Life goes on...

My due date is fast approaching. I have dreaded this day since I lost the baby. But I am okay. I replaced painful things with new things. New clubs for the kids, new goals for us all. There are pieces in the back of my mind that seem to bubble up sometimes. Like when I saw a brand-new baby at the store, without warning my throat closed up and I fought back tears. Why? I cannot even tell you, it was just an instant reaction. But it did not change my mood or my day.  I finished my tasks and hung out with my kids all afternoon. Sometimes it hurts, but so much less than I expected a few months ago when I was lost in the pain.      This is such a relief.       And that is all I wanted to say today.  If anyone experiences this, and needs to chat I am here sometimes just talking about it helps you climb over the mountain.

Which Book Is This Poem Inspired By?

Little girls who wake up to colorful hooked rugs placed carefully on clean cool floors will come to no harm when they lay their head on pillows at night.

Clean windows and redbirds taunting, sleeping dogs, and breakfast on chipped china but not paper. Little girls with mothers who worry will sleep soundly not know a care.

She thinks it would be a day to run away if she did not love them so, adventure awaits and will embrace her when the time is right.

She delights in fake choices like which ribbon to wear in her hair, which adventure to take within the confines they set for her.

A clean world for a treasure, at least for now.
by: Amanda Harris
Who ever can guess will win a prize!

Some days are better than others...

I re-read my last post about my miscarriage and I feel like I was in a better place then than I am now. I don't know how to deal with the anger, and the desire to have a baby when I can't. I keep trying to keep the faith and put on a happy face but some days it is totally fake.


I don't know how to write about something real. I realized this in the past month when I went through the worst time of my life. Give me an assignment to write a list of what your drink says about your personality, about the benefits of synthetic lumber, or a dozen product descriptions in half an hour... no problem. But each time I tried to sit down and write about my own life, I found I  had nothing I was brave enough to share. I was too raw, and it was too painful to put it to words. Perhaps a small part of me felt that if I did not write or talk about losing my baby, I would still have my baby.

Logic prevails and now, over a month later I think I am brave enough to tell my story. It is important to tell my story because it is through other stories of loss that I found hope. Even as I read through tears, and dread, and deep spiritual pain, I still found hope that one day I could speak of it, maybe even look back and see it in some sort of wise perspective. I am not there yet, but I do have hope.

This was not my first miscarriage. I lost a baby at 9 weeks years ago, and to be honest I was rather unfeeling about the whole thing. It was more like a period, and within two months I was pregnant again and had my beautiful daughter. In fact, when the doctor asked me if I ever had a miscarriage I answered, no. I actually forgot. . . I wondered in the pain over the last month if this was punishment for not feeling enough the first time?

It began with a little blood, not much, I called my doctor's office and they confirmed what I already knew. That it was likely a normal part of pregnancy, and to take it easy until my appointment the next day. She scheduled an ultrasound just in case. I tried to take it easy. I was sure nothing could go wrong, after all I was in no pain and it was a very small amount of blood. I was well into my pregnancy and I even thought I felt the baby move a time or two. I was sure nothing could be wrong. I took my son to baseball practice and as I sat still and tried to take it easy. Then I felt a horrid stabbing sudden pain. I froze. I knew what it meant but did not know what to do. I did not want to bring attention to myself, I did not want to scare my children sitting in the bleachers next to me. I sat still and hoped it would go away. I was in denial, and also hoping if I was losing the baby the worst would wait till I returned to the privacy of my home.

Then my waters broke. It was violent, everywhere, painful, and humiliating. I was blessed to have two other mothers there who blocked me from view and called 911. My mind shut down to be honest, I don't know what I would have done without them. I remembered that my husband was working dispatch and I did not want him receiving the 911 call about his own wife so I called his cell and he arrived before the ambulance.

At the hospital each moment was a nightmare. The staff was polite and they did their job according to protocol, but I was not needing stitches or a cast, I was having my heart broken. I would not want to be in their position. The baby was fully formed but oh so tiny.  Ten tiny toes, and fingers. Two eyes, a mouth... the legs were closed and the baby was laying on its side when they showed me. I did not have the courage to push the legs apart to check the sex.

I will regret this forever. But I think, even then, I was still in denial. I don't know how I could have been, but I don't think it was real yet. I did not know it was the only chance I would get to see the baby. It was the last chance I got, my baby who was well past the first semester and almost at the sixteenth week was taken away and treated like medical waste. I wish I fought for the right to bury my baby respectfully. I would not have made a spectacle, even my other children would not have known, but it would have saved me from the nightmares each time I fell asleep in the following weeks.

