The Color of Doubt

The Color of Self Doubt I’d say it’s a mossy green, possibly the color of decay. Rotting dreams, hopes, piled high in the front of my mind as I take this journey. There have been a variety of people in my life that have thrusted their idea of what I’m capable of at me. Wielding a weapon towards me, bludgeoning the wants in my life. “You are letting this book consume too much of your time” “You have are job and kids, so busy. Why not just focus on them?” Others don’t batter dreams with the spoken word. No, their choice of malice is much worse, openly mistaking my kindness as idiosy.

I Assure you I am Far from Stupid. I may not have been blessed with the ability to remember terminology or every grammar rule in the book (I am still searching for the book that can change the way my brain works, let me know if you find it). My knowledge wears a purist’s armor. It may look like its covered in elmars glue and dollar store sparkles, but if you take a closer look, you’ll see that it glows golden with a fire of will and perseverance.

I see people, instead of looking at or past them, I search for what makes them happy and unhappy. I strive to help them find a reason to smile and dig to help find, for them, the strength to push through another day. It is, very often, exhausting for me. Try as I may, I can’t seem to stop myself from internalizing their woes. I’m really glad to though, if it has helped one person feel like enough for one day.

I, Unfortunately, Internalize the Negative as well. I’ve attempted to push through, tirelessly fending off the habit. I’ve come a long way but still seem to let other’s toxic sludge leach into my being. Fighting the battle, I arm myself with a small shield of confidence, protecting my innards with a will to accept myself the way I am. Watch out nay sayers, I am winning.

Those who doubt me will see me rise above and wish they were a part of my glory. Fear not, I also have been bestowed with the mindsight to forgive. While this trait has been mistaken for being naive, it has been an invaluable weapon for me that I don’t intend on discarding.

So Go Right Ahead and Keep Doubting me. I can’t wait to prove you wrong. My path is clear. I was made to make people smile. To make them feel worthy. To give them a tool to escape reality and find their self worth.

I am going to have one hell of a time doing it too.


Angela Edmonds

Scarlet Red

The color red can mean a lot of different things: blood, heat, fire, warmth, anger. For me it signifies my ears. My ears?

Let me explain, before you leave just hear me out (pun intended once again!). I have an issue with embarrassment. I can not hide it when I’m a flustered mess of embarrassment and it is overwhelming. It starts in my cheeks, slowly warming just under my eyes, then crawls across my face slowly, heating the surface until it reaches my ears. It then, all of the sudden, burns a red flame into the pigment that lasts for hours.

Red Hot and almost Constant. Unfortunately I am almost constantly embarrassed. Awkward from birth, no escape from the ridiculous words or phrases that jump from my throat. I use to hate that me, tried hide her deep, tried to act normal, or whatever that is supposed to mean. I can also doubt that me with every fiber. So, bringing so much ‘me’ out into written word is unbearably embarrassing.

The red heart muscle. When I fell in love with what I was writing, I became anxious to share it with a few close friends and family members. When I was asked: What is it about? or Whats the title? The red plague cursed the skin and cartilage on my listening devices. I became a stumbling fool, remembering Ian and Marie, their love and the descriptive words I used to explain it.

Their story was so private until now and in telling it, i felt I was betraying them in some way. Luckily as I opened their story to others, the ‘others’ fell madly in love with them too! I could share them finally, and now, rarely feel the heat in my ears.

The few that have followed Ian and Marie from almost the begining are nearly as attached and obsessed with them as I am. Most of the red embarrassment now stays with poor Marie, etched through the pages of her story.

Marie in many ways is all of the me I attempt to hide daily. As I share her story and the more you all read about her and connect with her, the more you know me and connect with me on some level as well. To be honest, this is a terrifying thought for me. As I type that sentence I feel the hotness on either side of my face burn deeper than I have felt in so very long.

I smile a little too, as I think about some of the things I wrote. I imagine women reading my book on their lunch break, hiding in their cars so their coworkers don’t see the flush in their faces or the tears in their eyes. My stomach churns with excitement as I am so close to being able to introduce my beloved characters to the public.

Stay tuned people, it’s about a get red hot in this blog.


Angela Edmonds

Teraxicam Green: The beginning


Teraxicam: The specific genepool of my favorite springtime weed. The dandelion. You may ask yourself: Why is she talking about a weed? Why is this even a topic in a writer’s blog? How in God’s green earth (pun intended) is this even related to a book this wacko is writing?

Because I am, was, and probably will akways be as green as a new blossom’s stem. I never classified myself as overtly talented in any area of my life. I have no traditional experience or educational platform. I’m really going out on a limb to convince you, the one in one hundred that are actually still reading, that I’m worth your time.

I started my journey January of 2016. 28 year old mother of a too smart too sensitive 7 year old. Roommate to a man I agreed to marry. More fucked up in the head than I would like to admit. I read, finished and mourned several books and series that thrusted me out of my reality. My safe places where insecurities that stalk me daily, waiting to feed on my overloaded brain and drop kick me into anxiety and depression, we’re casted to the dark recesses of my mind.

I was green. I couldn’t bring myself to start a new relationship. No new book could replace the feeling of loss I was suffering from my last completed read. Back to reality, my son was at school and I had a day off to do whatever my heart sang for. So I sat. I searched the room for something more than clutter, guilt, and resentment. I was a good mom, bad roommate, an even worse partner to another human, but I was a great daydreamer. I forced myself to imagine a million times what true love would feel like. Unfortunately it was not with the person I was committed to. No one’s fault, just young love rushed before we even knew who we were, but that’s another story for another blog.

I darted my eyes from the unfolded laundry to the pile of deadly Legos by the armchair. A glint from shiney black plastic caught my stare. My old laptop called to me from behind the landmines of jagged toys. She begged me to pick her, choose her, love her. She presented me with possibility, to find my escape through my own words. I went to her, pulling her up through the dust and cat hair tumbleweeds. Gently and with hope she still held a charge I dusted the face of the screen and held down the sticky power button.

She was alive, beautiful, and worked as long as her life line was fed with a constant flow of electricity. I opened my stock word pad application and let her take my mind. I became lost in her, possessed by a gracious poltergeist who used my hands and started creating something beautiful. Hours flew by, then days, and months after. I was consumed and obsessed, using every spare moment to let her enter my mind again, literally hundreds then thousands of words flew from my fingertips.

By mid March I was approaching 70,000 words. Panic set in as my research revealed that most novels are deemed too long at 110,000 words or more. I clung to my love, clawed at her until my fingernails were bloodied. I cant lose her now, it’s too soon to wind into my conclusion. My characters are too important to me to last only a few short months in my mind. Through dread and procrastination a trilogy was born. The awe of new possibilities for my new companions became euphoric.

I am green. I am new to becoming an author. I am new to believing that I am worth the time that it takes you, my glorious new friends, to follow each blog. I am new to trusting myself and my passions. I am worth it, my words will bring others to sanctuary, I was meant for this.

I cant wait to offer sneak peeks of my work. I am over the moon that I am fortunate enough to introduce Ian and Marie to the world. I am hopeful that their story will speak to each one of you the way you need it to.

Until next time my loves,

Angela Edmonds