitchen beyond it, which was also filled with stacks of boxes awaiting her move in three days' time.

Julia's heart was still in her throat from the anxiety attack she had suffered at the bar.  She inhaled deeply, though it was a fruitless effort.  She sighed as she mindlessly thumbed through the pile of mail she'd brought in with her.  Most were bills, but one letter stood out: a handwritten envelope with no return address.  Julia put the rest of the mail on the counter and looked at the piece she still held.    

She frowned at the envelope, trying to discern who the sender was.  The scrawl was likely a man's, small, sharp letters and tight spacing.  She didn't know who would bother sending a letter through the postal service, considering the easy access of social media, email and cell phones.  The notion was incredibly classy, even gentlemanly.  Maybe the letter was from her father, Jude.  Jude had been sending her checks in the mail to help see her through her move back home.  The postmark was from New York though, definitely not from her dad in Washington.

Julia turned the envelope over and slid her finger under the flap, ripping it open along the seam.  The paper's edge sliced her finger just enough to bleed, and she immediately stuck her finger into her mouth.  The sting of the cut didn't bother her terribly though, and her curiosity was piqued. She removed her finger from her mouth and pulled the sheet of folded paper out of the envelope.  Julia threw the empty envelope on the counter before she opened the letter with rapt attention, searching the bottom of the page for the sender's name.

...Kirk.

She did a double take.  Julia stared at the signature for a moment, in total disbelief.  Kirk had mailed her an old-fashioned letter.  When she couldn't wait another second to read it, she shifted her gaze upward to her own name.  Part of her knew it was probably a better idea to rip it up and throw it away, to never to give it a second thought.  Kirk was a monster, and his true colors had been revealed to her with all too much clarity.  But she couldn't.  She simply had to know what he went to so much trouble to say.

Julia,

I am writing this letter to tell you that I'm sorry.  I know that I hurt you.  There's really no excuse for it but, as the saying goes, all is fair in love and war.  I just wanted you to know that our time together was great.  I think about you and hope you are doing well now that you're back in the States. 

I'm on my way home as I write this, flying over the Atlantic.  I was thinking about you and I just needed to tell you that I am sorry for the way things turned out between us.  I'm hoping you will forgive me even though my plans haven't changed.  I should have been honest with you from the beginning, I know that now.  Thank you for making the time away from home easier to bear.  Good luck to you.

-Kirk

Tiny smears of her blood from her paper cut had stained the page as Julia read the letter, then again.  And again.  It didn't matter how many times she read it, The thing was still just as dreadful, just as tragic.  He'd done it again.  She was finally starting to let the wound of him heal over and from out of nowhere - he pierced right through her like he was a cannonball and she was the enemy ship.  He crushed her with one piece of paper from thousands of miles away.  His power over her was far too strong and too encompassing for her to ever allow anyone to hold the same privilege.  Ever again.  As for forgiveness? Not likely.

Beyond All Measure

Flesh and mind and spirit

flow together like a rapid river

 to ocean deep

heaven's clouds softly gusting 

for lovers drifting

into infinite divinity

their essence of salt and sweet

a euphoric tribute 

to their blissful adoration

atoms spinning into fusion

souls outstretched to intertwine

thudding beats of mended heart

spreading love's blood

vulnerable, timid exposure

bare the soul

to know true understanding

Find the ultimate philosophy

Love.

beyond all measure.

Art by Sven Grier

What's your stance?

My girl friends and I were having a discussion regarding fidelity in relationships.  I was surprised to hear that everyone had a difference of opinion on the topic.  Most would certainly agree that being faithful in a relationship is imperative, and the only moral way to be. No argument here - but the question of how to handle things is really where the roads diverged among us.

Let me explain: one of my friends said that if you ever have a once-in-a-million situation where the stars-aligned and you found yourself in the unenviable position of having cheated on your spouse/significant other, you should NOT tell them.  This was a somewhat surprising outlook to me.  Honesty is harped as one of the most important aspects of a healthy relationship, followed closely by communication.  The concept of keeping such a secret goes completely against both of those rules of thought, however, for the sake of this post - I would like to explore this idea.