I went home late that night feeling worn down, and in need of pulling my children close. They took the news well, and I put on a brave face. To this day they have not seen me cry, I don't know if this is a bad or good thing but I wanted to protect them from my pain.

I thought the worst must be over, but I woke up the next day and discovered that I was broken. How do you survive as a broken human? I cried at the drop of a hat, a lot of time was spent hiding in the bathroom or going for a walk for privacy. I felt like anything could happen to my children. Like they could be taken at any moment too. After all I was just sitting at a ball field when my baby was lost. I guess part of it was hormones from losing the pregnancy, and part was dealing with the loss. So much love and hope was tied into this baby and now I did not even have a name to grieve over.

Through it all my testimony in the love of our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ did not waiver. I am not saying this as a point of pride, but to let you know the only way I survived. When I first got pregnant, it came as such a shock that my reaction was literally a grateful feeling that God still noticed me, he still cared and trusted me to be a mother yet again. I felt humbled and grateful. When I lost the baby, I wondered for a moment if I had done something to change his mind. But then I knew that God had nothing to do with the horror I was experiencing, he did not cause the pain but him and his son would help me survive it.

I read stories of other women who survived late term miscarriages, and even baby loss, I thought of a friend in my community to lost her beautiful daughter at six months old. And I knew that I was not going to die, although I was not sure how I was going to live in such pain.

Then one day, I woke up and did not feel the physical pain in my chest and gut. I went to my follow up doctor appointment and got the all clear to try again, but to be honest I am not sure I will. I would love to hold my baby in my arms but you can't just replace a child. I don't know if he/she had a spirit yet but I feel such a loss that it seems crass to just replace the baby. Although sometimes when the pain is unbearable, all I want is what I had restored. Luckily my husband does not give in to my heartbroken pleas. A baby should come from a place of love, into a home that is ready to emotionally support it. For a while a least, any baby we make will be just to heal our broken hearts. That does not seem fair to the baby.

I have more good days than bad, I even have great days. I don't constantly think about what I lost any more. There are some triggers, like when my husband's co-worker revealed the gender of her baby who was the same age as mine, I cried my heart out even though I was happy for her and I thought I was over my loss. And when I realized that I was happy to be losing weight I felt guilty because it means it really is over, so I sabotaged my diet. I guess emotional stability, and happiness will be fleeting. But I find comfort in my family, in Heavenly Father, and in music, as trite as it might sound it helps when I am feeling low. I know it is going to be a life-long journey, and I know that many woman have suffered greater losses and came out strong. I will try to handle this with grace, and continue to be the person my children need from day to day. 

I am not the type to share so much, but when I am up late at night with my heart torn in two, feeling lost and alone these stories that other women have shared have saved me. I will share mine, and tell you now if you are going through this you will feel better. You may even feel guilty for feeling better. Do not give into the guilt. Enjoy the good moments and know that you are stronger than you feel right now.

Check out this website compiling evidence that father's may have a secret super power. Some of the Rad Dad Saves, just do not seem possible within the realm of physics. 

Rad Dad Saves will continue to attempt to find video proof of these secret powers. Submit any clips of Rad Dad's to the site if you have any evidence to bring forth.

It seems that viewing faces of gay people is inappropriate according to Bing.

I was doing research for an article today and was surprised that I could not search the term "Male Gay Celebrities" with moderate search on. Not one single webpage was okay to view according to Bing. So I went to Google with the same settings and got several resources to do my article about men who are out of the closet in Hollywood. These sources were not racy, just news/gossip type sites. Not exactly what I would want my kids browsing on because of the gossip element, but there was no nudity or suggestive language.

So why does Bing think that just looking a gay man is inappropriate? I have had a long hate relationship with Bing from attempting to do research for papers in the past, their results are rarely relevant to any topic I am searching. I typically use it if I am on a computer that already has it as default, to search for Google and go from there.

Here is an image that may be too racy for Bing's standards.



For the hundredth blog post, Mathew Biggin is guest blogging about finding the courage to take the plunge. You can view his portfolio, and find out more about his work and world here.

Last week I had the great privilege of travelling up to Finchley to attend a book launch and signing. The event marked the debut novel of B.B. Vos (Ben), a charming and loquacious new author who was kind enough to write a lovely message in my copy despite the fact we hadn't met before.

The night was a great achievement for him, as he launched the book he'd toiled for so long over. It, like most books, was a labour of love for Ben and was very personal to him as a man, as well as an author.

The book The Teeth of Beasts is a crime fiction novel about Jewish gangsters in 1930's London and is hopefully the first of many offerings from this new wunderkind.

