And here’s where the magic happens…

Happy Saturday everyone!!!

Thought I’d share my writing place with you today, the place where the ‘magic’ happens. Not the Harry Potter kind of magic but the writing magic! My writing place is where I’m sitting right now, tapping away on my laptop, trying to complete my current WIP!

We don’t have the room for a study or even a desk, so I write in this chair in my lounge. It’s comfortable and means that I get to sit with my family and the dogs while I write. If they’re being noisy or the TV is on, I just plug in my headphones and listen to some good writing tunes. Occasionally, I write in bed or at the kitchen table but I’m usually found in the lounge. Next to the chair is the footstool which currently holds my note pads. I always have at least three or four full of story ideas, character notes and other reminders.

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Where do you read or write? Do you find it difficult to get the time and the peace to do either?

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

©Depositphotos/ konradbak


(And this is for inspirational purposes, of course!)

Hugs!
Molly xxx

Book Release : Christopher’s Medal by S A Laybourn

Today I’m interviewing S A Laybourn to celebrate her new release! Her book, Christopher’s Medal is a contemporary romance and was released on 22 November.

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Hey S A thanks for visiting!

Who is your intended audience and why should they read your book?
Anyone who loves a romance with angst, handsome Army officers and racehorses. As to why people should read my book – I’m a starving author out to earn a crust. No, really, if they want a behind the scenes glance at horseracing in Britain, this is a good place to start.

Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I didn’t deliberately set out to put any messages across, but if the story makes readers more aware of the debilitating effects of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, then I’ll be happy.

Describe the genre of this particular title. Is it the only genre you write in?

This is a het romance, I usually write gay romance. I’d actually started writing het romances before I stumbled into the m/m genre.

How did you come up with the title of your book or series?

I belong to a writer’s forum called ‘Absolute Write’. I made some good friends on there and it was another member who suggested ‘Christopher’s Medal’. The original title was ‘A Poppy for Christopher’. ‘Christopher’s Medal’ actually gave me a little something to add to the plot.

When did you start writing toward publication?

I started writing back in 2009. I was living in Arizona at the time, it was a miserable hot July day and I wanted nothing more than to be back in England. Eva Cassidy’s version of ‘Fields of Gold’ came on the radio and I had an idea to write a romance set in England during the First World War. It failed dismally when it came to generating any interest from agents. Probably because they’d all fallen asleep three or four pages in. ‘Christopher’s Medal’ is that story, dragged into a contemporary setting.

Give us an interesting fun fact or a few about your book or series.

There are quite a few glimpses into what it’s like to work in a British racing yard. I have my own in-house expert-my husband. Plus, I’d helped out in one of the yards we lived in, so I managed to pick up a little practical experience. The yard we lived in is the setting for ‘Christopher’s Medal’.

Why have you become a published author?

I have wanted to be a ‘proper’ author for ages. I just got lucky!

Do you have any rejection stories to share?

My first published novel ‘Stolen Summer’ was submitted to another e-pub. The editor asked for a revise and resubmit and gave me some excellent pointers on what I could do to make the story better. I revised it, submitted it and was rejected. It occurred to me that subbing a very British story to an US publisher was not the brightest of ideas. So I subbed it to Totally Bound and the rest, as they say, is history.

What is your writing routine like?

When I’m writing, I think about the story all the time, even when I’m not writing. I usually write in the evenings for three or four hours and all weekend. Unfortunately, I’m not in a writing frame of mind at the moment because of an illness in the family, but I’m beginning to get promising little twinges, which makes me think I may write again very soon.

What sort of promo do you do? Do you have help?

I’m very stiff upper lip and British and promotion worries me. I don’t want to be all in your face, but then again, I don’t want to do nothing. Instead, I rely on the kindness of friends who’ll let me muck up their blog for a day.

Are you a member of any writing organizations and, if so, have they helped?

No organisations. I can never afford the fees. I will say that if it wasn’t for ‘Absolute Write’, I probably wouldn’t be published.

Will you share some encouraging words for authors still struggling for that first contract?

