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Believing in the Beauty Perspective
Sometimes, as a child, I used to think of everything on opposite ends of the spectrum. Such as black and white, good versus evil, light versus dark, or even pretty versus ugly… and so the list went on and on. As an adult, I’ve grown to realize that without the shading, we cannot understand the beauty in a thing. For how can we know the opposite if there’s nothing to compare it too? Like yin and yang.
I’ve thought long and hard about the world we live in today. Including issues dealing with cultures, languages, landscapes, people, places, and material things as well. It’s through this contemplation that I actually realized, wow, everything is actually kinda beautiful. It’s only our perspectives that change the degree and wonder of it all. For example, a really positive person will delight in everything… the sun, the rain, or even the cat meowing on the tin roof next door. A less positive person may say, “It’s too damn hot.” “I hate the rain it’s annoying.” “I wish that cat would be quiet!” Unfortunate, but true.
Now, I’m not for one minute saying that everything’s perfect. I would be lying if that were the case. But imagine the world where it was pretty close to. Where you experienced the opposites of duality and then began seeing a change for the better? Like John Lennon’s “Imagine” song!
So, ultimately, I’ve learned that trying to see a future beauty, even in the ugliness of something, can really change your world… phenomenally so. And in my writing, I try to capture different scopes of light and dark, love and hate, or even fortune and misfortune through the characters and groups I talk about. Then readers can see the opposite scale of things moving throughout the story. Just as the characters move into and out of the spectrum of beauty, and what would be classed as the opposite of that.
Unfortunately, the world in which we live shows us many injustices. Including racism, political issues, hatred, prejudice, and unbelievable forms suffering. When we try to see the potential beauty in something (even if it’s not beautiful), then we can change it. We can start changing it; first by seeing it in our mind and heart and then through action. So thought + heart + action = real change.
What would you like to see a change in? Be in your heart space for a while and go with that. You can make a difference in your world… and together we can make our world extremely beautiful. It might just be that you start recycling, or teaching dance. Maybe, you could even write that novel you’ve been meaning to put down on paper!
Always remember you rock. Without you, this world would never, ever be the same. I am always wishing you the best in every single way!
Love and light always, Bella x
add the word “of” between “forms” and “suffering” Paragraph 5
I really believe wholeheartedly that words are like weapons…
I really believe wholeheartedly that words are like weapons yielding the power through innocent creation. You can evoke emotion, and make people feel a certain way with the power of your text. I personally love Martin Luther King’s, “I have a Dream,” speech, for example. It’s just brilliant!
I also love how you can fill your characters with love, or hate, or even jealousy or innocence. To read a great novel is like staring into the bright night sky. You see the beauty, the potential, and the ultimate power of it all unfolding just for you. It evokes feelings and through feeling humans act out their truths.
I love to get readers to feel something. To bring them into the world that I create just for them. Into the dark, or the light, through the passion, and even touching on the dimness or sadness of it all. The scope of my imagination is on paper just for you, my awesome readers. My passion is hopefully your pleasure. I love giving you a slice of me… thank you all so much!
Here is a snippet from “Iron Knight.” It’s my reader giveaway book and connects with my new series The Nighthawks MC Club… I hope you love it!
“Damn pink bunny,” said Nova.
Both women went into paroxysms of laughter. It took him until he went inside to realize that the “pink bunny” was the Energizer Bunny from the old battery commercials.
He was stunned to find that the furniture in the living room had been moved to the kitchen, and the walls had been sanded and painted a soft dove-gray. He put on his work gloves, knelt in the corner, and used the utility knife to cut into the ugly carpet and pull it up with his hands. He pulled from the back to the center of the room, then folded it over. He cut along the fold, rolled up the carpet, taped it together with duct tape, and put it to the side. He did the same with each third of the rest of the carpet. He did the same thing with the padding, except he did it in fourths. He got a bowl from the kitchen, pulled up the floor tacks, and put them in the bowl. He was pissed at whoever had covered up the hardwood floor with disgusting carpet.
