WIP, "Blood, Spatters" fiction warrior women...

"...Forensic specialist with a penchant for …….shooting, and sometime stunt-woman, Mary Grace Ocampo, ‘The Nun’. Born in the Philippines in 1999. Her family moved out of Quezon City in 2001. She’s the fifth of five children, three brothers and a sister. Her complexion and body language make her out to appear as the innocence and tranquility of a devout Catholic nun. Even her family thinks that Mary Grace is a nun. Her petite stature of four feet eleven inches, as well weighing a light ninety-nine pounds no one would ever suspect she could do such damage to a man. Let alone a man with a gun, as she was barely armed."

https://www.amazon.com/Jody-Lynn-Reicher/e/B00R3VUZ18/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_10?qid=1418802234&sr=1-10

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Completion of Humanness

Completion of Humanness As we arrive to the completion of the first year without Norman, I had decided long before he'd passed that I would continue to do things certain things he liked yet could no longer do. I decided I would not take a day off of fitness. I would run at least for 500 days in a row. I began that in early 2020. I'd not be concerned with the distance I'd run. It was the very thing I convinced Norman and the thing that mattered to him, from the very first discussion we had August 11th, 1981, was fitness. I loved that he was a College Boy. He loved that I was a Marine. We tickled each other's soul with such admirations. Later fitness continued as an old discussion from 1994 ...getting outside and to run no matter what. I would say to him, "Run 200 meters, then 400 meters. If it doesn't feel good, stop. Turn around and walk back home and know you did your best. That is all you can ask of yourself." I said this, knowing he would get dow

In My World

As I finish putting away the week's groceries, I contemplate other's lives. Aside from my two daughters, I consider what may be other's lives. How they have conducted their lives over the past two years. This is a thought not unusual for me to have. Yet, it occurs more often than not. Especially now, as the population is probably feeling ever more irked. Regarding perhaps. their illusion of any lack of their freedom. But isn't that what life is about? The illusion of who we are. What we are about. Where we stand on the planet. Who we love. And who loves us. Our significance. Couldn't we imagine if this were all just an illusion? Sounds like a "Twighlight Zone" episode, perhaps. My aim here, are the thoughts of reckoning. I'll explain why I'm claiming such a thing. For about twenty-eight years of a career in dealing with injured athletes, pain patients, chronically ill and the terminally ill. I found that there were many people who lied to

It's About the Soul And...

...perhaps the soles of our shoes. My father-in-law used to say the feet are what soldiers depend on, as we do food. He said that to me in 1985 as I stood in his home office. My husband, Norman was a shoe guy. And it was all about the soles on the shoes. For me, the way I have stayed on my feet was soul deep. Sometimes praying every step of the way, to not fall over out of exhaustion. The approximately 170,000 miles of running, many of which Norman had witnessed or known of. He wondered how I stayed standing working on my feet all day. Only to come home, and go for a second run at midnight at times. Often Norman would give me a lecture on good shoe care. It was about the soles of the shoes. He'd point out stitching on a shoe that was done wrong. Therefore commenting, "...giving a shoe less time of wear on this earth." He'd remark quite often. "You have to buy good quality shoes." I have to say, there was absolutely something comedic about his shoe obse

Writing Reality

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