My friend's perspective is one who has had a partner be unfaithful, and was hurt immensely in all manners of measurement.  The toll was not only emotional and physical (being single/alone) - the financial fallout was off the charts as well.  So clearly, my friend is speaking from experience.  The backing for her argument to remain hush about it is that telling your partner what you've done is selfish because the confession was likely brought out by your own guilt, and not because your partner deserves to know the truth.  If you did the deed, pay the price by suffering with your own regrets in secret rather than drag your partner down with you, my friend says.  I might be inclined to agree with her.  

That being said, is it better to be in love with someone who was once unfaithful but discreet?  Or is it better to know about it, even if it was only one time?  Will knowing the truth dissolve a good relationship over one slip-up or can a relationship recover after a period of healing and reconstruction? Frankly, it might be better to just stay blissfully ignorant to your partner's transgression. 

Obviously, repeated infidelity shouldn't be tolerated because it puts you, your partner(s) [and their partner(s)] at risk. Some would debate that monogamy is simply loving the one you're with RIGHT NOW.  Apart from the poly-amorous, people generally feel that spreading oneself around denotes a lack of emotional value/respect for yourself (particularly if you're a woman) and for your relationship.  Many cheaters would say otherwise, but they are simply filling their own selfish desires, and not taking into account the needs of their partners equally with their own.  I'd say that most would agree that if you truly love someone, you wouldn't risk hurting them (or worse: passing on an STD) by being unfaithful.

I'd be interested to hear the perspective of men on this topic.  I wonder if a woman's outlook will differ from that of a man's.  Do men feel more possessive over their partners, and thus, less tolerant to cheating? Or conversely, are women more insecure in their relationships because men can have a reputation for "spreading their seed"?  I think it's safe to say that the answer to this difficult question will be different depending upon not only gender, but the personal experience and the belief system of each person.       

  

Question and Answer

Q & A with JoAnna

How did you get the ideas for Restless Mind and The View From The Fishbowl?

I started writing a short story during my junior year of High School that was the ultimately the hatching of Restless Mind.  The short story turned out not to be so short, and I abandoned the project for over a decade.  Eventually, I returned to the core idea of writing about a woman with mental illness; this time with greater skill and enough follow through to write the whole novel.

I really liked writing about mental disorder, and how that impacts the protagonist, so I started researching other conditions to write about.  Fishbowl was originally conceived because I have a friend who suffers from agoraphobia.  My friend's experiences are nothing like what Caleb goes through, but the emotional attributes of agoraphobia is what planted the seed for the book to bloom into Fishbowl. 

How do you come up with plotlines?

I brainstorm a lot before I write.  I hated pre-writing when I was a kid, but now I realize it's a necessity.  I start with one character and one general plot concept and keep adding other characters and subplots until I have an entire outline of the story.  This outline changes multiple times throughout the writing process as I continue to think of new ideas during the rough draft stage.  I think of it more as a map, with many directions, rather than a turn-by-turn that I have to stick to.  That way, if I want to change course, I can because I will always know where else I can go if it doesn't work out.

Where do you seek inspiration?

I use music to inspire me.  Songs help me capture a character by listening to what I think the character would choose.  If I want to write about a cowboy, I wouldn't be as successful doing so while listening to rap. 

I also look to my own life experiences or the experiences of people I know for inspiration.  I often model my characters after people I know or have known, even though I usually change certain attributes to make them unique and separate from the person the character was inspired by.  Sometimes, I just like one thing in particular about a person, like a devilish laugh, the color of someone's eyes or a mannerism that I think is endearing.

How long does it take you to write a novel?

My first novel, Restless Mind, was written in 5 weeks from start to finish.  I was writing up to twelve hours a day, though, so that's not representative of the time frame that's actually necessary to write a 100,000 word novel and be thorough about it.  The View From the Fishbowl took a bit more time, about four months to write, but I got writer's block half way through and took close to a month off from working on it.