Read, read, read. Write. And when you’re not writing, think about what you’re going to write. Make sure you have beta readers you can rely on, not friends who or family members. They won’t want to upset you and they’ll tell you everything is lovely, when it isn’t. Grow a thick skin. Not everyone will love your book as much as you do. Don’t take criticism personally, learn from it. Never, ever tell yourself that you know everything there is to know about writing. A good writer will always be learning, always evolving.

Do you ever suffer from writer’s block and if so, do you have any tips on how to overcome it?

Yes. I am not sure if it’s writer’s block as much as it is being easily distracted by the internet, or just being plain lazy. At the moment, it’s just an inability to write because there’s just too much uncertainty in my life.

Do you have a critique partner? Can you tell us a bit about them?

I have several beta readers who very kindly agree to read my stories. I love them all for their sharp eyes and their honesty and their insight.

Which famous person would you like to meet and why?

That’s a tough one. At the moment it would be Daniel Craig. But I can’t imagine that, if I met him, I’d do anything more than gawp at him.

What advice would you give to your younger self?

Stay away from chocolate, don’t be so bloody desperate and gullible.

Who or what inspires you?

My family. They’re the centre of my world.

Now you’ve made me all emotional, S A!!! 🙂

Can you share two/three fun facts about yourself?

(1) I used to be a radio DJ;
(2) I am addicted to sherbet lemons
(3) I make really good machaca burritos (enchilada style).

What’s next for you?

A good night’s sleep!

BOOK BLURB
Grace Webb trains racehorses for a living. It’s a career she’s happy to focus on when her fiancé, Christopher Beaumont, is deployed to Afghanistan. At a time when racing yards are losing horses because of the bad economy, a promising horse like Allonby could be the salvation of her father’s yard. Grace welcomes the chance to focus on Allonby in attempt to stop fretting about Christopher’s growing despondency and the frustration of lousy internet connections.
When Christopher comes home with horrific leg wounds and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Grace is determined to help him heal. While she fights Christopher’s nightmares, depression and rage, she also faces a battle to save Allonby’s career before it’s had a chance to blossom.
Christopher, feeling that he’s giving Grace more grief than love, leaves her. Grace couldn’t heal Christopher, but she can help Allonby and keep her father’s yard running. When Christopher returns, seeking forgiveness and a second chance, Grace gives him that chance. This time she won’t let Christopher surrender to his demons. On the eve of the biggest race of Allonby’s career, Grace faces down her worse nightmare – saving Christopher from himself.

Excerpt
Grace watched the horses file over the gravel toward the horse walk. There was still half an hour to kill before she needed to be on the other side of town to watch them work. She wondered what she was going to do with her guests. Her mother wouldn’t be ready for visitors, so a coffee or tea from her was out of the question until breakfast was ready.
The scent of manure wafted up from Grace’s shirt, reminding her that she ought to change into something clean. She needed caffeine and tried to remember if her cottage was tidy enough for guests. “It’ll be a while before they’ll get over to the Bury side. We might as well get a cuppa.”
She led them across the yard to her house, trying to remember if she’d left knickers drying on the radiator or unwashed dishes in the sink. Given that her supper the night before had been a bag of chips, she decided she was probably safe. The kitchen was too small for three people to be standing around waiting for a kettle to boil so she shooed them into the living room. She noticed that the General immediately sank down onto the settee and made himself comfortable, picking up a copy of Horse and Hound to read while Christopher wandered around the room, hands in pockets while he studied the photographs hanging on the walls.
Oh, Christ…not that one, shit.
Grace’s cheeks burnt when Christopher paused before a picture taken at her graduation party, the day she’d picked up her useless history degree. Knickers on the radiator would’ve been preferable to that photograph, the one where she was wearing an ex-boyfriend’s boxers and a T-shirt with the words ‘old slapper’ scrawled across the front. A paper cocktail umbrella was stuck in her hair…bloody hell. What was worse was that Christopher looked at it for an agonizingly long time, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
She served the coffee then disappeared into her bedroom to find a clean shirt—one that was neither smeared with horse shit nor emblazoned with a dubious slogan.

MORE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S A Laybourn lives in Wiltshire and loves it. She’s partial to gin and tonic, loves to cook and watches cookery programmes when she’s not working, writing or reading. She writes m/m erotic romance as S A Meade.