Anyway, the whole event got me thinking about how important it is as writers to follow our dreams. To follow through with work. I'm as guilty as the next wordsmith of coming up with reams and reams of ideas, but not following them through to fruition. I guess a lot of that comes down to the fear factor. Writers, I suppose like most 'artists', are petrified of failure, or at least perceived failure. It's easy to give up on something before you've started, that way you never find out whether it is any good or not - and more importantly, you never have to deal with people not liking it.

But as writers I think that it is important not to be afraid of failure, and it's the same with all artists. Art is such a subjective medium that it is impossible to create anything without some people disliking it. You can't please everyone, but you can try to please the people who matter, and that's what counts.

It reminds me of a quote by Jon Hamm of Mad Men fame, who once prudently observed "It's not only acceptable to fail, it's par for the course. You must fail in order to succeed." What a wise old sage he is. But it's very true. Sometimes we just have to take a leap of faith.

Which brings me back, forgive the segue, to Ben. If Ben had given up, or been scared of failure, or wanted everyone to like his work (particularly with how niche it is) then he would doubtless have been scared away before he'd even started. At the very least I don't think he'd have published it, he'd have kept it for his eyes only, hidden away from the world, never risking showing it to anybody.

As writers I think we (and certainly I) can learn a lot from Ben's example. He was not working as a writer at the time of starting the novel, but he had the passion, bloody-mindedness and application to nurture his idea and help it blossom from a tiny seed into a completed work of fiction. More impressively still, it's written in a mixture of Hebrew/Yiddish and English, but with a handy reference key for those (like me) who don't read a jot of Hebrew/Yiddish.

Ben followed his dreams and he got his reward, a completed work of art that he can be very proud of. Hopefully this will inspire him to write the next and the next. That first step is always the hardest, stepping out into the world, putting your balls on the line and taking the plunge into the great unknown. So congratulations to Ben, he's accomplished something many of us harbour aspirations of doing but are too afraid to take that plunge. Let's follow Ben's lead and dive in to the pool.

The Teeth of Beasts by B.B. Vos is available now on Amazon kindle. You can get in touch with Mathew Biggin by clicking his name.

My favorite is interesting, it sounds pleasant and brings to mind good things and people.

25 Happiest Words In The English Language.

It is positively interesting.


I can not change the world with a word, or a million of them lined up in a clever way. I am not sure if a million people can change it. But there needs to be a change. A simple yet drastic change ... as simple as Imagine By John Lennon, but as drastic as actually turning the song into a verb. I think I just need to hide in a hole for a while, not watch the news, not know the terrible things in the world. Because knowing about it yet being helpless to change anything is too painful.

Ya know what's fun?

That tingly feeling you get when someone compliments your writing... Happened twice this week and I can feel my head swelling. Then come the worries. Are they lying? Do they just pity me? Is it so bad that they can not say anything except nice things because...why bother? The life of a neurotic writer...

Why is The “N” word taboo when women are still referred to as Bitches and Whores?

I am appalled by Paula Dean losing her job over her use of the the N word. Not because I condone it, not because I am a fan of hers, this is not even about free speech, although free speech may be a good argument for not firing a woman who said something disagreeable off the air. The reason this Paula Dean and Nigger controversy is so disgusting is because at the same time that she is being pursued for using a racial slur, people of all races make millions in the hip hop and movie industry calling women bitches, whores, referring to them as pussy and pieces of ass. These people are not condemned for these words, they make millions teaching these ideals to a younger generation. In this country woman were not given the right to vote until after black men. Today it can easily be argued and proven that women of all races are held back, prosecuted, molested, and discriminated against as much as, or even more than black people. So why the double standard? Why is yet another woman being punished for the same behavior that makes a man rich? I makes me think of the expression, “If a man sleeps around he is a ladies man, if a woman does it she is a whore”- “If a man raps about bitches and pussy he makes his career and is idolized by millions, If a woman uses a slur term and it comes out she loses her career and has to make a public apology to millions.” Being called a bitch, a whore, or nigger makes a person feel like less than human. Trust me I know this, I also know that when I was called a whore at 11 years old the male teacher did nothing. That same month a student got suspended for calling another a nigger. Women still do not matter, is the message being sent to girls everywhere when these things happen. Paula Dean should not lose her job unless every man who has ever made a dime by publicly dehumanizing women is prosecuted equally as she was for something said in private.

