A friend asked me:
"I've watching you for a long time multitasking as a trauma nurse and dealing with problems in your personal life. You never lose your cool and you seem to be in control all the time. If I have to pay attention to two different things at the same time I freak out, while you do ten different things and make it look so easy. How do you do it? What is your secret?"  

No secrets here.
I've just learned how to relax, from my cat.
Have you ever watched a cat running and jumping like a maniac one minute and then suddenly stop and stare into thin air for a second and flop down on the floor licking its paw looking totally relaxed? A few seconds later they continue chasing the invisible mouse or their own tails.
It seems as if cats have found the best way to stop stress from burning out their nervous system and boost their brains.

Of course I have stress in my life.
Working in the ER for so many years and solving everyday problems that life throws at me, can be very stressful at times. When I work on editing, designs, or researching facts for my next novel, sometimes I feel like my brain has 16 tabs open and I need to re-focus to make sense of it all.

I've tried meditation. Well, it didn't work for me. After a minute or so deep breathing, my mind started wandering and I begun making plans and thought about things that had to be done. 

So, knowing I can't concentrate on relaxation for more than a minute, I learned to reboot my brains, just like a cat.
I stop (when I can) every waking hour and marvel at something beautiful for 60 seconds.
There are 60 minutes in every hour and we're awake about 16 hours a day, that's 960 minutes.
So I thought: what if I'd spend just 16 minutes a day to relax and go about dealing with stress for the rest of 944 minutes of my day?
I tried and it worked.

Driving by a frozen lake surrounded by snow covered trees, stop for a minute to marvel at the beautiful scenery. Breathe the fresh air, take a close look at nature's beautiful work of a snowflake.

Sit with your dog and absorb the serenity of nature or just marvel at the beautiful painting on your wall. Dogs have the amazing ability to pick up your mood and reduce your stress just by being there by your side.

Blow the dandelion seeds into the air and watch them parachute in the wind finding a home where they'll bloom next year. 

Watch a little bird feeding its chicks.

Marvel at a delicately made embroidery.

You'll be amazed how much beauty surrounds you anywhere you go. 
Find something beautiful and marvel at it for 60 seconds. You'll be surprised how energized you'll feel and your rebooted brain will be a lot more focused to tackle the next task or problem that's been awaiting.
Let me know if this will affect your everyday life and stress level.

Picture and video credit to www.pixabay.com

According to statistics, in the majority of child molesting cases close family members are the perpetrators.
I still remember the "yucky" feeling I felt that a close family friend's glances gave me when I was about five years old.
I still remember the uncomfortable conversation with my mom, after uncle Frank left. I was scared and felt something that resembled shame, but when Mom sat down to watch TV, I curled up on her lap and told her, "Mommy, my stomach hurts."

Mom looked at me and probably noticed the anxious look on my face and asked, "Do you feel like throwing up, or you have a funny feeling in your tummy?"

"Uncle Frank looks at me funny. I don't like it."

​My mom shrank back a little and an angry look flashed through her face, which made me regret that I told her about my feelings. In my childish mind, I was convinced that I did something wrong that made Mom angry. But then she quickly hugged me and assured me, "I believe you, munchkin! You didn't do anything wrong. You're a very smart girl to tell me about your feelings, you can always tell me anything. Tell me how it makes you feel when he looks at you."

Gaining courage from her words, I tried to explain the sickening feeling I had when the man looked at me. I couldn't find words to explain, but in my mind I saw my cat shrinking away from the neighbor's dog that had the look in his eyes just like uncle Frank did. "Mommy, Mrs. Varga's dog looks that way at Miri every time she goes close to the fence. He wants to hurt her. Does uncle Frank want to hurt me?"

Mom hugged me tight and said, "I don't know, honey, he might. I'm so glad you told me about this." She then held my shoulders and looked into my eyes. "You can always tell me everything. You now that, don't you?"

"Yes, mommy."

"Did he ever touch you, put you on his lap, or told you that you must keep something a secret?"

"No..." I hesitated remembering the chocolate bar he gave me the day before. "But he gave me chocolate and told me it's our little secret because he knows you don't let me eat candy before dinner." I sobbed. 

"It's okay, munchkin, you did the right thing telling me this. Remember, never-ever keep a secret from daddy and me."

I didn't see uncle Frank again until I was a teenager, when he was arrested for molesting his brother's ten-year-old daughter. The girl had the courage to speak to her teacher about it because her mother had dismissed her and accused her of lying about the abuse.

That's when my dad confessed that he beat creepy Frank to a pulp and banned him from ever entering our house, that day when I told Mom about how he made me feel. Dad could never forgive himself for not going to the police back then. He always thought he could've prevented the abuse of the young girl, but also knew that without proof, and only the words of a five-year-old, the police couldn't have done anything. 

I was lucky to tell my mom about my gut feelings, and she was smart not to didn't dismiss me but inquired further.
She knew that young children can't always describe what makes them anxious or uncomfortable, but they can tell you about their gut feelings in their own way, or they find the way to play it out. Children often say their stomach hurts when they feel anxious, because they can't describe the feeling of anxiety, worry, shame, or when someone's actions make them feel uncomfortable.    
Talk to your children, and no matter what they tell you, believe them, and take them seriously.    

A friend stopped by for a coffee and we recalled some humorous moments from the times when we worked together in the Emergency Room.
She laughed so hard when I told her the story when I was named "Patient whisperer" that she sprayed coffee all over the place-mat of the kitchen table.

You can read the story in my Magazine: 
​https://www.flipsnack.com/85DCF9F6AED/online-magazine-january-2020.html

Suddenly, her expression grew serious, and she cried out, "Oh, crap! I wet my pants."
This made me laugh more, but when she shot me angry look, I raised my brows questioningly.
"NO! I'm serious," she said with a stern face. "I REALLY wet myself. Just a squirt, but can I borrow one of your pants?"

Yup, one of the fun "perks" of getting old.
Everything starts to go south, muscles weaken, skins sag, you pee when you laugh, sneeze, or... you get the picture. BUT, we both agreed on how lucky we are to have made it this far.

Generations upon generations Blackmire Forest was the favorite place of the witches of the Enchanted Maple Coven to search for their ingredients—herbs, barks, leaves, and flowers. Their paths were clearly marked by the coven’s sigil that had been painted on the tree trunks.