He followed the carpet into the closets and down the hallway. He had to stop at the bedroom; he didn’t feel like moving furniture, and he had a job to go to. He put the bowl with the tacks and his utility knife on a little table in the kitchen for later.
He stole a soda from the refrigerator. He found two Strawberry-Kiwi Snapples in the refrigerator and brought them out.
“Ladies,” he said, handing them out. They smiled up at him, like flowers in the sunshine. “Got most of it out, but I’ve got work. I’ll hit up the bedroom tonight.”
The ladies laughed at him. He felt his ears turn red.
“I don’t feel like moving furniture now,” he said lamely.
“We’ll get Never Sleeps to do it,” said Nova.
“Ernesta,” said Falcon, “don’t move the heavy stuff. I’ll do it when I get back.”
She saluted at him. Nova laughed so hard she almost snorted the strawberry drink up her nose, which made her laugh harder.
He pretended to be exasperated, then remembered something, “You can rent a belt sander and an edger/sander from Home Depot. Rent it for two days; I’ve got to do your floor, too, Nova. And mine.”
Nova saluted him; they laughed again. He gusted out a sigh and went over to get his leathers for work. Bloody women and their sense of humor, he thought in a laugh.
At the shop, he worked on the Harley Night Train. Manny had been working on it before he got there; it was coming along nicely. The parts came back and the finish was kick-ass. He put the rest together, taking time on the welds. He wolfed down barbecue for lunch, then eagerly went back to work. He tested everything, step by step, then it was time for the chrome waxing and leather cleaning. He did it slowly, one step at a time.
Manny came over to watch for a bit, “Called the owner,” he said, “he’ll be here in an hour.”
“Chomping at the bit?” asked Falcon.
“Damn right. Dude nearly screamed in my ear when I gave him the call.”
Here is a snippet from “Finders Keepers.” It’s from Book 3 from The Nighthawks MC Club Series…
It was well after dark when she brought the boys home. She ate dinner, walked Daisy and petted her, and listened to a book while making a double batch of lunch fixings. She picked up the kids. Grace was excited about math and programming, and had learned two words of Paiute and two Chinese characters. Then she started on about a book about a goose.
The girls amused themselves making honking noises as they prepared for bed. They played with the dog for a time, and Callie read them a story about a monster hiding under the bed that became a little girl’s best friend. She kissed the girls and toddled off to bed herself. She fell asleep reading a book on her phone. Ivy came home, humming softly. She took a quick bath and joined her girlfriend in bed.
They were eating breakfast in the bright morning sun when Ivy smacked her hand to her forehead. “I’m a complete idiot,” she said.
“You can’t call someone that, not even yourself,” said Grace, eating her strawberry-wheat cereal with a banana on top.
“Exactly, kiddo,” said Callie, rubbing her daughter’s hair.
“You’re exactly right. How did you get to be so smart?” said Ivy. Grace beamed.
Ivy looked at Callie. “Sweetheart, I forgot something really important. You’ve got to get your cards,” she said.
“My cards?” asked Callie.
“TAM, that’s Techniques of Alcohol Management and a health card. It’s like being at the DMV, only worse. Especially for the health card, because the DMV doesn’t give you a TB test. TAM is a class you must attend.” She sighed. “Probably good to get you a sheriff’s card too, get you fingerprinted.” She whipped out her cell phone and texted Callie the websites.
Callie looked at them as she ate her cereal. “Looks like I’m going to be occupied for the next few days.”
“Looks like,” said Ivy. She made a frowny face, and Callie kissed her cheek.
The next few days were a whirlwind. She was getting up early and walking the dog, wolfing down a breakfast bar, kissing the sleeping girls goodbye, and heading out to get her various cards. They were expensive, and her money from being a lunch lady and from teen boy-watching floated away. She found certification for child care so she could work at Grace and Hu’s school. She swallowed hard and asked Ivy to pay for it.
“Shit, gotta do that myself,” said Ivy, over the phone. “In my copious free time.” She laughed.
They both took an infant-child CPR course one early morning after getting Hu’s grandmother over to watch the kids. Mrs. Hua went willingly and exclaimed with pleasure over being handed one of Callie’s now-famous boxed lunches. They took the rest of the coursework online.