LINKS:

You can buy Christopher’s Medal at Totally Bound.

Check out S A Laybourn at:
Blog

Twitter

Facebook

Goodreads

Thanks for visiting, S A !

Hugs,
Molly xxx

M/M books by S A Meade:

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Stolen Summer

untitled (9)

Lord of Endersley

The Girl On The Bus – Raven McAllan

The Girl On The Bus by Raven McAllan

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Blurb
Julia ran out on Tay five years ago, so she can’t be the woman he sees on the bus. However, when she ends up being the one taking notes at his meeting, he knows he will move heaven and earth to make her his once more.
Will she agree, or will she run again?

Be Warned: BDSM, public exhibition, spanking

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Excerpt – 18+
Once inside the room, which as far as Julia could see, was empty except for a bed, Mister T gripped her by the chin. “What is the first thing you thought when you came inside?”
Julia answered him without thinking about it. “Is that all?”
His shout of laughter rumbled through her, and his hand on her hair sent zaps of hot hard arousal to her clit and pussy.
“Well we can’t have that, can we? A disappointed sub. Now I wonder what we should do?”
Going on instinct, Julia knelt awkwardly in front of him—she’d done her research on line—put her hands behind her and bent her head.
“Please, sir.” To her annoyance her voice shook and she cleared her throat. “I want to learn.”
“What, pet? What do you want to learn?”
Julia swallowed. “Whatever you wish to show me, sir.” Then she remembered one of the books she’d read. “Within my safe words.”
He’d laughed. “Clever, pet. What are they and what do they mean?”
“Red, stop now. We may discuss why I’m calling red but until we do its non-negotiable. Yellow, I’m not sure about what’s happening, and maybe we need to discuss it further. And green, oh yes, I’m very happy let’s carry on.”
He crouched in front of her and kissed her nose. “That seems to cover it. Well sub, I’m considered to be best at wax play. Are you willing to let me show you the beauty therein?”
Those words spoken in his velvet voice made her ream coat her pussy and thighs and the hairs on her arms stand up.
“Yes, Sir. Please, Sir.” The salutation seemed so easy to say, and so normal to her, that it rolled of her tongue automatically.
What followed became the most special and mind blowing time of her life. It was all well and good saying no sex, but it had been sexual in its own way.
Tay showed her with both diagrams and pictures what would happen. Then asked her to sign yet more disclaimers, before telling her to shower to remove all lotions and perfumes.
When she’d exited the shower, a tall smiling woman waited for her. Julia blushed. She might not be ashamed of her hourglass figure, but she wasn’t used to flaunting it.
“Master T said would you put this on, please? He reckoned you’d not be happy dressed just in a thong as he’d prefer.” She’d passed a bikini to Julia who looked at it doubtfully. It was so tiny, Julia reckoned she’d be lucky to get her nipple covered by the top, it looked to be an AA cup and she was a DD. The bottom wasn’t much better, but at least it covered her bush.
The other woman, “Call me Callie,” giggled as Julia blushed. The way Callie’s face crinkled up, made her look much more approachable and ten years younger. Julia realized she was around the same age as herself.
“Master T?” Julia asked as she struggled to dress in the bikini without dropping the towel. “Does he ever go mask-less?”
Callie shook her head. “Nope, but he’s so good no one worries. Look, honey, it’s obviously you’re like a newborn babe here. Believe me, no one will bother about your body, except to see the marks of your Sir or Master on it. For hygiene’s sake, if you carry on you’ll shave or wax your pussy, it’s preferred, and you’ll get used to being mainly unclothed. It’s no biggie. Right, you’re playing in private, but I’m dungeon master for you. Master T thought you’d be happier with a woman around.”
The following hour had been eye opening, enlightening, and mind blowing.
“I’m tying you down, pet, for your own safety,” Tay told her. “Color?”
“Green, Sir.” Okay she didn’t know how she felt about not having the chance to move, but then she trusted him to know best. Behind him, Callie leaned against the wall ever watchful. So she did have a get out of jail card.
Once the first drop of wax hit her chest, the intense sting was followed by a flush of arousal so strong Julia almost came there and then. At the stern, “do not come until I say so”, she bit her lip, regulating her breathing instead. She flew. Nothing existed except each soft drop of wax, his quiet praise, and the way she was detached and watching herself flush and blossom.
He tapped her mound gently and spoke in his sex on legs voice. “Fly, pet. Come for me now, Silver, show me how you let go.”