Camilla Highmore and her fellow young acolytes in their late teen years, Sarah and Xavier, reached the knoll and found the witches’ path. Their long years of apprenticeship was over, and they were expected to perform the final test before they’d be considered as fully trained witches.

They had to find the woodruff iris needed to brew the potion as their last test, and the instruction had been very clear. The woodruff iris flower thrived on the sweet sap the snag maple trees provided. Dead yet still standing, snag maple trees were a rich source of nutrients as well as magical ingredients for both thanomancy and biomancy. The rare flower had to be plucked exactly when the sun barely kissed the horizon and prepared before the last rays of the sun vanished into the cloak of the night.

Upon finding the flower, they only had one hour to rush back to the coven and add the flower as the last ingredient to their prepared potions. If they’d be unsuccessful, they’d have to remain apprentices and try again the following year. The pressure weighed heavily on them all.

The trio walked in silence keeping an eye on the trees with the sigil that marked their path. Suddenly, a raven appeared above Camilla and let out a raspy kraa sound. She shivered as the black bird flew away. She looked after the bird as it flew higher and higher and disappeared from view. When Camilla lowered her eyes back to the trees, she spotted her grandmother’s small, spiral symbol with a pentacle in the middle carved into a majestic pine tree. She had a strong feeling that she had to follow the path the raven showed her. She hesitated for a minute but soon made up her mind. “I’m going this way,” she called out to her companion and pointed toward the narrow path by the tree.

“We were told to follow the witches’ path,” Sarah said, feeling annoyed. Her red, curly hair flew off her shoulders as she shook her head and rolled her green eyes. Always a strict follower of rules, she often disapproved when Camilla questioned or sometimes even broke the rules. “Why do you always have to break the rules?” She questioned looking at Camilla.

“I’m not… Okay, I do… sometimes. But my spirit guide…” Camilla stuttered like a scolded child but then her confidence returned. “Oh, never mind that. I’ve been here before with my grandma when I was very young, and I remember seeing dead maple trees in that area. Do you want to come with me?”

“No way,” Sarah said, firmly shaking her head.

“I’m staying on this path as we were told. You shouldn’t wander off either,” Xavier warned. His chocolate brown eyes reflected genuine worry.

Xavier was in love with Camilla since they first met, but his sense of duty and obedience kept him from revealing his feelings. When he confessed to his father, he got angry and told him that he was destined to be a witch and follow the footsteps of his ancestors, and a strong-willed, often disobedient girl didn’t fit into his future plans. Xavier agreed sadly and accepted his father’s decision. He kept his feelings to himself but couldn’t erase his love for Camilla from his heart.

Camilla stubbornly shrugged and strode off the well-worn dirt road. It made her heart race with excitement every time she followed the ancient path with her grandmother but going alone made her a little nervous. The Raven is my spirit guide and it’s never wrong. She thought, trying to calm her anxiety. It has a good reason to lead me off the usual path, and besides, my grandmother had marked this path for a reason.

The twisting path led her deep into the forest. Fallen leaves crunched under her boots, and she heard the rustle of small scampering creatures under the fallen branches and leaves. She tightened her grip on her gray knitted shawl as she continued along the path, her eyes automatically searching for the maple snags that woodruff iris preferred.

She still had about ten minutes before the sun began to sink below the horizon. Golden light filtered through the canopy of tree branches above her and the chilly wind cut through the rustling leaves making them dance. Camilla felt goosebumps rising on her skin triggered by the energy coursing all around her. More than anything in the world, she wanted to learn how to tap into that energy and wield the magic of nature.

The spotted an ancient, dead maple tree that stood just off to the side of the path. Beautiful even in its decay, its bare branches stood out against the bright late afternoon skies. Armfuls of woodruff iris in full bloom waved gently in the wind as they clung to the snag.

Camilla took a deep breath, bowed to the ancient tree, and to the scurrying creatures it still supported and took a step towards the patch of flowers to wait until the exact time for harvest.

As she took another step, suddenly, her foot crashed through the layer of dead leaves that had so perfectly hidden the tangle of thick roots and the warren between the path and the tree. She let out a sharp scream and the golden light of the world above her was thrust into shadows as she crushed through thin branches and roots, falling into a deep hole. She landed hard on the packed dirt in a deep, spacious room below the maple tree’s roots.

Leaves floated peacefully around her as she stood up, groaning, brushing the leaves from her long hair and the dirt from her jeans. She moved her arms and legs carefully. Nothing is broken. She thought, sighing in relief. Light poked down through the hole above her head, enough so that she could easily look around in the underground room.

Camilla turned to examine the large, square, carved stones put together with precision to make the walls of the room. The stones were covered with moss and a thick layer of dust, but in the darker corner polished stones with runes carved into them caught her eye. “What is this place?” she whispered and shivered. How am I going to get out of here? She thought looking up at the hole in the ceiling, ten feet above her head.

Her stomach tied into a knot. It was a mistake! Why did I follow the Raven? A scream rose in her throat, but she managed to stay quiet. It’s no use. Nobody will hear me. They will come looking for me when Sarah and Xavier go back to the coven without me, and grandma will know where to find me when they tell her I followed her sigil. The thought of getting help calmed down as her curiosity rose.

She glanced at her watch and cried out, “Oh, no! There’s only five minutes until sundown. I’m not going to get the iris and… well, at least I’ll know where to find the flowers next year.” She shrugged and took a step closer toward the back wall. She could barely see the runes carved into the dark gray stones. “I wish I’d brought a flashlight” She sighed.

“Whoa!” Camilla exclaimed and stumbled back in fright as the room turned bright. “What the… what’s going on here?” She cried out but her curiosity was stronger than her fear.

 She could see the carved runes clearly. I wish I could read them. As soon as the thought entered her mind, eerie green light illuminated the rune letters.

Ye who was born to possess the sight
Brings light into the night.

What is this? Camilla’s legs turned to jelly and sat down. I can read the runes. Is this place like a ‘your wish comes through cave’ or something? “I wish I could get out of here!” she said out loud.