Callie finished her online certificate, restarted her GED coursework, and began putting in time at the school Grace and Hu attended. She shadowed Henry. He was more of a mentor. Usually when the kids were online, or rotating to the math manipulatives table, or the science center to learn about local birds and butterflies, or mammals and lizards. The children were working on a group project about light and solar electricity, getting the solar cell to turn on a light from a kit.
They rotated to reading, hanging out in comfy bean bags in a corner, with sealed cups of water at their side as they read from the books on the shelves or from the online library. Each child had Clark County library cards. They had to do an oral book report when done, and the other children made careful notes of what they wanted to read next.
History focused specifically on Nevada, beginning with local Paleolithic tribes. The students worked on writing a play about a Paleolithic family.
All the kids loved coding and were beginning to work together to design games. Art was in a manual-arts phase, with local basket weaving and hooking rugs. Hu and Grace were working on the same hooked rug, of a wolf in gray and black on a blue background.
The kids rotated on a Pomodoro timer, twenty-five minutes on, then five to ten minutes to finish off their current work. And to stretch, and physically move around to rotate, then twenty-five more minutes. They snacked on fruit and veggie skewers every two hours and had water in sealed cups at their sides. They went to a nearby park after lunch to slide and swing. Or, they moved aside tables and danced, or they learned karate.
Every single thing in the room was labeled in English, Chinese, Paiute, and Spanish. Henry taught Paiute, Mrs. Fa taught Chinese, the oldest boy, Pedro, taught Spanish, and they wrote assignments, or parts of them, in all four languages.
Callie was stunned to find that she learned as much as the children did about the way the world worked. She began to wonder if, maybe, she could go to school to learn how to do what Harry did so effortlessly. But, she realized, she’d have to get the cast off to earn money to go to school. She looked into both the University of Nevada Las Vegas (UNLV), and the local college. She found she could get an associate’s degree at the college and move to UNLV later if she so desired.
Work on Lily and Ace’s house continued. The boys were there the same days their brother and his fiancé worked. The cabinets came, and they learned how to install those. They laid down tarps, and brought in paint cans labeled with the correct rooms, sandpaper, and two paint sprayers. The boys learned how to hang drywall and install cabinets, switching off helping to learn everything; their brains like sponges. Callie was impressed and took pictures of the boys working and sent them to Lily and Ace.
She began to sandpaper walls, prepping them for painting, with her good arm. Her other arm felt itchy, so she used the tool Ivy had created for her to scratch it. Her fingers worked fine. The painting began, and Callie found out how to seal herself in a “moon suit” with goggles. She put on a fan, and sprayed the walls. The boys were delighted, so Ace bought the third sprayer and let them go wild with the base coat throughout the house.
They had Sunday and Monday off. Hu went with her grandmother. Callie took her bereft daughter and Daisy the dog to the park, but Grace wasn’t having it. Ivy hit on the solution and invited Hu to build a stuffed animal. Both girls picked llamas. They went back to the Chinese restaurant with their furry friends and ate a huge lunch. Grace was then able to handle being without her friend, as Hu had a llama for company. Ivy had work, so they saw her off and went back upstairs.
They ended up making no-bake vegetarian cookies, chocolate oats, and peanut-banana, shaking it to Ariana Grande, Miley Cyrus, and Katy Perry. They danced around and sang their lungs out, and laughed.
It was then that Callie found out what the language barrier had kept from her.
“Can we send the cookies to Hu’s mama?” asked Grace.
Callie stopped boxing the cookies. “Where is she?” she said, going back to carefully slide the cookies onto a spatula to put in a plastic container.
“China,” said Grace. “It’s in the mountains somewhere. Her mama has to work, and can’t leave Hu alone in the house, can she?” She laughed. “That would be silly.”
“That would be silly,” said Callie, her heart breaking for a woman half a world away she’d never met, forced to send her child to her grandmother so she could provide for her daughter.
“How does she talk to her mama?”
“She’s a Facebook thingy, only it’s not Facebook. It’s called Simpsons or something.”
Callie finished boxing the cookies, washed her hands, and whipped out her phone. The service was called Simsun.
