Letters From the Heart Blog Hop: To My Future Self

Have you heard about #lettersfromtheheart yet? I am seriously in love with this concept and I hope you will all consider contributing to it or checking out all the authors on the #Mondayblogs hop! See the list after the letter below to see who will be participating in the coming months and how to contribute!

I'll be writing several letters in the coming months, so be sure to check out all the posts periodically and see if you can figure out which ones are mine.

I chose this anonymously written letter because it really spoke to me. As someone that is a deep thinker and Christian, I'm naturally inclined to think about the future and what it holds, as well as interested in seeing how history plays out. The style is also similar to my own, so I could hear myself saying this in a narration. Please leave a comment with your favorite line from this letter!

Letter to My Future Self

When are you reading this letter, I wonder?  I can’t see you from where I sit.  Is it a few years from now, on a milestone birthday, as you sit and reflect on your life?  Or well into your dotage, when the physical world is smaller and harder to navigate, even as your mind stretches to cover great distances through time and memory. 

What will you say to me, I wonder? Will you tell me I was right to be scared of life?  That the world, in its hubris, succeeded in destroying empathy and compassion? That the noble concept of community, where we all accepted each other with our flaws and foibles, dwindled as the lights were turned out on us all? Every one of us living only for ourselves? Will I still feel alone, often lonely, always awkward and suffocated, sitting uncomfortably drenched in unspent potential? Did potential even exist for me or was it a dream? 

Or will you tell me I was right to expect kindness, of myself and of others?  That the journey was leading somewhere, that fate was guiding me carefully towards my destination. That my efforts to create intelligent, meaningful connections paid off. That I found love and love found me, in a million different ways, shapes and forms. That peace descended over life so completely that the unforgiving boredom of routine, the frustrations of work, and the mercurial moods of life’s companions never wholly succeeded in weakening my spirit or resolve. That I was able to see beyond the nonsense of daily existence, not assimilated into a culture of discontent and cynicism, but rather that I was right in trusting in life, in believing the universe to be open, benevolent and giving. 

Will you laugh at my fear, I wonder? Not mirthless schadenfreude, but a gentle laugh, a knowing laugh, an acknowledgement of my irrepressible mind?  A caring laugh partnered with a quiet whisper reaching back over the years, comforting me, willing me to have faith in the fact that simply by being here, I am enough. That I created myriad opportunities to bless and be blessed.  That I made a difference, significant and not, simply by existing. That each breath I took meant something to someone beyond myself. That my being able to draw breath actually began to hold meaning for me. 

Will you tell me to be healthier? To protect my physicality from the toll of all those childhood falls? Will you caution me to keep my heart strong and my mind stronger? Will you ask me to pay more attention, be present for myself?Will you cry for me, knowing I have not seen what is to come?  Will you advise me to stand still, not venture forward, take another path?  What regrets will you hold for me, what wisdom will you impart? Will you tell me to be more outspoken, more brave, take more risks? Or will you tell me to simply let go, accept that everything is unfolding just as it needs to. That life is simply life. That I am simply me. That everything contained within simply is. 

Will you chastise me for worrying so much? Will you shake your head at my timidity? Perhaps feel a swell of anger at the time I wasted in useless contemplation? Will you pick up on my missteps and mistakes, cursing me for not believing in myself? Or will you be kind to me – your younger self – understanding, forgiving and patient. Will you know this was the only journey I could take? The only way to reach you? 

Will you tell me I found happiness? That happiness is truly possible? Or will you tell me it is enough to settle into a comfortable contentment? Will you share that living moment to moment is all that is required to complete a life or enrich a soul? Will we reach the end of our life ready to leave? Will it be easy for us to draw our last breath? 

When are you reading this letter, I wonder? What words do you have for me?  I just can’t see you from where I sit.

Upcoming Letters From the Heart Blog Hop Schedule:

November 6th - zarahoffman.com/blog
November 20th - daryawrites.com
December 4th - fraudrk.wordpress.com
December 18th - zjsunflowersbooksandcrafts.blogspot.co.uk

Check out more at heartshapedletters.wordpress.com, or to contribute an anonymous letter, contact G.K. Sihat at gksihat@gmail.com.


Please Click To Tweet: 

"Have you heard about #LettersFromTheHeart on #MondayBlogs

Blog hop kick off on @egmoorewriter blog! URL Please RT!"

Guest Q&A: Natasha Raulerson, Winner of Writer's Digest Writers Competition

Everyone please welcome my special guest Natasha Raulerson!