The story I'm currently writing, Under the Maple Tree, has been a work-in-progress for almost two years.  I haven't had much time to write, and it has slowed my progress down immensely.  Plus, writer's block comes and goes and when I can't write I go back to pre-writing.  Maple Tree has already been through a lot of pre-writing and has morphed into a tale far different than what I started out with.  I am looking forward to finishing it and see how it turns out, that's still a long way off from now.

Do you feel self-conscious about allowing others to read your work?

The first time I was asked this question, I was surprised by it.  I'm not overly confident, by any stretch of the imagination, but it also never occurred to me to be self-conscious about my writing.  I guess I have always been too excited to share it to ever be shy about being judged.  I also invite feedback from all my readers, because there's always room for improvement!

Which one of your books is your favorite and why?

Fishbowl is my favorite.  I like it better than Restless Mind because I feel like it's a more skillfully written novel.  The plot and subplots are more complex, the cast of characters is bigger and the emotions run much deeper.  The whole novel is a lot heavier than Restless Mind, but in a good way, probably because it's more suspenseful.  Fishbowl more entertaining for the reader.  Altogether, I feel like it's just a much better book.

That being said, I would still say that I enjoyed writing Restless Mind the most simply because the excitement level was much higher since it was my first book.

You never know though, maybe my seventeenth or my seventieth novel will be my all-time favorite!

Amethyst - a short story

Amethyst 

By 

JoAnna

Santanen

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” whispered my best friend, Daphne. She was several paces behind me, frozen in her place.

Her words were a warning, yes, but at the same time, almost a taunt.  The urge to disobey her was there, bubbling under the surface of my mind.  I knew I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t resist.  I crept closer to my target, as quiet as a cheetah on the prowl through golden, Savannah grasses, ready to pounce. My breath grew quick at my anticipation.  As I drew nearer, I reached my small, chubby-fingered hand outward toward it.

 Her beautiful, long-lashed lavender eyes twinkled as she met my brown-eyed stare.  She blinked once slowly, in recognition of my presence and my intention of touching her.  I was holding my breath at the awe of the moment as my hand touched the soft fur covering her body.  I ran my palm over her long, thick neck that felt surprisingly soft and velvety.  She puffed out a loud snuff from her nostrils, cooing for more affection.  She was ethereally angelic, her body glowing white as snow against the dark forest.  She was a magnificent statue of strong muscles over sturdy bones. 

Her long, spiraled horn shone bright light into the summer’s pitch black night.  She was magical beyond my wildest imaginings, and most importantly, she was real.  A real unicorn was allowing me to touch her, to draw myself near to her magic and be forever blessed by its power. 

I couldn’t believe that the stories were true.   Unicorns were so rare no one ever saw them.  They were legends never confirmed by anyone in our tiny village or from any other place.  My father thought unicorn stories were probably just fictional tales passed down through the ages until everyone had accepted them as truth.  I knew the stories were true in my heart, whether he believed or not.

“It’s been a long time since I saw a human.” A gentle woman’s voice said from seemingly nowhere.  There was no mistaking that the voice did not belong to my friend Daphne, who was still standing silently, utterly petrified behind me.

“Who said that?” I asked, looking around for someone else nearby, keeping my hand on her steady so she didn’t spook.

“I did, of course.” She replied, while nudging me with her giant nose, brushing up against my side with a well-meaning gentleness.

I jumped back from her, too shocked to speak.  I opened my eyes wide at her in my disbelief.  I brushed my long brown hair back out of my face so I could see her better.

“You can…t-talk?” I stammered.

“Only telepathically.” Her voice resonated back to me like the hum of a finely tuned cello.  Her tone was deep and rich as dark chocolate, but soft as a feather.  

 “I never heard of a telepathic unicorn.” I replied.

“You’ve heard of other unicorns?” She asked.

“Yes. I know about unicorns.”

“Well, I am not likely to be the same as all other unicorns.  My name is Amethyst.  I am guardian of this forest and many beyond it.  And what is your name, child?”

“It’s uh…Tempest.”  I could hardly speak to her.   I felt unworthy of her greatness.

“What have you heard?” She blinked her sparkling eyes at me.  Her divine soul showed through their depth.

