WIN 48 BOOKS! No Kidding.

HURRY, this ends tonight!

I’ve teamed up with 48 fantastic authors to give away a huge collection of paranormal & sci-fi romances to 2 lucky winners, PLUS a brand new eReader to the Grand Prize winner!

Oh, and did I mention you'll receive a collection of FREE ebooks just for entering? 

You can win my novella Under the Granite Lies, plus books from authors like Nina Croft and J.T. Ellison. 

Enter the giveaway by clicking here: http://bit.ly/parascifi-oct2017

Good luck, and enjoy!

Kay Phoenix

My First Bra

     I’m not talking about my first “training bra” (who came up with that stupid term anyway?).   I’m talking about the first real bra that I bought with my own money. 

     I was maybe 11 or so, and I carried a purple purse with a unicorn on it that enclosed a purple wallet which held some red hot birthday cash.  So, it was off to the mall! My mom brought me and let me go into Dillard’s by myself (which may have been Diamonds at the time). 

     My birthday money was burning a hole in my wallet! 

     I wandered into the lingerie section of the store.  I hadn’t really been in that part of the store before and had always glanced at it whenever we had walked by in the past.  The pretty, lacey things with soft, shimmery fabric that looked as fragile as flower petals seemed so much more interesting than the kid’s clothes section we usually spent time in.  I felt excited and somewhat out of place browsing through the racks of pretty undergarments.  My underwear to date had been nothing but sturdy, practical cotton underwear that came in multi-packs from Kmart.  And, as far as I knew, that’s what my mom wore as well. 

     But, this underwear was so different.  Who would wear something so pretty, and why?  The notion that a woman would wear pretty undergarments to impress a man was far from my adolescent mind at that time.

     It was then that an older woman approached me.  She was a shopper, like me.  And, I’m going to paraphrase the conversation here…

     “Such pretty things, aren’t they?” She asked while lovingly admiring something from the rack.

     “Um, yeah."

     “You like them, don’t you?” 

     I nodded shyly.

     “I always find that I feel extra confident if I’m wearing something pretty underneath.  It’s like it’s my little secret,” she said, and smiled at me. 

     I nodded again and turned my attention to a Christian Dior bra in my size. 

     “Oh, that’s a very pretty one,” she said.  “Well, I’m going to go try these on.”  She left with a small pile of lace draped over one arm.

     I turned my attention back to the bra, and checked the price tag.  It was on sale!  It was going to take all of my birthday money to buy it (meaning I wouldn’t have enough left over to get the new Duran Duran album), but I couldn’t resist.  Confidence, she had said.  The bra was so pretty.  It was all off-white lace with light blue satin cups. 

     And…it became my first real bra.  I wore it to school under my silly purple unicorn shirts, and it gave me confidence.  It really did!  I had a pretty secret below my awkward surface. 

     My mom thought I was silly to spend all my money on a bra.  But, I didn’t care! 

     I still think about the woman who told me of her secret to confidence, especially on the days that I need a little extra…if you know what I mean. 

     Wink!

12 Lessons 2012 Taught Me

Some of the lessons that 2012 taught me were the same old things rehashed.  I guess they keep getting thrown at me because I haven't learned them yet.  But, some of them were new.  Some of them were random.  And some of them were left off this list, not because they are any less important, but because my brain is mac-n-cheese.  I’m sure I’ll think of a hundred more items later.

 

 

1.       The importance of BRAVERY.  Sometimes the lessons we need to learn take our whole lives. That’s why we are still here, even though some days are very, very dark.  We were brave souls to choose to come here to begin with, but sometimes, in these frail bodies, we forget that. 

2.       Life goes on.  I lost my grandfather on October 25.  I hardly ever say anything with certainty because I know that life will inevitably find some way to prove me wrong, but this fact I do know for certain… He was the bravest and best man I will ever know. 

 

3.       Aristotle’s theory of the “Unmoved Mover”, which I find fascinating. 

4.       I look damn sexy in a Chuck E. Cheese blow up crown.

 

5.       Life is unpredictable (I already knew this but it was reaffirmed).  I went on a hike to Mary Jane Falls up at Mt. Charleston and a rockslide occurred, sending pebbles and sand raining down on us from a high cliff.  They stung!  It could have so easily been larger rocks or boulders.  It was over in about 30 seconds and everyone scurried away unharmed, but it was quite scary as we had no idea what was going to come barreling off that cliff at us next.

6.       I have a facet joint problem in my hips which occasionally causes me excruciating pain.  Excellent. 

 

7.       Female desert tortoises hump each other.

 

8.       The power of truth. 

9.        Magic happens.  Anyone that knows me knows that I am a Disneyland nut.  I don’t care what some people might think of it, I love going there!  I was lucky to go there twice this year.  Once alone (which was actually kind of sad at first but ended up being one of the most magical times I’ve ever had there), and the second time with my sister (for her first trip). 