Raven Bio
Raven lives in Scotland, along with her husband and their two cats—their children having flown the nest—surrounded by beautiful scenery, which inspires a lot of the settings in her books.
She is used to sharing her life with the occasional deer, red squirrel, and lost tourist, to say nothing of the scourge of Scotland—the midge.
Her very understanding, and long-suffering DH, is used to his questions unanswered, the dust bunnies greeting him as he walks through the door, and rescuing burned offerings from the Aga. (And passing her a glass of wine as she types furiously.)

Find her here:
Website
Blog

Buy Links:
Evernight Publishing

Amazon US

Amazon UK

All Romance Ebooks

Bookstrand

Naughty No-No’s Blog Hop

Naughty no-no's

I’m very excited to be part of this blog hop! What a great way to see in the autumn. I love all things erotic and if you follow this blog hop you’ll come across some GREAT erotic romance authors. Check them out here.

I thought I’d treat you today with a sexy excerpt from my debut novella Desire in Deadwood.

If you’d like to be in with a chance of winning a copy, please post a comment at the bottom of the page.Desire in Deadwood has already had several five star reviews and one four star review from Scorching Reviews.

Excerpt

Outside the Gem, she looked around quickly then hurried through the swing doors and into the bar. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of stale sweat and alcohol. A quick scan from under the shawl showed her that it was still quiet so she darted through the bar and headed for the staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

Once at the top, Evelyn rushed across the wide landing, which looked down onto the open space of the bar, then paused outside the small room. What would happen today? Would she have to stand before him again, scandalously naked whilst he pleasured himself? Would he force himself upon her and expect her to make love to him with their former passion? If he did, would she be able to feign indifference, to force herself to find no pleasure in their coupling? The thought both terrified and aroused her.

©Depositphotos/ Id1974

©Depositphotos/ Id1974

She knocked then entered immediately and let the shawl slip from her head, her stomach clenching at the thought of seeing him again. But he wasn’t alone. He sat on the chaise longue again with his feet planted squarely on the ground in front of him, but next to him, caressing his muscular thigh possessively, was a young woman.

“Oh.” Evelyn settled the shawl upon her shoulders and self-consciously patted her hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise that you had company. Shall I go?”

She turned and was about to step out into the corridor when she felt a hand upon her shoulder. She turned, expecting to look up into Nate’s eyes but instead she looked into the laughing green eyes of a whore.

“Don’t go sweety! We was jus’ waitin’ for ya, see!” the girl wheedled, running a finger up and down Evelyn’s cheek. She shrugged it away, causing the girl to cackle and perform an elaborate curtsey before her.

“What is this, Mr Hamilton? You made no mention of this!” Evelyn lifted her chin and scowled at him. “If I may correct you, my dear Mrs Campbell”—he leant forward resting his arms upon his legs—“I made no specification of details. I merely told you that I was aware of your situation and offered you a way to earn some money. You seemed keen enough.” He shrugged. “You didn’t ask for particulars.”

Evelyn blinked hard as she glared at him. She could not argue with the truth. His offer had been most generous and she really hadn’t any alternative. She’d even reasoned that it would be better to be with Nate, with a man she had loved and been intimate with. Better that than sell herself to a rotten toothed miner who’d paw at her body and rob her of her self- respect. At least that was what she’d thought. But here was Nate, stealing that same self- respect away from her, intent upon humiliating her for his own pleasure. Well she would not let him see how hurt she was. Clearly the man she had known and loved was gone, his love and compassion evaporated by the harsh sunlight like the morning dew on the arid landscape. She slammed the door. There was no going back.

©Depositphotos/ eaniton

©Depositphotos/ eaniton

“So what do you want me to do?” She threw her shawl away from her and unbuttoned her jacket then flung it after the shawl. Nate stared at her, eyebrows raised. The soiled dove gave a harsh laugh then returned to her position at Nate’s side and snuggled into him, entwining a shapely leg around his. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, staring all the while at Evelyn’s face.