“That if you can find a unicorn, they will bless you with some of their magic.” I said somewhat bashfully.  The request seemed a bit demanding of me, knowing how spectacular her presence was compared to my meager, childish existence.  I was only eleven, after all.

 “Tempest, do you know how you would earn my blessing?” Amethyst asked.

“Yes, I do.  I must solve your riddle.” I said aloud, as I ran my hand down the length of her side, as high as I could reach her.  She towered over me with her massive size.

“Do you feel you are capable of meeting such a challenge?”

“Maybe.” I replied, truthfully.  “But I must at least try.  Your blessing would help my family.”

“In what way?”

“You sure ask a lot of questions.” I declared.

“Unicorns are naturally inquisitive.” She answered.  “Now, why does your family need my blessing? I must warn you, blessings are not for the selfish, so choose your answer carefully.”

“My sister, Patience, is sick.  I came looking for you because you’re her only hope.  My friend Daphne tried to talk me out of it, but I made her go with me instead.” I said, pointing to Daphne, who ducked behind a tree as soon as I said her name. Daphne was always a scaredy-cat.

“You two young girls ventured out deep into the forest, at night, alone?”

I bowed my head.  I was ashamed of my poor choice to put myself and my friend in danger.  “We needed to find you and unicorns can only be seen at night, right?  I brought a spear in case we needed it for protection from predators.”

“You believe you could fight off a jaguar with a spear?” She laughed at me as she asked.

I nodded timidly and looked down at the lumpy earth beneath my old, leather shoes.   

“Your bravery is commendable despite your foolishness.  Your  reason to ask for my blessing is honorable.  You may attempt to solve my riddle, if you wish.”

“I can?  Thank you!” I exclaimed without hesitation.

“You are confident you will accomplish the challenge?”  She asked coyly.

I walked around the front of her to look her in her crystalline eyes.  “I must solve it, for my sister.  I believe I can.” I said with conviction.

“I believe you will, Tempest.”  She took a few steps around in a circle, lifting her legs high in her prance before turning toward me again.  I knotted my fingers together behind my back and stood up straight and  tall at her attention, like my mother would tell me to do during lesson time.

She bowed her head to me deeply, and her horn shone brighter than anything I’d ever seen before.  I had to look away until it dimmed again.

“What is all around us, but has no mass, can be channeled but never seen, can be felt but never touched, can be known but never heard and is non-existent for those who do not believe?”

I considered my options for a moment.  I had three choices that sprang to mind and I wanted to be certain of the right one.  I decided to consider each individually, hoping to rule out the wrong ones.

First, I thought about the Gods.  My mother’s lessons about the Gods could be non-existent if I didn’t believe her teachings, but the ancient stories recall plenty of instances where each God was seen by a human.  The Gods could not be the answer.

Second, I considered energy.  Energy was a sacred teaching also.  Energy existed everywhere and ran through everything, but could never be seen.  It had no mass but was all around us.  I could feel energy in the warmth of my mother’s hugs and hear it in my little sister’s voice before she got sick.  I could feel energy in my body after a good meal, too.  I did when my father brings home a large kill and we can eat the meat until we are stuffed to the brim.  And, your energy will cease if you don’t believe you have any. 

You can feel the energy of fire or water by touching them, so that could not be the answer, either.

My final answer for consideration was magic.  My family believes that magic is an unending spiritual energy that exists in everything.  It cannot be seen, but is all around us.  It has no mass, so it cannot be touched, but can be felt within us all.  It can be channeled into spells and rituals, but dies if you do not believe in it.  I could think of nothing to contradict it.  The answer had to be magic.  It made perfect sense, considering that unicorns are said to have been made from pure magic.

“At the risk of being wrong, I am ready to give my answer, Amethyst.” I said proudly, hoping that by seeming sure, I could feel more certain of myself and my ability to solve the riddle.

“I will ask you again,” she said as her horn glowed brighter, “What is all around us, but has no mass, can be channeled but never seen, can be felt but never touched, can be known but never heard and is non-existent for those who do not believe?”