10.       I don’t like cream cheese in my sushi.  No sir, I don’t like it.  Makes me want to hurl.

11.       My limits in putting up with bullshit from people.  This was a fuzzy area before 2012, but I’m thankful that I reached my breaking point.  Now I know where it is, and that information is valuable. 

12.       That people really do like my art, and my writing.  As a creative person, I am extremely critical of my own stuff, as all artists are.  The past couple years I’ve decided to take some big chances, and they have paid off.  It’s scary, really scary, but it is so encouraging to know that people are genuinely interested in my creations.  I’m humbled…and terrified.

I wonder what lessons await me in 2013...

 

What is Home?

 

I’ve heard many iterations of what “home” means to people. All definitions are varied and all are relevant. But, the definition changes depending on the experience of the individual defining it. For some, home might be a scary place; an uncomfortable, dark nightmare. For others, it could be a magical, happy place. My personal definition fell more toward the happy side of the spectrum, thankfully, at least in relation to my childhood home.

But, that home is different now. It is empty. It is dark. It is lonely. It echoes.

A year ago I didn’t know how empty a home could feel when the faces associated with it were gone. I don't think I ever truly realized that a home is only a shell. No amount of upgrades can change the fact that the four walls of a home encompass a hollow building. And, given a few years left to the elements, it’s amazing how much nature starts to reclaim that shell.

Or, is it not a shell, but maybe a seed? Yes, maybe it is seed. Maybe a home is cyclic, like a plant. My childhood home flowered in my youth, in the magical days, and now it has withered and sets in a dormant mode ready to flower again. It needs water. It needs nourishment. It needs care.

But, I’ll never make the mistake again of thinking that a home is a “where”, because that would mean that it is defined by the property on which it stands. No, a home is a “what”, because it is what you make of it. It is what you put into it. It is what you give it, and what it gives back to you. Rather it’s a castle or a modest 3 bedroom 2 bath 63 year old ranch-style sitting on an acre of overgrown weeds.

 

Modern Art

All I had learned of art in grade school wouldn’t prepare me for what I would see in my library that day.  My grandmother brought me to our favorite library, the one with giant paper mache dinosaurs, to view an exhibit of Modern Art done by students from the local university, UNLV.  I had no idea what to expect.

The exhibit was packed with people.  Packed.  There was even a table with food and a tower of champagne (I thought it was soda, but I wasn’t allowed to have any).  I was excited.  The art was nothing like I had ever seen.  Large canvases with bold, colorful strokes of paint.  Small canvases with energetic splatters of enamel layered over strips of torn paper.  I was mesmerized.  This was art?  My mind was opened.  I took note of the other attendees who stood, like I did, immersed in the interesting array of displays.  I remember wondering if any of the students had attended the exhibit and watched the people examine their artwork.   I imagined that if they did, they would feel a sense of pride.  

In my adult life, I have exhibited my own artwork in my local libraries several times.  Each time, I am reminded of walking through that first exhibit with my grandmother.  In my mind, that exhibit was fancy.  I was in a world class gallery.  And, I was.  I was in my library, and that exhibit taught me that books and art were two means to the same end – illumination. 

 

 

(Photo of "Spectrum V (1969)" by Ellsworth Kelly (American) from the Metroplitan Museum's Modern collection.  Photo by Kristina Santry-Mull)

 

The Torch

I was recently handed a torch I did not ask to carry.  This torch is both heavy, and light.  It is hot and cold.  It requires my bare hands to hold it, I can’t wear gloves.  It is both a light in the darkness, as well as a force capable of lighting fires of destruction.  The hands that passed it to me held it with integrity, honesty, and a clear, decisive vision.  I have to accept that they would not have passed this to me without seeing those same qualities in me.  I have a responsibility to wield this torch as a leader, to use it as they did – as a light.  And I will.  With all that I am, I will accept this responsibility with a humble and grateful heart. 

Free Gifts

I just realized that even though next week is my 39^th birthday, it actually signifies the completion of 40 laps around the sun.  Not 39.  We don’t celebrate the day we are actually born as our first birthday; we celebrate it a year later, after completing our first lap.  So, coming upon 40 laps, I’ve had some thoughts.

First, I don’t feel 40 (or 39, or whatever).  Second, sometimes I feel 12, sometimes I feel 99.  But, never 40.

 

Last year, right around my birthday, I came up with the idea that I am “adaptable” rather than “moldable”.  I think that still holds true.  Being adaptable is a conscious effort on the part of humans.  We allow ourselves to adapt.  It’s a decision we can always back out of.  And, if it is a conscious choice, it is a good thing, right?  Maybe yes, maybe no.  It depends on the circumstances revolving around the choice to adapt.  Are we choosing to do so based on what is the best for us, or what “other’s” think is the best for us? 

Being adaptable is a gift, a wonderful present called “free will” that we were all given the day we are born.  It is non-refundable and non-returnable.  It’s a gift that we are all free to use every day.

How are we going to use it?

