Alive and kicking

Due to unforeseen complications, a two and a half year hiatus from my writing career proved inevitable. Family illness, publishers dying without paying me my royalties, and my never-ending sense that I can walk away from writing. Believe me, if I could do something else that hasn't ripped my heart out and stomped on it so fucking many times, I would.

But I can't.

The thing is though I've been paid to write on many an occasion, I am not a professional writer. I am not an avid writer, nor am I a freelance writer.

What I am is a born writer. For as long as I can remember, the only way to stop the chaos in my head was to get the words out. Turns out, I'm pretty damn good at stringing them together, too.

Do I promise I will never abandon you, dear readers, ever again. I do not. I have a mother with stage four cancer, a pubescent son, a complicated love life, and a mortgage. All that given, I will do my best stay true as long and often as I can. And like a bad penny or that lover you can't seem to quit, I will always return.

What I will promise you is to always tell you the truth. I will pour out my heart and soul and dip my pen in my own blood. I often cry when writing and that's how I've found the truth because as we all know, the truth fucking hurts.

I am also working on getting my backlog on Amazon CreateSpace and a few other venues so at least my previously published works are back out there.

Heart mended from the crushing blow dealt by a certain publisher who shall remain nameless and head on straight that no fucking way in hell do I WANT to be a pharmacist. I'm back.

I hope this time it is for good.

Cheers,
Cindy