“My answer is magic.” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back.

“Your answer is…correct.” Amethyst said with a smile in her enormous horse eyes.  “I knew you could do it, Tempest.  You were always worthy of my blessing, even if you didn’t think you were.  You braved the forest at night with only a spear to protect yourself, knowing that big cats roam these woods.  Your motives were selfless because you came only to save your sister, even at your own peril.  You found me only because you believed with all of your heart that my magic is real.  Had you had even the tiniest doubt of my existence, you would have never laid eyes upon me.  I am the guardian of this forest and all who seek my help for pure reasons.  Your wish has been granted, Tempest.  Magic will cure your sister.”

Tears streamed down my cheeks with joy.  I’d done it, I’d saved my sister.  She will live on and my parents will not know the sorrow of losing a child.  I ran towards Amethyst and wrapped my arms around her gigantic neck.  I buried my face against her toned muscle covered in fur softer than a rabbit’s.  I cried from my relief, grateful that I would not have to carry the burden of my sister’s death.

After a few moments, I calmed myself.  I stepped away from Amethyst.  I knew it was time to say goodbye.

“You will have a safe journey home.  You needn’t worry.  Now, return to your family and see the glow of health in your sister’s rosy cheeks again.” Amethyst said.

“Thank you.  Thank you so much, “I said with a big smile, as I wiped the tears from my face.

Amethyst’s horn glowed brighter than it ever had.  I shielded my eyes with my arm and turned away to keep the light from blinding me.  When it dimmed, I turned to look for her, but Amethyst was gone.

“Come on, Daphne. She’s gone.” I said as I turned to walk back toward home. 

Daphne stepped out from behind a tree trunk.  “That was amazing.” Daphne whispered.

“Aren’t you glad you came with me? Come on, let’s go home. I can’t wait to see Patience.” I said, wrapping my arm around my friend as we walked back through the forest towards our village.  The walk home was quick and easy, unlike the trek into the dark forest had been when we’d left home hours ago.  We knew that Amethyst was watching, and that her magic would see us home safely to our healthy, happy families.

Delusions

A dear friend of mine suggested that I write about mental disorder on my blog, considering that it's the main theme of my books.  What a novel idea (pun intended!).
I have been fascinated by mental disorder/the human psyche for as long as I can remember.  I took psychology 101 three times just because I really liked it (once in high school, twice in college).  I find it intriguing that each person's psyche is all their own, despite the similarity in terms of anatomy.  I could go in depth into nature versus nurture, but I'm not a scientist, I'm a novelist.
I like the idea that while we rely entirely on our perception of the world around us, that perception can be altered by a number of things (drugs, illness or exhaustion, to name a few).  The most interesting part of altered perception is when it has been changed, one might not even be aware of it.  This fact creates an impenetrable foundation on which sanity is based, though it could be a complete sham, and really, one would have no way of knowing.
Most people consider themselves sane, for obvious reasons, but truthfully, many are completely delusional.  I'm not referring to the scary mental patient who believes he's the reincarnation of Hitler (though he'd make for a supremely fascinating character, if you ask me!), I'm speaking more toward the man who thinks his "recreational" daily drinking habit isn't going to cost him at least his health, if not his life, or the teen girl who believes she's fat even though she's twenty pounds underweight.
People that live under these lies they tell themselves are delusional, but don't consider themselves to be so in the clinical sense.  Maybe their mental disorder will affect their lives for years, but without a dramatic enough effect for them to change.  Maybe their conditions will eventually force them to seek treatment before costs them their lives, or maybe not.
Based on that concept, does that mean that everyone is a little crazy? Probably, but the big difference is that not all delusions cause detriment, or interfere with daily living.  Some delusions are utterly harmless while others can devastate emotional well-being.
I see the mystery of the human mind as being a debatable topic.  The medical field often questions the validity of studies of the human mind, despite the many years since Freud and Jung.  What appeals to me most about the mind is the opportunity to draw my own conclusions about how it all works, because ultimately, it's all subjective.  You believe your delusions, and I'll go on believing mine.