She felt lightheaded and closed her eyes for a few seconds. When the dizziness passed and opened her eyes, a strange sensation filled her body and mind. She felt the energy around her and watched in fright as the pile of dead leaves that had cushioned her fall stirred and gathered around her gently lifting her back up through the gap.
“Whoa!” a surprised scream erupted from her chest as she steadied herself at the edge of the gaping hole. This place is magical! I’m going to show it to grandma. She thought dreamily but quickly came to her senses. Glancing at the horizon she knew she didn’t have a second to waste if she wanted to harvest the flower of the woodruff iris.

Watching every step carefully, she walked to the beautiful patch of flowers. She knelt, took her athame out of its embossed leather sheath, and waited, blade pressed against a blood-red stem. As soon as the sun touched the horizon, Camilla made the cut. What if the others can’t find the flower? There is plenty here. She thought as the plants shivered, and she held three perfect blossoms in her hands. She allowed herself a few moments to admire the delicate black petals before tucking the knife back into its sheath, and gently placed the flowers inside the leather pouch that hung on a thong around her neck.

After bowing her head for a minute and thanking the plant for letting her harvest its delicate flowers, she stood up and raced back on the path, following her grandmother’s sigils with a satisfied, happy smile on her face.

She anxiously waited a few minutes until finally, she spotted her fellow acolytes walking back on the witches’ path with shoulders hunched and gloomy expression on their faces. As they stopped, Camilla noticed their hands were empty. Her heart twisted.

Xavier glanced at her sadly and sat down on the carpet of leaves, looking defeated. “No luck,” he sighed. “Somehow, we got off the path and by the time we found the flowers, the sun was sinking into the horizon and the petals closed up. We were late…”

“We’re not going to be accepted,” Sarah muttered. “What rotten luck! We’ll have to wait another year.”

The words died on her lips when she saw Camilla opening her pouch and holding the precious black flowers. “No worries. Neither of you has to wait,” she said simply. “I have three flowers.”

Sarah stammered, “And you’d share it with us?”

“Of course! Let’s go. We only have half an hour to get back to the coven and fifteen more minutes to add the flowers and finish the potion.” She smiled.

Xavier leaped to his feet as Sarah rushed to embrace Camilla in a tight hug.

The spicy-sharp autumn air of Blackmire Forest smelled of pure magic as the apprentices hurried toward the coven.

They rushed back to the coven and under the watchful eyes of the High Priestess and Elders, they added the woodruff iris to their prepared, murky looking potions. They stirred the dark grey, thick liquid in their cauldrons and yelled out in surprise when the potion turned into ruby red, glowing liquid.

“You have passed your last test,” the High Priestess announced and looked at the acolytes with warmth in her eyes and smile on her lips.

Sarah glanced at Xavier with a sad expression in her eyes, and when Xavier nodded, Sarah looked up at the High Priestess. “We have a confession to make.”

“Oh? What is it, child?”

“We…” Sarah started and cleared her throat. “Xavier and I didn’t get the flower. We were unsuccessful in finding it and Camilla took two extra flowers and gave them to us.”

Xavier looked at Sarah and added in a shaky voice, “We don’t deserve to be witches, only Camilla does.”

“I know, my messenger told me,” the High Priestess admitted and glanced at raven sitting on the windowsill. “I was just waiting for you to admit it.”

“So, we have to wait another year, right?” Sarah asked and sighed.

“No, child. You don’t have to wait. The three of you passed the test because of Camilla’s loyalty. She could have taken only one flower, but she took three because she has a good heart, and she’s loyal to her fellow apprentices. Being the member of our coven is not about competing with each other and outdoing each other. It’s about love and loyalty to each other, and helping one another.”

After the initiation ceremony a week later, Camilla and her grandmother went on a journey to discover more about the room that had been hidden for centuries. The spicy-sharp autumn air of Blackmire Forest smelled of pure magic as they followed the path to the ancient maple tree that guarded the sacred place deep in the woods.

Take your chance to get your complimentary copy and listen for FREE.
Reviews are optional, but greatly appreciated.
The winners will be notified via email on February 26th.

Sorry for the bad audio! My microphone is ancient and so is my computer. One of these days, when I can afford a new one, I promise to record better audio.
I wanted to tell this story to aspiring writers, but I got some nasty comments because of my accent. The past 30 years, since I've become a U.S. citizen, I regularly come across people who either get offended by my accent, or think they're better than me because I wasn't born in the U.S. I guess people like them are trying to put others down in an attempt to boost to their own fragile confidence.
What do you think?
Let me know in comments

​Erika M Szabo, the writer who loves to dance to her own tunes and follow her dreams, introduces her story writing skills and her books that are based on creative imagination. The writer has a passion for creating magical worlds and great characters that make her books enjoyable and interesting for people across all age groups.

“It was my grandmother who discovered my storytelling skills and inspired me to continue writing when everyone thought I was wasting my time writing books,” says Erika M Szabo, the writer known for her books that have artistic creativity and fantasy as the core elements. “I followed my dream to become a writer. As an artist, I paint pictures with my brushes, and as a writer, I paint pictures with my words in people’s minds.”

Erika M Szabo specializes in writing stories with themes such as alternate history, urban fantasy, magical realism, supernatural fantasy, life experiences, sweet romance, moral values, and similar subjects. Her stories are unique and above all, enjoyable. She wants to write books that can resonate with her readers hundreds of years from now.

"Without the great power of imagination, our world would be a cold, sad place."
READ MORE>>>

"Promises made by just being polite can be broken."

I've never heard so many empty promises until I published my first book.
The past 10 years since I published my first book, hundreds of friends, family, coworkers and strangers commented on my book release posts:
"OMG, your new book! I'm buying it right now!" or "This story sounds amazing! I'm so getting this book!"
"Is it on Kindle? I'm buying it now!"

And, they never mention my books again.

And then those who I know personally:
"Oh, goodie! Can I have a signed copy?"
"Of course! You can buy it on Amazon or B&N.
Here comes the reply:
"Oh, I thought..." (meaning: "Do you want me to pay for it? I thought you'd give it to me for free")

Then the polite excuses:
"Oh, I don't really have time to read."
I really want to support you, but new books are expensive, I usually I get children's books for my kids at yard-sales or at Salvation Army for a few bucks."