I don't know if you've heard, but she recently found out that she won 2nd place in the

 86TH ANNUAL WRITER'S DIGEST COMPETITION

Literary / Mainstream Category

As soon as I found out, I had to introduce you all!

Why I haven't had her on here already remains a mystery.

In addition to this big win, she was chosen for #Pitchwars and was a host for Whiskey, Wine, and Writing (#WWWriting). She also offers editing services (see link below.)

EM - Can you please tell everyone who you are and how you know me?

NR - Hey guys! Hope all is well. My name is Natasha Raulerson. I write adult fiction and I'm represented by the amazing Laura Bradford of the Bradford Literary Agency. I'm lucky enough to have met the amazing Emily Moore via the Twitter and Pitch Wars community a few years ago. She also reached out to me to help edit a short story for an anthology, which was a fun project!

EM - How/why did you decide to enter?

NR - Honestly, I entered on a whim. I received an email from Writer's Digest that it was the last day to enter--or something like that. I was on the fence about submitting I, Alphabet--a story I wrote in a fiction workshop class--and opted to ask my husband what he thought.

"Enter it," he said. "It's not like they announce the losers." 

Which meant, if I didn't win, it's not like I had to tell anyone about it. Fair point. So, I entered.

EM - Which manuscript did you enter, and can you tell us about it?

NR - "I, Alphabet" is a short story that has somewhat of an odd format. It revolves around a young woman explaining her life by using the ABC's--only her alphabet isn't in order.

Congrats to all the winners!

EM - How long have you been working on the manuscript that won?

NR - I had been working on it for several months. I submitted to my workshop and got two rounds of revisions through that, and then went through a final round once the workshop was over. 

EM - Can we get your favorite line from the entry?

NR - A single line is a bit hard, so I'll go with my favorite letter if that's okay.

"Z is for zapper. Like the bug zappers that people put on their porches. It sizzles every time a bug hits it, signifying another murder, death, kill of the insect world. It was the background noise when I finally confronted my father. When I asked him in an odd state of Zen why he hated me after the fire."

EM - Have you submitted the manuscript to editors or agents in the past?

NR - Nope. I hadn't submitted to magazines or anything. Just did this on a whim. 

EM - What do you consider your writing style?

NR - Eclectic, I guess? I don't know. I'm not sure I have one style. It's always changing depending on what's needed for the piece. I, Alphabet is the first piece I wrote in this particular style, and the best I could even call that is experimental. 

EM - What's your favorite drink/snack to enjoy while writing?

NR - During the day probably coffee. If I'm writing at night, I'll generally have a glass of wine or whiskey. 

EM - What's your favorite book?

NR - Something else that always changes. Most recently, I've become obsessed with the James Bond books. I'm taking a class on it, and it's just a really great series. 

EM - What's your favorite ice cream flavor?

NR - Mint Chocolate Chip

EM - Girl after my own heart! Well thanks for stopping by! Everyone be sure to check out Natasha's links and connect with her! 

Natasha's Website

Raulerson Editorial

Two Firsts (Part 2) - First 9-year-old reading my book

For me, the fame and money would be nice, but really I just want to have my books be published so I can read it to children and see them reading it and loving it. That's the mental picture in my head. 

Last week, I had my first live pitch to an editor who asked for a full manuscript within two weeks. (Click HERE for the neurotic account.) I read through it once more, and sent it off to my agent and two friends for a last sweep.

One of these friends, Jeremy, promised to have his son, Coen, age 9, read it as well. I heartily agreed. 

Of course, I wondered if he would find it dull or worse, stop reading it. (That pesky self-doubt we all have.) Then I got an email from Jeremy that read as followed:

Coen's Notes:

PG.4:  Annalee All of a sudden leaves!?  Real Good Surprise!

PG.21:  Did the Dad Die?

PG.22:  Giant Rabbit?  Hopefully the Dad.

PG.26:  You wrote "a giggled escaped my mouth" instead of "a giggle escaped my mouth."

PG.46:  I LOVE THIS REALM!

PG.67:  NOT THE WONDERSTONE!

PG.76:  Those evil birdmen!  THEY WILL PAY!!

Coen read half of the story this afternoon, and wants to continue tomorrow.  

Overall, Coen says:

"It's surprising, funny, violent and awesome!"

