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

“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

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