People who stumble upon my books on selling sites or click on my websites are buying and enjoying my books. But those I personally know, who are showing polite support by making empty promises, maybe a handful will ever fulfill their promise.

People mean well, they want to be polite and supportive, so they make empty promises.
So I thought, I could save people from feeling bad because they know the minute they promise to buy my books, they know they will not buy it, but they will feel guilty about making the empty promise.

So here is the deal:
Click on my books below.
Read the free, sample pages and chapters.
If you like my books, then buy them.

But, if you find my books too expensive for your budget, you can:
Tell your local librarian to order my books so you can read them for free.

If you'd like to show your support:
Share my book links on social sites. (You can easily do it by clicking the share buttons on selling site or on my website.)
Tell your friends about my stories that you enjoyed.

The truth is that I make less than a cent out of every dollar I've spent publishing my books, so every little bit helps me to keep going, and helps me to invest in publishing my next book.
Thank you for your support! 

When I published my first 90 minutes read novelette, I got a lot of positive feedback.

"I don't have a lot of time to read, so when I continue reading a long novel a few days later, I have to go back to refresh my memory. Short books I can read in one sitting, on the bus, waiting at the doctor's office, or even at my son's soccer game (when he's not watching) 

"Short books are great! The likable and we love to hate characters, suspense, and story line are there in condensed form, and the story is not dragged out to make a long novel. Perfect for readers who don't have a lot of time to read."

As of now, I've published six shorts in various genres, two of them are available for pre-order. Take a look, click on the pictures to read about the stories.

According to the author grapevine:

• If the book has no review, it's not shown in search.
• If a book has over 50 reviews, it might be shown to potential readers and included in the selling site's email campaign.

Pressured, desperate authors are willing to do anything to get reviews and it's getting pretty nasty.

• They beg and send "friendly reminders" to friends and family.
• Humiliate themselves with constant begging.
• Give out hundreds of books for free hoping someone might write a review.
• Pay a lot of money to shady services.
• Write "glowing" exchange reviews for each other.
• Their minions write nasty reviews on books in the same genre.

A monster has been created! 
Reviews were meant to be a tool that readers could use to give their opinion freely and without pressure.

I did a reader survey recently:

• 65% of the readers said they don't bother writing reviews. They enjoy the story and move on to the next book.
• 4% said they only write something if the book is crap. Either has a bad story line, or badly edited.
• 22% said they never read the reviews. They look at the cover and read the synopsis, or someone recommends the book to them.
• 9% said they watch for free books on social sites, but rarely write reviews.

​
Personal note:
I would love to have hundreds of reviews on each of my books, which author wouldn't? For me, this is the only feedback I get on my stories besides my editor's notes on what I did wrong. Grammar mistakes, sentence structure and so on.

However, realistically, I can't expect the opinion of every reader. But when a rare review pops up on my books, it makes me happy.
I appreciate every single feedback, good or bad (lucky me, so far I only have good reviews)

But...
I will not beg or pay for reviews. I've been giving out ARC copies or run promo days on selling sites, but I don't go crazy over not getting reviews for the free or discounted books.
Hopefully, my books remain to be noticed by readers even with only a few, or no reviews. 

My mom would've been a great diplomat.
My father was a sweet person, but as many men in those times, he had the illusion of being the head of the household and his word was supposed to be the law in the family.
Mom didn't like to waste time with futile arguments, so she always found the peaceful way to do things her way.

I was reading on the couch on a weekend afternoon when I heard Mom telling Dad in the kitchen, "The butcher cut the meat so nice and thin, I'm going to make stuffed pork with potatoes for dinner."

"I want fried pork, not stuffed!" Came Dad's authoritarian voice.

"Okay, dear, I'll make fried pork then, but I don't have enough oil."

"I'll go to the store." Dad volunteered.

As soon as he was out the door, mom soaked the bread, chopped onion, garlic, apples, dried cranberries and celery, cracked eggs and mixed the stuffing with spices.

"Mom, aren't you making fried pork?"

"Nope," she replied, smiling.

"He's going to be mad." I volunteered.

Mom just nodded and by the time Dad got home with the oil, the dinner was out of the oven.

"I thought by the time you get home from the store you'd be starving," Mom said with a sweet smile on her face. "It would take a long time to prepare and fry the meat, so I decided to make the stuffed meat instead."

Dad opened his mouth to protest with an angry look on his face when Mom took the lid of the pan. "It smells really good," Dad sniffed the air and he's expression softened. But to save his authoritarian dignity he added, "Hope you didn't put anything fancy in the stuffing like those chefs on TV. Who'd put apples and cranberries in the stuffing? You know I like it plain and simple."

"Of course I know how you like it, dear! Let's eat."

We enjoyed the delicious meal in silence for a few minutes when Dad put his fork down and asked, "What are those tasty bits in the stuffing? It's really good."

"Just some apples and cranberries," Mom said.

If you want to read four books: 396 minutes relaxing, cozy story time for $3.96
If you have Kindle Unlimited, you can read 2 of the books with your membership.
It's a pretty good deal for the price of 1/2 cup of coffee. Don't you think?

Lauren has everything she’d ever wished for. Great career, financial security, loving husband, and devoted friends.

When her Raven spirit guide warns her of impending danger, she takes the omen seriously.

She doesn’t have enough time to perform the protection spell her grandmother taught her and after a vicious attack and the Raven’s repeated urgent warning, she knows her life is in danger.
Who wants her dead and why?
 
Harbinger of danger, the Raven calls
Omen of perils that will befall
Ignoring its warning, does not bode well
Time of the essence, cast protection spell
Kraa from the oak, flapping black feather wings
Her heart knows the message it brings
~Cindy J. Smith
 

Lauren slowly opened her eyes. The white ceiling tiles with fluorescent light fixtures told her exactly where she was. I’m in the hospital, but why? What happened to me? Slowly, she tried to move. Every part of her body ached. Her head throbbed, and when she slowly turned her head, she was able to see the IV pole with a pump attached by her bed. My throat hurts. Was I intubated? My belly hurts as if I had surgery. Why can’t I remember? She touched the side of her head and felt a large, painful lump but no wetness in her matted hair. No open wound, I must have fallen and hit my head. But why does my abdomen feel like it’s on fire on the inside? Is my baby okay? She screamed in her mind but knew it was safer for her not to make sudden movements or sit up, but she needed to know why she was in the hospital and what happened to her.