So he was playing games. Did he want to get revenge by hurting her?

She pushed down her skirt and kicked it away then she let down her hair. Nate eyed her with the hunger of a starving man, from her cotton bloomers to the flimsy chemise above her corset. She shivered under the intensity of his gaze but she flicked her hair over her shoulders and pushed her chest out. She would show him all that she was—all that she had to give. She would not shy away from his lust. There’d been a time, during their youth, when she’d been apprehensive about undressing in front of him but with his love and tenderness she’d soon been reassured and had even become quite brazen with him. But she’d been so sure of him then, so convinced that he loved her and would never hurt her. This was different.

She was dragged roughly back to the present as the harlot moaned and she watched in horror as Nate allowed the whore to slide his hand into the top of her chemise, whilst she pulled his other hand up to her face and began to suck on his fingers.

Stood in the middle of the room in her underwear and boots, watching the man she had loved being touched and kissed by another woman, Evelyn was consumed with hurt and jealousy. It made her heart pound, and anger burned hot in her belly.

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

“Mrs Campbell,” his voice was almost a whisper, “come over here.”

Not knowing what else she could do, though she longed to turn and run from the room, Evelyn obeyed. Nate reached out to her and pulled her down onto his knee, wrapping his arm around her waist. The whore moved her leg away but kept Nate’s hand upon her breast. Evelyn fought the urge to jump up and flee when the whore threw her head back and reached down to her crotch where she rubbed against the thin cloth of her bloomers, arching her hips up towards her own touch.

“Do you like this, Evelyn?” Nate’s voice was husky. She didn’t trust herself to answer. The whore increased her pace upon herself and began gyrating in ecstasy. Evelyn watched Nate as he eyed the girl. A sigh escaped his lips when the girl reached under her bloomers and continued rubbing at her pussy, faster and faster until she shuddered suddenly and violently, then opened her feline eyes to smile at her audience.

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

Evelyn stared at the girl in shock. How could she be so wanton? The whore seemed to read Evelyn’s mind and she pushed her chemise down to expose small pert breasts then flung her head back as Nate squeezed at a rosy nipple. Her bloomers clung to her damp groin, evidence of her recent climax, and Evelyn’s eyes were glued to the outline of the soiled dove’s sex. Though her mouth was dry and her palms clammy, Evelyn had to admit that she was aroused. But the conflicting emotions threatened to burst out of her in a flurry of tears and violence. She wanted to scratch at her rival for stealing away Nate’s attention yet she knew that it was not the girl’s fault. She, like Evelyn, was doing what she was paid to do. She would not allow Nate to see her jealousy, her pain.

Leaning in towards him she pressed her lips against his jaw. His scent was so familiar and so good that tears sprang into her eyes and her desire for him twitched deep within her. She had loved this man with every fibre of her being, yet she had married another and she wondered now at how much her actions had hurt him. If he had only sent word to her, reassured her of his health, success and imminent return, she would have held on…but she’d had too much to lose. She’d been forced to make a choice under duress and the offer had been open only for a very limited time. What else could she have done?

A lone tear trickled down her cheek as she sought out his lips, but he turned his face away from her and her lips landed instead upon his dark hair.

“No, Mrs Campbell, I will not kiss you. The time for such tenderness is long gone.”

He pulled his arm away from the whore and Evelyn jumped in shock as he squeezed her full breast hard then ripped her chemise down and found the erect nub, tweaking it roughly as he had the whore’s. He rolled his thumb and forefinger over the hard nub and rubbed at the surrounding pale pink circle and the action caused an exquisite flicker deep inside her as if her breasts and cunny were linked. He tugged at her erect nipple and pinched it but the pain was delicious as it fired her longing for him, reigniting a side of her that she had hidden for a decade.
It had been so long.

A groan escaped her and it seemed to spur him on, the rolling and rubbing grew harder and she fought the urge to beg him to move his hand between her legs to offer her the sweet release that he was so capable of doing. Her pussy throbbed, the silken folds moist with desire. She knew that she should push his hand away, pull away from him and run from the room—she was a respectable woman, a mother and a widow—but she knew that she would not, for though his touch was rougher, his eyes harder, her yearning for him pulsed through her even more powerfully than before.

