One of the most terrifying things an author can experience happened to me yesterday. I opened up the master file (which I had saved in multiple locations) of my memoir (Candy Apple Butterscotch) to correct a minor formatting issue that had been bothering me since the initial release back in 2018. I was plodding along tweaking the formatting in each chapter when I suddenly discovered that six chapters were MISSING from the document! I thought maybe it was a fluke and that the

Oh, Lavender Raindrops. This story is the finished version of my very first attempt at putting together a novel. It has been edited for clarity, but the storyline is still a mess. Those who have read it have enjoyed it. It's not to say that it's a bad attempt at a first novel, but comparing it to my more recent endeavors illustrates quite a contrast. I started this project in high school right after September 11th, 2001. 2001 was ages before I was diagnosed with PTSD or even

Being stuck in the house over the past month and a half has been challenging to say the least. I’ve struggled with it in many different respects, and also used the extra time to my advantage. I’ve been extremely introspective in most recent weeks and after a conversation with my sister decided to revisit my very first novel. I started this project in high school right after September 11th, 2001. 2001 was ages before I was diagnosed with PTSD or even really recognized how mala

Isaac arrived at the school promptly at 7 am before many of the faculty had a chance to claim the prime parking spots. He swung the car into the first open spot he saw and killed the ignition. Before exiting the car, he stared through the windshield at the large brick building. The school appeared to be from the turn of the century. It was gothic in style and quite foreboding. This meeting was the first time he’d made it to the school campus itself. Whenever he received a new

All families have their strengths and weaknesses. For the Fosters, it was no different. Isaac, the Foster family’s patriarch, made his lot in life by enlisting in the military immediately after college. It was the quickest and most accessible way out of the tiny Midwestern town where he grew up. He served admirably through his young adulthood, bouncing around from place to place, overseas and domestically until fate brought him to a small Alabama town where he met Adrianne, t

One of the most terrifying things an author can experience happened to me yesterday. I opened up the master file (which I had saved in multiple locations) of my memoir (Candy Apple Butterscotch) to correct a minor formatting issue that had been bothering me since the initial release back in 2018. I was plodding along tweaking the formatting in each chapter when I suddenly discovered that six chapters were MISSING from the document! I thought maybe it was a fluke and that the

Last Fall I decided to submit the ISBN for my memoir Candy Apple Butterscotch into the expanded distribution market. Basically my ISBN (the number that identifies my book for marketing/sales tracking purposes) went into a catalogue that is only available to purchasing agents for retail stores. Hundreds of thousands of books fill this catalogue and by nothing short of a miracle my book was selected and distributed nationwide a few months ago. There are 100 different districts

“The annoying bedside alarm pierced the air, rousting her from the deep depression induced sleep Odessa found herself in. She was sprawled across a small twin bed in an empty, forlorn room. She blindly reached over in the direction of the sound, her hand connecting with the alarm clock and silencing it’s frantic electronic yelp. She rolled back from the edge of the bed and slowly opened her eyes. It was the same depressing sight she had seen a few hours before when she had fa

“If anyone had told me the events of my life would inspire me to write a book, I would have called them crazy, would have until the plan for my life got derailed by circumstance that is. The year was 2008, I had just graduated from university with honors, and everything was going according to plan. I majored in business management, and finance with a minor in liberal arts. As far as I was concerned my future lay in the corporate world, or at least the private financial sector

I can’t believe it’s already been one year since I became a published author. This year has brought so many wonderful interactions and opportunities for me to continue with my writing career. I’ve learned a lot in the past year both in terms of marketing and all of the processes that go into independent publishing. Getting your words published is fairly easy with Amazon these days, but maintaining your presence in the every growing world of authors and flood of material is a

“In early January 2019 the marketing department of a fairly well known men’s grooming company released a short film addressing their roll perpetuating the culture of toxic masculinity, and their desire to promote a healthier idea of masculinity moving forward. It caused quite an uproar with politicians, Feminists and Mens Rights Activists. I loved it. I loved it so much. It was eloquent, current, to the point, and beautifully put together. Why the hell it has became such a co

There was an ad displaying the exploitation of Denim Day that came across my social media feed a few weeks ago. At first I was more confused than offended. I knew Denim Day was associated with sexual assault awareness in some way, but everything I had seen about it didn’t share the real reason behind why denim specifically was so important to the cause. It didn’t especially stand out since most women wear denim as a casual fashion choice, so choosing denim seemed like a weird

“Several years ago the hash tag #WhyWomenDontReport became a social media trend. Reading through so many women sharing their stories of fear, disappointment, and betrayal at the hands of the justice system worldwide broke my heart and inspired me to share my own story. “Because I didn’t want to be investigated/prosecuted for being the victim of a crime.” “Because sexual assault is like a murder without a corpse. And you feel powerless” “Because society victim blames and shame

“Several years ago, I came across an article on social media. It was written by a young man who wanted to share his experience after having what he believed to be an unfounded rape accusation brought against him. As I was moving forward with this book project I went back to see if I could find the article to share here, or at least cite for my work. Unfortunately, as social media often moves so quickly, the article has been deleted. Being a very vocal supporter of survivors I

“When discussing the issues of sexual assault and feminism in general a plethora of different and often oppositional opinions show up on social media. I was pursuing the Internet looking for graphics to share on my various social media outlets and came across a colorful picture proclaiming, “Women who falsely accuse men of rape should go to jail.” The above statement is one of the most ignorant statements I have ever seen in regards to rape and sexual assault accusations. For

April 2017 “In April 2017 President Trump made a declaration about April being Sexual Assault Awareness Month (SAAM). To be clear, I was staunchly opposed to him being in office with so many allegations of sexual assault against him. Yet, SAAM and the National Sexual Violence Resource Center were trending for the first time that I could recall in all of my years of involvement with the project. I was offended by the blatant hypocrisy, and obvious insincerity. I was also kind

“The hardest part of recovery from sexual assault, at least for me, has been defining my feelings towards my attackers. The first attack happened, and shortly after my assailant disappeared from my life. He never stuck around after the fact, which I think is what’s helped me “get over it” so quickly. Well that, and the fact that I haven’t been able to recall the full memory of what happened. I only have bits and pieces here and there, but beyond that the rest of it is lost. I

“I don’t like guns, and besides, what’s more scary? Some guy with a gun, or some guy running at you like a maniac with a sword?” Noah countered in response. I thought about it for a moment before replying, “Well, I guess you’re right. If some guy was running at me with a sword, I guess I would run away, but what if whoever is after you has a gun? Running at him with a sword isn’t going to stop a bullet, and why would you want to get right up next to someone to hurt him? Would

Before she wrote her memoir Candy Apple Butterscotch, Rebecca MacCeile had a library full of dusty notebooks with long forgotten fictional tales. Each one of these short stories encompasses a different world, and different ideas. Most of them are light hearted, some of them are fantastical, and still some of them have echos of her own struggles as she used her creativity to cope with her undiagnosed PTSD. Take a peek into her raw private texts with Novelties: A Collection of

“At some point during our first month living together, Noah had received a chess set. It had sat on the coffee table, unopened, until we found ourselves without power. Without TV and because smart phones were not yet commonplace, we had no distractions and were at a loss for conversation. Until, that is, I motioned to the chess set. “Where did you get that?” I asked, pointing to the box. “Troy got it from Betty. He doesn’t play so he gave it to me. Why? Do you play?” Noah ans