Seriously, this made my day! He loves my realm?!? He's responding to all the tension just the way I hoped readers would!?! I did something right!?!? *flips through word doc to compare notes with chapters.*

COVER REVEAL + PRE-ORDER DETAILS: Apricots & Wolfsbane by K.M. Pohlkamp

Apricots & Wolfsbane

by K.M. Pohlkamp

Available October 13, 2017

from Filles Vertes Publishing, LLC

Blurb:

Lavinia Maud craves the moment the last wisps of life leave her victim’s bodies—to behold the effects of her own poison creations. Believing confession erases the sin of murder, her morbid desires are in unity with faith, though she could never justify her skill to the magistrate she loves. At the start of the 16th century in Tudor England, Lavinia’s marks grow from tavern drunks to nobility, but rising prestige brings increased risk. When the magistrate suspects her ruse, he pressures the priest into breaking her confessional seal, pitting Lavinia’s instincts as an assassin against the tenets of love and faith. She balances revenge with her struggle to develop a tasteless poison and avoid the wrath of her ruthless patron.

With her ideals in conflict, Lavinia must decide which will satisfy her heart: love, faith, or murder—but the betrayals are just beginning.

Click Here to Pre-Order!

Short Excerpt:

The violent display of convulsions lasted longer than I anticipated. With my boots propped on the table, I remember watching beads of wax roll down the candle, marking time between my victim’s spasms. The brothel room was sparse, and the bed in the corner remained undisturbed. I had assumed the role of temptress that evening, but delivered a different climax. I savored the fear on my victim’s face as much as my own unlaced mead. The sweetness of both danced on my palate. His repulsive gagging, however, I endured with patience. My target focused upon me. His hand shook, reaching out in a misplaced plea for aid. Instead, I raised my goblet in a final toast while he turned purple. He glanced towards his spilled glass, and then studied my face with new understanding. With his last remnants of life, he pieced together what I had done. Those little moments made the act so delicious. And as his body collapsed upon the floor, I added one more success to my mental tally. Murder just never got old. The scratching of my chair sliding across the uneven floor broke the sudden, serene silence of the room. Driven by curiosity, my boots echoed with each step towards my victim. The man’s eyes contained a lingering remnant of vibrancy despite the departure of the soul they once served. White froth percolated from his open mouth, overflowing the orifice to trail down his neck. It was not an honorable death, but my client had paid for certainty, not dignity. Curious, I examined the large ruby on the victim’s pointer finger which matched the client’s description — an ornate setting with a coat of arms on one side of the gem and a mare’s head on the opposite. The worked piece of silver did not seem important enough to procure my service, but as a professional, I had not asked for justification, only payment. Material significance so often motivated patrons to fill my coffers. I recognized the inherent sin, but I never judged a client’s reason. I was not qualified to cast the first stone. I did admire my victim. After all, he was a fellow criminal. I believed his talents as a thief must have been remarkable to pilfer the ring unnoticed from the finger of its owner. I often boasted of my own sleight of hand, but admittedly, I could not accomplish such a feat. Though in my defense, assassin clearly trumped thief. After donning the black leather gloves concealed within the lacings of my bodice, I returned to business. I pushed the tipped chair out of the way and pulled on the ring, but my motion abruptly halted. Caught at the knuckle, the gem did not budge. I stared at his limp hand, dumbfounded, before a flame of focus burst through my body. How I craved and savored that rush. That high, and the feeling of power, motivated my ghastly craft all those years. Despite the stress, I never lost control of my emotions on the job. No matter the circumstance, I learned to remain calm and reason through any dilemma. That night was no different. Grabbing the corpse’s wrist in one hand, I pulled on the metal band with all my strength. Still, the damn ring did not move, even with my heel braced against his chest. But through the sound of my grunting, the unexpected scratching of a nearby rat interrupted my efforts. The rodent stood tall on his hind legs, observing the entertainment outside his hole in the floorboard. What else could I do except laugh in amusement? There was something poetic about the meager creature being the singular witness to the growing farce, while beyond the chamber door, an entire brothel remained unaware. But their ignorance would not last for long. By God’s nails, I was not going to degrade myself to play tug of war with a corpse, nor disgrace my spit to serve as lubrication. I retrieved the dagger from my boot and sawed through the bone of the blasted digit. In contrast, his purse strings cut with ease and the contained sum gave me confidence the proprietor would retain his promised discretion. Eager to depart, I cleansed the ring with the pure decanter of mead and left the contaminated gloves on the table. I threw the finger to the rat.

K.M. Pohlkamp is a blessed wife to the love of her life, a proud mother of two, and a Mission Control flight controller. Originally from Wisconsin, she now resides in Houston, Texas.

Email :: Website :: Facebook :: Twitter

Goodreads - Add to your TBR shelf today!

Click HERE to check out the Trailer for K.M. Pohlkamp's APRICOTS AND WOLFSBANE