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So did you enjoy the excerpt? Tell me what you think by 29th September and you’ll be entered to win a copy of the novella.

Molly xxx

Cowboys and Corsets

I, for one, adore cowboys and corsets. In both of the Western historical novels I’ve written so far, cowboys and corsets feature heavily.

In this post, I’m going to focus on cowboys but I’ll follow it up soon with a post about corsets. (If you want a preview, check out my post Why We Love the Corset at Butterfly Corsets?)

So what is it about cowboys?

I think that a childhood spent with my amazing little Granny and her own fascination with the Wild West probably started it all. We’d sit and eat hot strawberry jam toasties on a Saturday afternoon, whilst watching the likes of John Wayne, Kirk Douglas and Clint Eastwood swagger across the screen of a tiny portable television. Their arrogance and pride, their chaps and Stetsons and their love of the land all hooked me right there and then. They were respectful towards women (usually) and they would bare knuckle fight anyone who insulted their own woman or family.

©Depositphotos/ vanell

©Depositphotos/ vanell

Now, even as a child, I knew that they were acting but it opened a whole new world to me, one where men were chivalrous and masculine with integrity and a thirst for justice. Growing up in the Welsh valleys, the Wild West was a complete contrast and I became fascinated by the wild and rugged landscape and the men who sought to tame it.

My western novels are set in the 1800s. I’m addicted to historical romances and historical novels and I love reading about different times. I’m always thinking ‘what if…’ when I read and write and I like to consider how my characters would have coped with the challenges of day to day life back then, as well as how they’d behave when faced with love and loss. Romance novels require a strong, honourable and sexy hero and cowboys epitomise this. These heroes are brave, deep and honest. They don’t want any trouble but if it finds them, they face it with courage and they stick to their principles – and their guns! 😉 They also have deep dark eyes, broad toned shoulders, thick muscular thighs and abs to die for… but I have to give the heroine (and my lovely reader) a bit of what she fancies!

©Depositphotos/ artem-furman

©Depositphotos/ artem-furman

Add to these qualities an air of mystery and independence, and what more could you wish for? The cowboy often has a past that would make many lesser men break down but he bears it admirably and he doesn’t harp on about how hard he’s had it. It might mean that he has a secret vulnerability that only the heroine can soothe and when he does ‘open up’, it’s a beautiful and sensitive moment. His desire for independence means that he works his land and he cares for his animals, he has the means to support himself and his family and he doesn’t need anyone or anything else. In fact, he doesn’t give a damn what others think. In a society where we deal constantly with job insecurities, rising living costs and are relentlessly bombarded by the message that we need to be better in all areas of our lives, it’s no wonder that the cowboy hero is so appealing.

And why’s that? I hear you ask. Go on, remind me!

He’ll gallop in on his horse, scoop you up in his arms and seat you on the saddle in front of him, then carry you back to his homestead where he’ll make love to you in his rough and ready, yet extremely sensual way and offer you your Happy Ever After (in more ways than one) as only a cowboy can.

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

©Depositphotos/ konradbak

Why not participate in my poll and give your opinion about who the sexiest heroes are?

Molly xxx

Thursday Fun – Add a caption!

Fancy some writing inspiration?

How about add the caption to this photo of one of my bearded dragons? What exactly is going on here?

His name’s Andrew, by the way! 🙂

ANDREW

Go on! Post your caption in the comments. Let’s all have a giggle!

Molly xxx

The Immortality of Significance

I wrote this poem when I was at university. It summed up a lot about me then and I guess it still does now.

The Immortality of Significance

From where does the loneliness come
After the partying stops?
In the moments of solitude
When we crave freedom from company
Yet hate to be alone.

Sharp reality strikes a despairing blow;
Our frail bodies yield their realities.
We are mortal…feathers tossed about on the winds of life
Insignificant yet desiring the immortality of significance.

We gather together in groups and try to bond,
Find similar interests and laugh together in a futile hope for invincibility…

I want to hear the music again and dance,
It is a temporary escape from the burden of knowledge.

Molly Ann Wishlade

©Depositphotos/ sborisov

©Depositphotos/ sborisov