As a new author, I am still trying to find my voice, my structure, my story.  The story that has been living inside of me for four years. I started with “The Thunder Being,”  moved to “Momma Bloom’s Island,” and ended up at “Left Brain Right,” which never felt quite right.  After a discussion with my writer’s group, they basically told me, “go back to the beginning.” I have to agree with them, so here I am.

The posts will be infrequent, yet on a schedule.  I meet with my writer’s group on the 1st and 3rd Saturday of each month, so that is when I will post.

Feedback desired and welcome.  All rights reserved.  – Jennifer


This book is dedicated to all of those who are lost in the dark

Who ambushed by their own anger
or the anger of others

To those who are bereaved by bitterness

To those caged in chaos

To those who are destined for destructiveness

To those who fight fear

To those who are hostage to hopelessness

To those incarcerated by impatience

To those jailed by jealousy

To those locked up in loneliness

To those manipulated into misery

To those penned up by panic or paranoia

To those who’ve been sent to the stockage of self-hatred

To those who are tied into being timid

To the unconcerned and unforgiving

To those victimized by violence

And to all who want a way out

Chapter 1

They Come

Bum, bum Bum, bum
Bum bum, Bum bum
Bum, bum Bum, bum

The Thunder Being is coming: Bum, bum
The Thunder Being he comes: Bum, bum
The Thunder Being is coming: Bum, bum
There is no place to run!

A sound wave from a loud crack of thunder
fiercely pierced and infiltrated it’s way through
the thick, cold stone walls of Hellen Keller Junior High
and coiled its power around the hearts of the students within.

A flash of lighting wedded itself to the thunder
escaping from the dark cloudy chasm above
illuminating the oppressive overcast sky
which only add to the atmosphere of anxiety.

Michelle had been hearing voices for days
and she didn’t appreciate the fact that
the weather seemed to be mirroring
what was going on inside of her mind.

At first the voices were soft and gentle
like a little gnat buzzing in her ear,
but slowly, with each passing minute,
they were growing louder…and stronger

She wasn’t stupid.
She read Harry Potter,
when Hermione told Harry,
“even in the Wizarding world hearing voices isn’t a good sign.”

She scanned the art room
searching other faces
to see if they too might be reacting
to the outside environment around them.