Before she could reach the call button, Marcia rushed into the room and called out to her with worry in her voice, “You must stay in bed! You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“What happened?” Lauren managed to croak out her question. She felt a sharp pain in her throat when she made sounds and could barely manage to move her swollen lips.
​
“I’m just glad you are okay!” Marcia embraced her in a careful hug. “I went back to the office because I forgot my phone, and I found you on the floor unconscious and bleeding.”

My mother loved her porcelain faced dolls and proudly displayed the in a glass cabinet. Although I never played with dolls other than my paper dress-up doll collection, and Mom forbid me to touch her dolls, I liked looking at their pretty dresses.

Until she got two new ones. Those dolls scared me and really freaked me out . 
​

Their dead eyes seemed to follow my every move and made the little hairs stand up on the back of neck to the point that I did everything to avoid going into the room.

When I really had to enter the room, I ran to the cabinet and turned those two dolls upside down. Of course, my mother turned them back as soon as she noticed and reminded me again not to touch her dolls.

I even tried to leave the cabinet door open so my dog could reach them. Although he shred anything to pieces within seconds, he tiptoed away from the cabinet, and even when I threw one of the dolls to the floor hoping he would chew them to pieces, he ran out of the room.

No matter how many times Dad and I told my mom how creepy those dolls were, she laughed. "Don't be silly! There is nothing creepy about them, and they're so pretty."

Finally, Grandma came to the rescue two weeks later. As soon as she entered the room she shuddered and told my mom, "Those dolls are cursed! Get rid of them."

Mom didn't hesitate and stuffed the dolls in a bag, and to my delight, later that day dropped them off at the thrift shop.

A few days later my best friend, Gabi, told me in school, "My mother bought me two dolls for my birthday. They're so creepy looking that I'm scared of them, but I'm more scared to tell my mom that I don't like them." 

A chill ran down my spine and after school I went over to Gabi's house. As soon as I looked at the dolls I recognized them and told Gabi's mom, "My grandmother told us that those dolls are cursed, so Mom got rid off them."

Gabi's mom grabbed the dolls and threw them into the fireplace. Luckily, superstition saved us from being forced to look at creepy dolls every day. 
​

When I saw the sender: Pissedoff Reader, I thought, Oh, boy! This reader really hates my book! 
When I opened and read the message, my first reaction was, "What the Hell?"

And then I took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. 
My book is published on many selling sites, maybe there is a glitch on one of the sites and the book didn't download correctly.

So, I sent her an email, not even knowing who she was because she didn't give her name just her email address. When I got the reply, I found out she's a woman.
She replied back, "It's cheating! I couldn't even read any of the pages. It's just some small pictures."

I assured her that I'll look into this because I want my readers to get my books in the best format possible, and I asked her to describe the picture.
She replied angrily that at the bottom of the pictures it says "jump" and she can't read the text on her tablet.

By then I had a hunch about what might have happened, so I asked her which site she purchased the book from.
"I didn't buy it, it was a website where you can download PDF books for free." And she sent me the link and a blurry picture she took with her phone of her tablet's screen. 
​
I clicked on the link and my virus protection immediately flashed "Malicious site".
The page had book cover pictures with "Download free" click box under them. Yup, it was a click-bait scam site alright! I wondered if the woman got a nasty virus with her "free" book when she downloaded it. The picture she sent looked like a page screenshot to me.

Intrigued, I went through the publishing sites: 
https://www.books2read.com/u/mgL5qD
​and looked at the free preview pages. I took a screenshot and sent it to the woman.
​

"That's it! That's what the pages look like." she replied back.
Then I sent her this message:
"Sorry you had a bad experience, but this site where you downloaded the "free" book is called a pirate site. They steal the books, and in this case, the owner of the site is not even smart enough to properly steal the entire book, they just took screenshots of the free pages that are available on legit selling sites. Had you purchase the book from a legitimate selling site such as Amazon, you'd have received a beautifully formatted eBook to enjoy.

Also, I advice you to run a virus check on your tablet. The "free" books from pirate sites and not so "free". 
​They usually include a nasty virus or spy cookies in the "free" book.

A friendly advice: if they required you to give them your credit card to open a "free" membership so you can download the book, I would put a freeze on the card as soon as possible.

I don't wish harm to any reader who downloads pirated books, but...
If someone can't afford the $2.99 price for my eBook, please go to your local library and ask them to purchase the book. Then you can read it for free, but the author and publisher gets paid for their work.

Writing and publishing a book is a long process and requires investment as well. 
1. The author works on the story for months or even years to bring the best reading experience to readers.
2. It cost money to edit and format the book, have attractive book cover designed.
3. It cost money to promote and market the book so readers can find it.

It would never occur to people to ask for free coffee, haircut, manicure, or walk into a store and get shoes and clothes for free, because they know how much work goes into producing items they buy. 

Publishing a book is work and the authors and publishers deserve to get paid for their work.
Don't you think?
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You finished your book.
You poured your heart and soul into it.
You know it's a great story and readers will love it.
You send your inquiry letter to 50 publishers.

While you wait for the acceptance letter, you build up followers on social sites.
You work on your website and write articles announcing your book.
You're excited and tell everyone about your upcoming book.
You start getting the rejection letters one by one.

A few months went by and 10% of the publishers didn't even reply.
You feel devastated and question if your story is good enough.
Deep down you know it's good and you feel determent.
Figure out how to self-publish your book.

Go through the process of paying for ISBN, editing, book cover.
Spend a month planning your book launch.
Finally it's launch day.
And you sell 3 copies.

You check your sales dashboard 168 times a day for a week.
Nothing.
Beg all your 2000 friends and followers on social sites to buy your book.
You sell 2 more copies... and then nothing for weeks.
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Months go buy and you're going crazy in the jungle of promotion and marketing.
You spend $600 on marketing and make $25 in royalty payments.
You freak out and binge on chocolate cake for days.
You're determent to make it as a writer, so you start writing a new story.
Months later your story is finished and you start the publishing journey over from step one.