Desert Rain

In honor of the rain that Las Vegas has finally received, here is a poem I wrote in 2004 about redemption (from what? from anything.):

Ghost of a Chance

The desolate desert land mimics the way I feel now.
Dry, emotionless, empty.
No life.
I stand alone in the deafening silence, the grainy sands blowing around me.
Taunting me.
I have never felt so empty.

Then...
Above the orange mesas, a speckling of white clouds swarm like vultures.
Somewhere in the distance, a crow calls.
The clouds grow, billowing from white to gray to black.
I am afraid of what they bring.
There is nowhere for me to hide.
A loud crack of thunder rumbles in the distance.
I wince, not knowing what to expect.
I shield my heart with my hands as if to keep it from danger.
A sound rushes toward me, a soft vibration.
I stand strong, holding my ground, there is nothing else I can do but wait.
The rain falls at my feet and I slowly lift my face to it.
It feels cool and refreshing in this arid air, enveloping me in the sweet smell of newness.
I feel the rain on my skin, in my hands, and through my soul.
My heart opens to accept this gift of nature's redemption,
And every piece of my being feels refreshed and vibrant.

One Last Gift

This is me, seven years ago.  I was on Maui. 

 

This is me, ecstatic because I had experienced something absolutely thrilling and magical.  I had just returned from a flight in this small plane which had taken me over the island of Maui, to the Big Island of Hawaii’.  I had seen pods of humpback whales from the air.  I had witnessed thousand foot cliff waterfalls, lined up row upon row in a gorgeous staircase of creation along Hawaii’s north shore. 

But, most magical of all, I had witnessed creation itself, and felt the kiss of Madame Pele.  We had flown directly over Kilauea’s active caldera, and along the volcanic coast.  The plane shifted violently in the sky, thanks to the massive change in temperature directly below us.  It was thrilling.  I looked out my window and was filled with wonder.  I stared through an opening directly into the red-hot earth below.  The hole in the earth’s crust was in the shape of a human heart, the vog (volcanic fog) rose from it in steady clouds making it appear as if it were beating.  It was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my entire life.  The hole was certainly large enough to swallow the small plane, but I trusted the pilot to get us through.  I had to. I had given up control getting on this flight, something I don’t like to do.

We spent a half hour circling the caldera before flying over the volcanic coast, which stretched in a thick black carpet for miles and miles.  We flew over Mauna Loa, and back over the channel to the coast of Maui.  Pods of whales again frolicked below us, dolphins miniaturized next to them. 

I titled this “One Last Gift” because this plane ride was the last Christmas present that I would ever receive from my beloved grandmother, although I didn’t realize it at the time.  Several months later she would pass away unexpectedly in my arms.  But, she left me with this amazing gift, the gift of knowing that sometimes you just have to buckle up and let the Pilot do His job.  He will get you there safe.  He has the expertise that you don’t.  And, if you are very lucky, He will fly you over a volcano and show you the secrets of creation itself while you are on the journey. 

Thank you for that gift, Grandma Betty.   I still miss you and love you every single moment.  

(Please note that this photo isn't a photo that I took.  We couldn't take photos in the plane.  I found this at usgs.gov, but it's pretty close to what I saw.  And, in real life, it appears much larger.)

The Christmas Unicorn

I’m always stumped when someone asks me what I want for Christmas (or my birthday, or whatever gift-giving occasion is at hand).  For some reason it has always thrown me for a loop and I’ve never been able to put my finger on why, and I still can’t.  The question will inevitably be asked and I will be perplexed and then feel as if I must be an alien because of the way they are squinting at me.  I imagine they are thinking “Geeze, she must want something really expensive.  I shouldn’t have asked!”

Well, the truth of it is that I absolutely don’t know what I want as a gift from someone.  And honestly, I would rather know what they would pick out for me without direction.  So, what is the proper answer to their question?  Should I say “Just pick something out,” and leave them with the burden of wondering rather or not I will like it (I will), or should I say “A gift card to the mall,” which is my standard response?  It’s hard to say.  

One of my favorite Christmas presents I ever got was when I was 16, my beloved grandma gave me a wooden snowglobe with a white unicorn inside.  I don’t remember what tune the globe played, I would have to bring it down from its high shelf to check.  But, what I loved about that gift was that it was simple yet magical and completely unexpected.  She happened to see it and she knew that I was still young enough to like it, yet old enough to appreciate the meaning behind it. She saw “me” in it, and that is why it is so special to me.  It was certainly not the most expensive present I’ve ever gotten, and to be truthful I don’t even recall what was the most expensive present I’ve gotten. 

For a few years I got to where I would actually carry around a little list in my purse and when I thought of something that I might want, I would jot it down so that I wouldn’t meet the “question” with a deer-in-the-headlights stare.  But, it felt wrong to keep a list.  It felt selfish.  I stopped. 

So, in case you ever wonder what I might want for Christmas, here is the answer:  I want something from your heart with meaning.  Give me a unicorn snowglobe with the sentiment that I am loved and that you truly “see” me and who I am.