Thank you for stopping by my page.
Since you are forcing me to talk about myself, allow me to share my story with you. You are still here, huh? Okay, well, I tried. Here goes:
I was born on December 1, 1983, in Louisiana. I am the oldest of four. I began writing in a journal at the young age of 10. At first, I wrote about my days as if I were broken record. Then, I started to get the hang of expressing my feelings on paper. I made myself write, even when I felt like there was nothing to write about.
At 12, my mother and father divorced. I have to say, I was not one of those children who believed my parents should stay together. They are better apart if you ask my opinion. Though, it felt like I was being forced to choose which parent I cared for more. I felt in the way most of the time, as they tried to live their new lives apart. I had new stepparents to deal with – whom, I did not care for at all.
I lived for a time with my father. It was nice to go to a different school and meet news friends. Though, I could never quite come to a peaceful relationship with my stepmother. She was only 11 years older than me. And, she made my life hard. She read my journal, wore my clothes, and dug through my things consistently. I decided to leave my father’s to live with my mom in Florida.
I had never been to Florida more than a week or two on vacation. It sounded like a nice escape from small town life in Louisiana. My excitement was short lived. My stepfather was bipolar and a secret drunk. It felt like I had nowhere to turn for peace. My mother thought we were telling her lies when we talked about his drinking habits. One cannot blame her because he hid the evidence in neighbor’s garbage cans three streets away from our home – talk about creative.
That summer my family experienced the first tragic call. My 20-month-old half-sister, Ally, fell into my dad’s swimming pool. She had gotten out of the house, through the backyard fence, and fallen into the swimming pool. It took about 20 minutes for someone to find her. She was rushed to the emergency room, where she later passed away. That was difficult to know death to someone that young.
Though, the real pain came to me two years later. My 17-year-old and only 15-months younger than me brother, Maurice, bent to get a CD from his passenger side floorboard in the middle of a curve. Unknowingly, he moved into oncoming traffic and struck a school bus with children head on. Thankfully, he was the only person injured in the accident. That was on Valentine’s day in 2003. He passed March 5, 2003, and forever changed my life.
I realized after his death, how much of a gift life is. In 2007, I published my first book: The Beautiful People. I rushed through the publication process. There were many errors and incomplete sentences in the book. It cost too much to change it, so I left it as it was. I have since been able to correct it and release the 2nd Edition – Death finds us all, where the errors have been corrected. Though I am not perfect and typos can happen to the best of us.
Throughout my life, I have found waiting not to be an option. I have started and ended several businesses. I had a restaurant for two months. Worst decision ever! I had a marketing company that never got off the ground. I invested in a cleaning business, only to learn I had to be the cleaner – NOT A GOOD PLAN! I continue to try my hand at different ideas and businesses. Why? I do it because I only have this life. I would rather try something and fail than to wonder if it ever would have worked out.