So, that's the life of thousands of writers. 
Very few gets lucky to be noticed and become a bestseller author, but the rest of us keep writing and hoping.
We keep writing because we must. We have so much to say that we can't stop writing.
And we always have the hope that some day our dreams will come through.

A few years ago my friend and I were enjoying our afternoon coffee and cookies on her porch. The weather was beautiful and my eyes wandered over to a row of trees by the small creek at the edge of her property.

Stunned by what I saw I cried out, "I just saw that small tree walking about 2 feet!"

Marie looked at me with shock and fear in her eyes. "What?"

That tree looked like it was walking toward that large tree."

Marie stared at the trees, shook her head in disbelieve and tried to smile. "Girlfriend," she exclaimed. "Whatever you're on, I want some!"

"No!" I protested. "You know me, and you know I would never touch any drugs or even alcohol."

"Then you're scaring me! Are you feeling okay?" she asked with worry in her eyes.

"I'm fine." I assured her but deep down I started to doubt if I really saw the tree move or my eyes played a trick on me. "But I really saw the tree move. I swear! Let's go, I'll show you."

We got up and walked to the creek. What we saw made me feel a whole lot better. "See?" I pointed at a young tree hanging in the air. "That's the tree I saw, and I was right. Look, a beaver chewed the trunk free but the tree couldn't fall because its branches are tangled with that big tree's branches."

"Man!" Marie looked at me relieved. "For a minute there I thought you were losing your marbles or going nuts on me."

Sometimes we fail to recognize them because narcissists tend to be great at first impressions, coming across as very charismatic and personable.

Zlatan Krizan, an associate professor in the Department of Psychology at Iowa State University, explains that there’s actually two kinds of expressions of narcissism: grandiose, which is where the bragging and showing off is exhibited, and shy, where a person may not be as forthright “or be out there with a bullhorn, but is sitting in the corner, fantasizing about when their day will come, and resenting others.”

​A mental condition when people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for excessive attention and admiration, troubled relationships, and a lack of empathy for others. But behind this mask of extreme confidence lies a fragile self-esteem that's vulnerable to the slightest criticism.
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People with narcissistic personality usually don't think that anything could be wrong, so they may be unlikely to seek treatment. If they do seek treatment, it's more likely to be for symptoms of depression, drug or alcohol use, or another mental health problem. But perceived insults to self-esteem may make it difficult to accept and follow through with treatment.
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• They display an exaggerated sense of self-importance.
• They require constant admiration.
• They expect to be recognized as superior and entitled to associate with equally special people.
• They greatly exaggerate achievements and talents.
• They belittle and look down on people they perceive as inferior.
• They expect favors and unquestioning compliance with their expectations.
• They manipulate and take advantage of others to get what they want.
• They're not willing to recognize the needs and feelings of others.
• They're arrogant and coming across as conceited, boastful and pretentious.
• They insist on having the best of everything.
• They can't handle criticism.
• They become impatient or angry when they don't receive special treatment.
• They have significant interpersonal problems and easily feel slighted.
• They react with rage and belittle the other person to make themselves appear superior.
• They have difficulty regulating emotions and behavior.
• They have angry outbursts when dealing with stress.
• They have difficulty adopting to changes.
• They feel depressed and moody because they know they're not perfect.
• They hide feelings of insecurity, shame, vulnerability and humiliation.
• They don’t necessarily make good leaders, but they want the power and attention, so they’re more likely to end up in lead positions.
• They always manage to trail the conversation to talk about themselves.

You might tell them about your hip surgery but you can see it in their eyes that they're not hearing a word you're saying, but they're thinking about telling you their story, as soon as you shut up, when the doctor removed a splinter from their pinky.

You tell them about the award ceremony where you were recognized and honored, but you can read their expression of thinking about what they're going to say to belittle your achievement. 

How do you deal with narcissistic people?
Can you build a healthy relationship with them or as soon as your recognize the symptoms you stop interacting with them and run?

In some cases we have the freedom to escape toxic relationships, but sometimes we can't and must find our own way to deal with them the best we can.

I stopped at a garage sale to browse and found a few books and a Christmas bowl that I loved. I was walking toward the owner with my treasures when I heard a woman, standing by one of the tables, talking to her companion.

"Look, this rubber snake would be great to scare the squirrels away. They keep chewing their way into the attic."

"Yes, and it wiggles too," the other woman replied."

I turned to look and saw a plum woman holding up a snake by the tail. Snakes give me the heebie-jeebies, even rubber snakes, so I quickened my steps and reached the chair where the owner was sitting.

"How much you want for this snake?" The plump woman called over to the owner.

The owner seemed to be in deep thoughts for a few seconds staring at the snake in the woman's hand, and then she mumbled, "I don't have a rubber snake." And then she jumped up and screamed from the top of her lung, "Oh, my God! Throw it away!"

"What? Why?" The plumped woman asked looking confused, still holding up the wiggling snake by the tail.

"It's real! It's a cottonmouth," the owner yelled. "Throw it on the grass as far as you could."

The plump woman shook with fear, screamed, and flung her arm throwing the snake about ten feet away. The snake landed on the lawn with a thud and quickly slithered away.

The owner closed the garage sale and asked us to leave the property. The plump woman gasped for air and threatened the owner with a lawsuit, but her companion calmed her and trailed her to their car. I was happy to get out of there and heard the owner talking to animal control on her cell phone.

​I doubt I'll stop at any garage sale in the near future.

Halloween is just around the corner and this heroic fantasy story provides great entertainment to children 8-14. It's a great read-along story for children 6-8 as well.
Scroll the presentation below to read about the series or click on the page to read more:

I met Julia, and her mate, Julius, the day when we moved to our new home.

If you haven't been following the story of my crow friends in the Omen or Silly Superstition post series, read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4.
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I watched Julia and Julius raising their young and go about their daily business. After they did their beautiful mating ritual in the spring, they left their usual nest in the backyard and moved deeper into the woods and chose a secluded area to raise their young.
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One spring I found their nesting place and watched from afar how Julia sat on the eggs and her family brought food for her. By then I read up on these majestic birds and knew that the young stay with their parents for about two years and help to raise the newly hatched siblings.