Callie put an assorted mix of cookies in a small plastic box, and said, “Let’s wrap this up for Hu.”
Callie got a bow, and they snapped it together with a shiny jeweled barrette. They took it down to the restaurant, where Hu was sitting in a booth with her grandmother.
They sat and ate cookies. Callie gave her phone to Hua. “Tell her to download Simsun on this. I want to start sending photos to her mom.”
Hu was already complying as Grace launched into an explanation in limited Chinese, accompanied by a bunch of gestures. Hu passed back the phone. Callie took pictures of the cookies and the girls and the smiling grandmother. The program finished loading, and she sent the photos to the mom, along with a Chinese character for fun. She sent it off.
Here is a snippet from “Lost MC.” It’s Book 4, from The Nighthawks MC Club Series…
“Five-large,” said the boy.
Ghost snorted. “We takin’ out da loud trash, and we gotta pay? We doin’ you’all a favah.”
An older boy ran up, said, “Ya’ll got some gum?” He held up two fingers. Ghost slipped him the gum, with two C-notes underneath. “Nice doin’ bidness wi’ yew,” said the taller boy. They both vanished.
They swung around the corner. The message had already gone out. People ambled around the corner. A woman in a yard went back indoors. A skinny teen saw them, whirled, and went the other way. Little girls ran past them and ran indoors.
They had the house in sight. They heard bikes in the distance. In the front yard, Ghost and Alicia saw bikes, mostly cheap Kawasaki’s, and windows covered with both bars and heavy curtains, and peeling, brown paint. The bikes looked older. The Harley lowrider was the only one that had been maintained properly.
They went up, circled the mosque, texted again, and swung toward Family Dollar. They didn’t acknowledge them when they saw Ivy and Gregory, but just pointed with their eyes.
They took the house, knives in one hand and guns in the other. Ivy and Ghost in the back door, Gregory and Killa in the front. The door exploded in —Gregory had one hell of a kick. The Talamantes ran out the back, with guns up and ready to fire.
Ivy shot one in the chest, a Hispanic guy covered in black ink, of skulls and flames. His gun clattered to the ground. Alicia kneecapped the other one, a white guy with a skull tattooed on his face. He held his leg, making squeaking noises. Ivy hit him with the butt of her gun, and he went silent and still. Ivy made sure he was still breathing.
They took their guns, knives, and two grenades off them, and entered. There was the boom of a gun, and Killa’s cry and another boom. Ivy pointed to the left, and she turned herself to the right. They briefly touched backs, then Ghost and Ivy split up to move down the hallway.
The bed was grimy, with filthy, gray sheets smeared with blood. There was a sliding-door closet. Ivy checked under the bed and saw guns and a box of something; probably drugs or money. Ivy heard a thump from the closet. She slid open the door and found Henry slumped against the wall.
She holstered her gun, and yelled, “Medic!” and knelt.
She carefully peeled off the silver duct tape, crusted with blood, from his mouth. She then cut it off his wrists and ankles. Henry looked terrible. There were cuts over both eyes, which were swollen shut. He had broken fingers, a broken right arm, and probably broken ribs.
“Get a door!” she screamed at Killa, who poked her head in. “We’ve got to get him out of here.”
“Inola,” said Henry, blood from his long, gray hair streaking the inside of the closet with blood.
Ivy knelt to get closer to his lips. “Raped her. Fought them, they knocked me out. Choked me.” Ivy noticed the strangulation marks on his neck. “Have a white or gray van. Fat tires. JST something, 1 something.”
“We’ll find her,” said Ivy, as Ghost sidled up behind her, who texted out the license plate information, and sent it out.
She took pictures of Henry and sent them out too. “Gregory’s got the live one,” she said. “Some Knights took ‘em.”
“KTA,” said Henry, then he, blessedly, passed out.
“Ghost, type KTA and send it out,” said Ivy.
“Already did,” she said, as Killa ran out and came back with a sheet, still in its package. “What it do mean?”
“Kill Them All,” said Ivy. She took the sheet, shook it out, and rolled Henry onto it.