Tonight I am listening to Van Morrison on Pandora. He makes me feel melancholy. I want to be on a sail boat in the middle of a still ocean with the sky stretched out before me, stars brilliant, outline of the milky way clear. I want my children to be asleep in the cabin below me, and my honey dozing off next to me under the stars after we stay up half the night talking like we used to do. That is where want to be. So far away from the real world, far enough away to believe that maybe it is the dream and the only reality is my family the sea and the sky.

Sometimes knowing more hurts.

Doing research, keeping busy. Writing in Slip and doing some research about other cultures. Sometimes there are things about the world you can not unlearn and it changes you. I guess sometimes a person needs to change, to grow, but tonight it just hurts.

Free This Weekend Only

Thursday-Sunday Free this week only Green Light by Amanda Harris Kindle edition. Download this weekend to read when you have a bit of leisure time. After this weekend it will no longer be free so get it while you can. :) And if you like it feel free to review it on Amazon and tell the world, If you don't Love it feel free to email me to tell me why very quietly. ;0)

How To Be Happy

How To Be Happy.... yeah right like I know. I am told that I always seem so cheerful, and I am because what is the point of being grumpy? But I can't say that I am happy all the time even though I am cheerful most of the time. That is not to say that I am sad, or even down. A friend told me once that her mother told her that happiness was a bird that would come and visit sometimes then go away again, just to be grateful when it came. I agree with that. Life is full of moments of complete happiness, even joy. But it is not the status quo, nor should it be for how could we appreciate happiness if it never left?
Why am I up at 2:30 in the morning? Well I don't know. Since I am up why am I not writing? I don't know that either, I am studying up on stuff though. I guess I am eager to start on a new project tomorrow morning. I am collaborating with another writer and I will not get credit for the work, but I will get paid to write, and if I am going to write anyways getting paid would be nice. Yep. That is about it at two a.m.
I just finished The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I initially loved it, during chapters one-six I could not put it down, then I wanted to toss it out of a moving vehicle at chapter seven. I spent the rest of the book looking for redemption for the main character. I don't know what to say. I hated the violence, the weakness of the main character, and the visual images I could not shake after some of the chapters. On the other hand, I plan on reading more of Khaled Hosseini's books. I actually do not recommend this book to anyone unless they are a bit tougher than me. It was beautifully written but to be honest there are just some things I cannot handle knowing about the world.  

Edgy and Dull

“It’s like somebody took knife, edgy and dull and cut a six inch gash in the middle of my soul.” I’m On Fire- Bruce Springsteen. I love that song, that saying. It feels that way to me sometimes, like my soul is gashed. I don’t know what causes this displacement of feelings, this spiritual torn in half horrible feeling, I just know that sometimes it happens.

I love songs or even out of context lines from songs that get my mood. The rest of the song is pretty good as well, but that line I love.

 I would post a link to the video, but I find the video to be horribly tacky. The song is about lust. The video is about lust between a married rich women and her mechanic. I am sorry if I am old fashioned but a romance between a married women and someone other than her husband is just gross. Love or lust or whatever should not involve a spouse who is left at home, torn in half. Love should not involve hurting someone and breaking vows. Even in my fantasies I cannot muster the idea of stepping outside of my marriage.

 Although this may be because my wildest fantasies are pretty boring. Most of the time I daydream that my husband and I find ourselves separated due to some horrible *but not too horrible*  fate, like he gets lost at sea on a comfortable desert island for a few months. Meanwhile, in his absence I somehow manage to get super fit, and super hot, sell my novel to a huge publishing house and buy a home by the sea, which I manage to keep perfectly stylish and pristine. When he returns from his voyage, I am so overjoyed to see him that I never take him for granted again, and he in turn sees that without him, I have my life in perfect order and he respects me for the wonder that I am. Sure, there are a few steamy moments when he first returns from his island, but I will keep them to myself. So there you have it, my wildest fantasy involves Architecture and Martha Stewart paint…

My Writing Scares Me

So I am up at midnight, the house is silent and dark. Everyone has been kissed, hugged, and snugglebugged. It is just me and the soft glow of my computer. I am editing Slip, and I come to the scene where the little girl is huddled in a small closet as her captor makes his way down the hall to her and the doornob rattles. Suddenly I find I am not so comfortable editing in a dark house at midnight. It seems that I should be over being able to scare myself. But I guess I am just a kid at heart.
This is not the first time I found I had to stop writing because of fear, the other time was when I was working on 13 Months and the main character dragged me through a swamp at midnight. Somehow this feels even creepier because the monsters in a swamp pale in comparison to what humans can do to eachother.
So now the lights are on, and I think I am going to wrap up the editing for the night.
I am super excited about getting Slip done. I have really enjoyed writing it and can't wait for some feedback from my readers. I think I will post the first page soon.
"It is easy to look at the choices of another person and think, “I would not have done that.” And you will be telling yourself the truth. YOU would not have done that if you were her, you with your unique set of life experiences would have made a different choice in her place, but if you truly were her, not some “walk a mile in her shoes” cliché but with only her life to draw from it is likely you (yes even you) would have made the same mistakes exactly. A slider knows this, and in this one way we are better equipped to deal with diversity than the rest of the world. Sometimes I think it is the only way. " -Miranda (Main Character of "Slip")