The young crows fed Julia with her favorite treat, earthworms. I watched them standing still in the clearing where the soil was rich and soft. They seemed to be listening for a few seconds, turning their heads, and then their strong beaks came down with a swift move, turning the soil. They picked up the exposed worms and swallowed a few before flying away with one wiggling in their beaks.

Although the young crows patrolled the property regularly, I missed seeing Julia and Julius in the morning. To my great disappointment, their usual sounds were replaced by the screeching cries of a pair of Blue Jays. Although they're beautiful birds, they're I preferred not to have them close to my bedroom window. Their loud chatter have the same effect on my nerves as the teacher's fingernails on the blackboard in second grade.

To my delight, the crows were annoyed by the Blue Jays too, as they were having breakfast in the back, and they angrily swooped down on the blue birds sounding a battle cry. The Blue Jays held on for a few minutes but after they received a few painful pecks by crow beaks, they decided to nest somewhere else.

A few weeks later my heart sank when I saw eight crows in the backyard. It reminded me of Grandma's verse: "Eight crows rarely appear but predict grief in one's life."

My day was filled with anxiety and fear. I kept thinking. Can they really predict something bad? I couldn't concentrate on work, I was waiting and hoping that nothing bad will happen.
When the phone rang after dinner, my nerves were frayed and I was ready to jump out of my skin. And the sad news came. My aunt who had end stage MS had passed away.

Was the gathering of the crows a prediction or just a coincidence? I may never know.  But from then on, I payed a lot more attention to the number of crows.

I'm a writer. Am I telling you a true story or part of it is true and part of it is the figment of my imagination? You decide!

This episode concludes my Crow Family Saga blog post series. As I'm recalling more and more memories of the past 28 years, I decided to write and publish the story of my crow friends as a book. It will take me a few months to write and edit it, but I will let you know when the book will be published.
​
Thank you for reading and sharing my posts and my books!

It gives me great joy when readers are enjoying my stories, and the only way I know about their opinion, if they write a review or send me a message.

My books have lost a lot of reviews do to policy changes of the selling sites. They banned a lot of avid readers and bloggers who gave very valuable feedback to authors.

The book sales dramatically dropped since pirate sites are stealing our books and offer it for free on click-bait and scammer websites, and I can't expect every reader who take interest in my books to go back to the selling site to write a review.

Therefore, I really don't know if readers like my stories, or not.
I have one birthday wish, watch the video to find out what it is.

I met Julia, and her mate, Julius, the day when we moved to our new home.

If you haven't been following the story of my crow friends in the Omen or Silly Superstition post series, read Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.
​

About a year after we moved to our new home, a sweet dog showed up on the property. She was very skinny, timid and sick looking. We adopted her and named her Lucky.
You can read stories of her in my short story collection: Rainbows and Clouds. 

We almost lost Lucky but thanks to the vet, she pulled through and got better after the treatments for heartworm and Lyme disease. She became best friends with our cat and Julia. 
She also was named "the thief of the neighborhood" because, for a while, she carried home whatever she found on the neighbors' properties. 

The "gifts" included bed sheets, socks, sweaters, jeans from the clotheslines, small tools, bicycle helmet, shoes, and even a frozen turkey. We never found out if she watched Julia dropping small presents on the window seal and imitated her, or just did it on her own because she thought it was the right thing to do.

Lucky's diet was mostly home-cooked stew of chicken, turkey, and vegetables, which she happily shared with Julia, and Julia was very protective of the sweet-natured German Sheppard. She swooped down and pecked the neighbor's dog when he chased Lucky and badgered the hedgehog family, after Lucky had an encounter with them and went through the painful process or removing the sharp quills from her face, until they moved away.

When we met a couple and they started coming over to visit us, we noticed that Lucky was cautious of the man. She always kept an eye on him and was nervous when they visited. And then I found out why. He went out to his car to get something when I happened to be on the sun porch. I watched him walking to his car and Lucky scurrying to get out of his way.

She wasn't fast enough and he yelled at her, "Get out of my way you dirty mutt!" He lifted his foot to kick her but luckily, he was distracted by Julia and put his foot down. Lucky scrambled out of his way as Julia swooped down and snatched the man's baseball hat.

She flew away and dropped the hat on top of a bush at the back of the property. The man ran after her yelling and I stood by the back door, laughing.

After he retrieved his hat I told him that if he ever looks at my dog wrong way again, he will be banned from the property. He confessed that he has a deep-seated fear of dogs since he was attacked by one when he was a young child, but promised he will never yell at Lucky again or try to hurt her. 

But Julia didn't know about this agreement. Every time the man pulled into the driveway, she sounded the alarm for Lucky to hide. and the crow kept a close eye on him. She didn't snatch his hat again, but a few times she pooped on his car. She never did that when the man's wife pulled into the driveway with the same car. This proved to me that crows indeed hold grudges and recognize and remember people. 

Are crows really supernatural messengers? Find out next week.
​I'm a writer. Am I telling you a true story or part of it is true and part of it is the figment of my imagination? You decide!

If you're enjoying the story, bookmark this page or subscribe to my newsletter:

Many animals give gifts to members of their own species but crows and other corvids are the only ones known to give gifts to humans. Crows give presents to people who feed them and pay attention to them, or rescue them.

Autumn came in spectacular colors. The leaves turned colorful, all shades of yellow, orange, and red. The air was crisp, but the sun gave enough warmth to make the temperature comfortable. I put a light jacket on and went outside to sit on the patio to enjoy my afternoon coffee.

I rarely had a chance to enjoy nature in the City, I thought as I watched the squirrels and chipmunks scurrying about collecting acorns under the oak trees. It feels like I’m on vacation since we moved here... Loud cawing and barking snapped me out of my dreamy state.

I looked up and saw a huge Rottweiler chasing after a crow that seemed to be injured. It was barely able to lift itself up about a foot into the air and flopped down again. Another crow was flying above them, kept cawing and darted from the air to land on the dog’s head. The dog shook it off and swatted at the bird sending it flying and skidding on the fallen leaves.

I dropped my coffee cup, grabbed a broom and started running towards them. “Leave him alone you bad dog!” I yelled as I recognized the injured crow. It was the male, Julius. Julia gathered herself and flew at the dog, again.

