With the passage
of the years, when the body goes through the most amazing transformation from
child to woman, I used this grace in my walk. I attracted an action man,
strong, handsome and charismatic. Perhaps instinct drew me to a partner who
would provide healthy children. Deep inside, I rejected the little voice
warning me not to let him control me. I discovered that turning a blind eye to
his rages would appease his jealousy. I committed to love and all it
entailed—through sickness and in health.
By the time I
reached twenty-four, three wonderful children occupied my time, and any chance
of a career sailed right past me. Caught up in The Good Life, I taught my
children to respect and consider others. Together, we collected rubbish on the
beach, helped the aged and strove to be the best we could be.
My husband worked
at an advertising agency, so I didn't see him much during my twenties. With his
charm and talent, he caught everyone's attention while I acted as his
side-kick. But the pressure of work caused him a nervous breakdown. My stepfather
offered the chance to leave city life behind and move to a little seaside
town—a place where my husband could relax and heal while building sand-hill
protection with a view of the ocean crashing on the shore. Here, I went through
another transformation. Although he recovered, I saw my husband's bullying with
new eyes.
Fantasy became
the powerful instructor I needed, the means to transport me into another world,
one distant from his demeaning tactics. I read my grandmother's early,
extensive collection of science fiction as well as Ayn Rand's novels and Edgar
Cayce's readings on the afterlife.
When the children
left home, my love went with them. I committed to keep faith with my pledge and
continue to strive for my best.
My husband's
illness pinpointed bipolar. Although he'd latched onto the sympathy of the
first real friend in my adult life, he still wanted my support. When he moved
in with my ex-friend, he gave me a freedom I wasn't ready for. Full of sorrow
and torment, I forgave myself.
With no
expertise, I worked as a nanny, eventually travelling to England. All alone in
London, I survived amongst borrowed luxury. But my spirit longed for love. A
prince in the guise of an accountant appeared.
Free at last, I
explored other ways of expressing myself. First I wrote songs—at least fifty.
Seven of the best, produced as demos, molder in files without me ever acquiring
the necessary drive to get a producer's interest. Poetry, so similar in rhyme
and beat, involved me next—a hundred tomes. The frustration of writing and
writing, with no chance of airing the result, caused a change of direction. I
wrote my life story for my family.
Right. Done. But what
about all I'd learned during my wonderful life?
Use my story as
the base of a novel. Show how a gentle, naive woman CAN survive in the face of
aggression. Demonstrate how to use the power of the mind to overcome every
obstacle with time, space and patience—as Edgar Cayce advocated.
And that's where
fantasy came in. An inherited star moonstone ring sweeps Liliha, my heroine in Still
Rock Water, away in random visions to help someone in distress. She's so
much more than a woman borrowing the story of my life. Liliha took over and
created her own circumstances. Her story will inspire each reader during the
ride to the joyful ending.
Due to be
released soon by Solstice Publishing, Still Rock Water comes first in
the Moonstone series. The three books to follow will involve the reader
in love, heartache and a fresh start for Liliha.
Francene's blog:
http://francene-wordstitcher.blogspot.com/
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100003255760473
https://twitter.com/#!/FranceneStanley

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