American Honey. I love that song. :) And I love our
bees because two or three times a year we get yummy honey. This is a fall batch compared to a summer batch. The difference in shade is due to the flowers available at different times of year. There is a subtle taste difference as well.


“All men fear death. It’s a natural fear that consumes us all. We fear death because we feel that we haven’t loved well enough or loved at all, which ultimately are one and the same. However, when you make love with a truly great woman, one that deserves the utmost respect in this world and one that makes you feel truly powerful, that fear of death completely disappears. Because when you are sharing your body and heart with a great woman the world fades away.

You two are the only ones in the entire universe. You conquer what most lesser men have never conquered before, you have conquered a great woman’s heart, the most vulnerable thing she can offer to another. Death no longer lingers in the mind. Fear no longer clouds your heart. Only passion for living, and for loving, become your sole reality. This is no easy task for it takes insurmountable courage.

But remember this, for that moment when you are making love with a woman of true greatness you will feel immortal.” — Ernest Hemmingway

Don't Forget to Write...

Sometimes even if is seems clear, it still needs to be said. Don't forget to write. Every day. Please. If you are going to try to become a published author, you have to write. I am guilty of this too, I will write for some other website, or for school, or my blog, but not work on my own novel. The one thing that I actually enjoy will fall to between the cracks of so many other things that need to be done. Even if your only doing a page a day, don't forget to do it. Show up! Do if for you, because no one else can get that story that is locked up inside of you out. So get to work.

Go on... Get to it!

Beginning of "Star Crossed"

By Amanda Harris


I have never been out of Miami. Until I was seven I lived in a hundred year old house by the sea. Then my Mom died and I was swept into the penthouse at the top of Daddy’s downtown skyscraper. I have lived at the top of this tower for eleven years.
Two of the walls in my room are made of glass. When I was a small girl I used to pretend that I was a princess, high over the ocean, preparing for the day when the sea creatures would crown me their Queen. A prince charming never came in to play in these fantasies. I never felt the need to be saved, even if I was a lonely princess high in a tower.
Dad hired Lorelei to take care of me. She was only fourteen when she came to us, twice my age but still too young. She had trouble with human languages, but she was well versed in the magic, and Brazilian jujitsu. My Dad saw her as a natural fit as a nanny/body guard/ best friend/ Mother figure.  Dad always treated  her like another daughter and most people thought she was my sister. She taught me the ancient words that have been lost even by the Folk, and each and every day without exception she and I spar until one of us is flat on our back or broken.
Today I have finals in my third semester at University of Miami yet she still challenges me to a fight. At twenty-five she is stronger than she was when she began training me all those years ago. But I have come a long way from the lonely seven year old motherless child, who would tap out crying within ten minutes of each session.
“C’mon Morgan, you’re getting soft on me.”
Lorelei moved around me in a blur but I reached out my hand and easily found her hand, applying the right amount of pressure until I heard the satisfying ‘pop’ of the dislocation of her wrist. Lorelei grinned at me with an unmistakable sparkle in her eye and bowed to show that I won this round. I turned my back on her and walked out of the room.
“Good luck on your finals Morgan,” She called as I shut the door to the training room behind me.
Each day I need sun. It is not just because I am a Miami girl. I literally need the sun to recharge me. On my way to the roof my Dad tracked me down.
“Morgan, next time try to cut Lorelei some slack.”
“Dad you know she heals in like five minutes, and she would not let me leave  until I’ve proven myself,” I pouted just a bit when I replied.
“That is not the point” he called behind me as I continued up the stairs.
I admit that I felt a little pride at being told to go easy on the same person who nailed me to the ground so many times I could not count. But I could not let Dad see that.
“Sure Dad.”
“Good luck on finals,” He called as the door to the roof sealed shut behind me.
I started an Author page on Facebook.
 I love the writing, and even the editing, but the marketing? Not so much. But I need to figure it out and I have been told that Facebook is the place to start for networking. So here is the link: Amanda Harris "Like" me if you would like. ;)