When I was a few feet away from them, the dog growled and turned toward me showing his sharp fangs, saliva drooling from his mouth. I was scared. I had no idea where the dog came from. But I gathered enough courage to keep yelling at him and swung the broom to scare him away.

The dog didn’t budge, and I was scared to move closer, so I picked up a handful of gravel and threw it at the dog. A stone must have hit a painful spot because the dog yelped and ran into the bushes.

I sighed in relief and looked for the crows. My interaction with the strange dog gave them a chance to get away. I watched them as Julius struggled for a while to fly but soon managed to reach the lower branch of the pine tree.

Everything was quiet on the property for hours. The chipmunks and squirrels hid in their nests and I didn’t hear the usual chatter of small birds either.

The next morning Julius still perched on the lower branch of the tree and I saw Julia by his side. She flew away for short periods and came back with food in her beak. Julius ate the food and lowered his head, resting. I put walnuts, bits of fruit and pieces of raw meat on the tree stump for them before I drove to work.

Later that day when I pulled into the driveway after work, I saw four crows on the branch. “Four crows will predict imminent wealth.” Grandma’s rhyme came to mind. I don’t need millions; I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I thought and smiled, feeling foolish to have such thoughts. I need a good job and enough to live a comfortable life.

I watched the crows from my car and noticed that Julia seemed to give her mate a drink from her beak. He crouched on the branch and Julia hovered over him touching his open beak. Clever bird, I thought. She brought him water from the small creek that flows in the lower part of the property.

For about two weeks I saw the four crows on the branch, they took turns to feed Julius. Then one morning, he took a short, wobbly flight. From then on, he got stronger and stronger every day. A week later they left the branch, and I assumed, flew back to their nest in the far corner of the property and I didn't see the other two crows in the backyard any longer.

One morning something peculiar happened. As I was heading outside, I saw Julia through the window by the back door. She flew to the windowsill and dropped something before flying away. Curious, I stepped out and looked at the windowsill. There was a torn finger of a blue rubber glove. I don’t use blue rubber gloves, where did she get it from, and why did she bring it here? I wondered, but then I remembered that the past week or so I kept finding small, blue items on the windowsill.

At first, I thought the wind blew there the blue jay feather, pieces of blue paper, plastic wire covering, part of a plastic bag, and a piece of blue knitting yarn, but now I realized it was Julia who kept putting “presents” on my windowsill.

Crows see colors and maybe she noticed that my favorite color is teal blue. Maybe that was her way of showing gratitude for helping to save her mate. I will never find out.
I never saw the Rottweiler again, maybe his owner visited a neighbor and he got away to go on a hunting adventure.
 
Do crows hold grudges? Find out next week.
I'm a writer. Am I telling you a true story or part of it is true and part of it is the figment of my imagination? You decide!

If you're enjoying the story, bookmark this page or subscribe to my newsletter:

If you like paranormal, occult stories, you might want to check out the Women of Willow Wood series by a dear friend, Lorraine Carey. 
​
I designed the book covers and book interior, and I really enjoyed the story.

Book 3 is coming soon which I can hardly wait to read.
​Secret Societies have existed for eons, but nothing can match the powerful magic and lure such as the Women of the Willow Wood!

After we settled into our new home, we always heard and saw a group of crows in the backyard, so we thought they were nesting close by. The property is surrounded by acres of tall and busy pine trees as well as oak and willow trees and thick bushes of all kinds. They have plenty of spaces to pick the best nesting site.

They were watching us all the time, especially the female crow, Julia. It's hard to tell them apart, but I noticed that the male was slightly larger and his voice was a little deeper, so not knowing for sure, I assumed their gender. 

Julia's favorite perching place was a tree stump in the back where she could see the house and the entire front yard. She stood there for hours silently watching, and sometimes the male joined her for a short time. It was creepy at first, but we quickly got used to their presence.

I always saw and heard the two of them and I thought about Grandma's little verse: Two announce the arrival of upcoming good luck.

"Keep bringing us good luck." I told Julia who was watching me from a branch when a few times a week I put walnuts and small scraps of meet on the tree stump before I drove to work. This kind of became a routine and after a few days, she started acknowledging me with a head-bob and a short caw, as if greeting me or thanking me.

Weeks went by and one day I noticed something peculiar. I heard Julia cawing twice when I walked down the driveway to greet my daughter who was getting off the school bus. The next morning Julia cawed twice again in the morning and in the afternoon before the school bus showed up at the end of the driveway.

I thought about it and realized that she'd been doing that for weeks. I started paying more attention and noticed that she was silent on weekends and on days when the school was closed. Smart and observant bird, I thought and started paying more attention to her.

One afternoon Julia was alone when I got out of my car after work. I didn't see or heard her mate as usual, but I thought he was out feeding and went into the house. 

The next morning Julia was alone, again, and cawed 3-4 times when I got into my car. I drove a few miles and suddenly, my car swirled and shook. It scared the breath out of me, but I managed to pull over. I had a flat tire. "Just great!" I mumbled while changed the tire. "My boss will not believe me when I tell him why I'm late."

At work, I slipped on a glob of butter that fell off the breakfast cart, and I pulled the muscle in my leg trying to brace myself. Then Grandma's verse popped into my mind as I limped down the long hospital hall: One crow alone and your life turns to muck.

Could it be true or am I losing my mind? I thought alarmed as I recalled slicing my finger while cutting vegetables for dinner the night before, and then stubbing my toe stumbling to the bathroom in the middle of the night.  

I got through the shift after a pen exploded in my pocket, and I managed to spill tomato soup on my uniform top. What else is going to happen? I thought on the way home. I drove cautiously keeping to the speed limit and kept both hands on the steering-wheal prepared for another flat tire.

When I pulled into the driveway, the first thing I did was look for the crows. Phew! I sighed in relief when I saw the pair perching on the oak branch, side by side.

From then on the weeks went by uneventfully, until Julia showed up alone, again.

Next time I'll tell you more about Julia and her family.

I'm a writer. Am I telling you a true story or part of it is true and part of it is the figment of my imagination? You decide!
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If interested, you can read more of my blog posts HERE.
And visit my Reading Room HERE, you might like some of my stories.
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