Merry Christmas!

I haven’t written anything in a while but I wanted to wish the universe a Merry Christmas. It’s been a tough couple of years. We lost my niece a year ago and my mother-in-law just this past December 2nd. She was ready though. She was in a lot of pain and she was tired. I don’t blame her. I know that she was a believer in God so I know that she’s in a better place. My head knows that; my heart still needs to accept it and know that I will see her again someday. I haven’t submitted one single word for publication all year. The last few rejections were too much for my aching heart to handle so I put it all on the back shelf for now. 

I do not make New Year’s resolutions. The last one I made, I actually kept. I resolved to never make New Year’s resolutions again. And I haven’t. But I do have plans to up my game this year. I’ve taken on a photography business and have already done my first set of senior portraits. The family was extremely happy. I’m hoping to drum up more business next year for that. It’s something I enjoy anyway so it’s not like it’s really work.

For my writing? What’s next? I’m not sure. I’d like to spend some time working on my Works in Progress (at last count, there are ten). I’m pathetic, I know. 

So for those of you who celebrate traditional Christmas, Merry Christmas. For those of you who don’t, I wish you the best for the rest of this year and for the year to come. 


Even now, I don’t understand

The End…That’s what every writer strives to type. Getting there, however, isn’t as easy as you’d like to think.

I’ve been struggling for the last year since my 40-year old niece died of a drug overdose, leaving a young daughter behind. She also left a husband, grandfather, mother, aunt, uncles, cousins and a grown adult son. None of whom understand what the hell happened. I haven’t been able to write. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to write, I just can’t. I think about my books and I plot them in my head, but when it comes time to sit down and write…blank. The page and my head.

Let me start a little further back. My niece had an injury she sustained when she was a young girl; a back injury caused by her father throwing her against the wall when she was trying to defend her mother from his attack on her. She was never the same. As she got older, I guess the pain got worse. She never spoke to me about it. As time went on, I guess she figured out that pain killers help ease some of the discomfort. I don’t know when that happened, I just know it did.

I imagine it started with Tylenol with codeine and progressed from there. When that would no longer suspend the pain, I imagine next to Oxycodone. What I do know is it eventually ended with methamphetamine, that is her life. The coroner report stated “not accidental”.

Now that doesn’t mean she committed suicide. I think she just took too much. Toward the end, she had contracted Hepatitis C which I assume was from sharing tainted needles. The story I heard was she had tried to get help but because she didn’t have insurance, they wouldn’t continue giving her the meds needed to stave off Hep C or to cure it.

How did she get to the stage where drugs were the only thing that mattered? I keep going over and over it in my mind and it’s making me crazy.

I think I carry guilt because I think I should have done something more. Believe me, I did try, but the help I was willing to give her, she wasn’t willing to take. She stole from my parents, from me and my house (she stole my wedding ring two weeks before the wedding). On my wedding day, she even took the entire bottle of hydrocodone from my purse. I finally had to ask her to not come back to my house. My husband had three girls from a previous marriage and I couldn’t have them exposed to her erratic and unpredictable behavior and I didn’t want them exposed to her drug use. Did I do the right thing? I have to believe I did.

After the wedding, she went off on a bender and took off altogether. Once in a while, someone would spot her on the street and call me or her husband. We’d watch the county jail inmate rosters on a daily basis to see if she turned up. She never tried to contact us. My mother’s dying wish was to see my niece one last time. We couldn’t find her so my mom didn’t get to see her. For almost two years, my niece didn’t even know her grandmother had died.

One day, my dad finally got hold of her through Facebook. She had remembered her password and had logged in. My dad called her and they talked. They were going to meet the next day for lunch, just to talk. He wasn’t going to try and force her to come back home; he just wanted to see her. Her estranged husband gave her older brother her new phone number and he called her up and read her the riot act. She refused to call us back. We never heard from her again.

I received a phone call early on a Saturday, September 8 from her older brother. He said the Stanislaus County Sheriff’s office had contacted the local Tennessee police department to have them “notify the next of kin” about her death. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. My mom died on September 2, 2014. My niece died September 6, 2018 at 40 years old. Four years and four days later. I prayed that in her last days (or hours for that matter), that she cried out to God to ask for salvation because the thought of never seeing her again hurts too much. I pray that my mom welcomed her to Heaven with one of her famous warm hugs. I hope she can finally rest in peace.


The Storm From Her Past

Elizabeth Callahan is a successful Wall Street Chartered Financial Analyst with everything she wants except a man to love her unconditionally.  Her failed relationships have prompted her to put aside any idea of romance and concentrate on her career.  As one of seven children, she had always been overlooked and under-supervised.

William “Johnny” Dalton had everything he wanted except the girl from his childhood that he loved so dearly but was never able to have because he was rich and her mother was their maid.

A “chance” meeting to bring them together?  Tune in.

Photo via <a href=””>Good Free Photos</a>


Where Did January Go?

Where did January go?  In two days it will be February.  TWO DAYS!  Is it just me or does time seem to go by faster the older I get?

I look back at the last ten years and realize how far I’ve come.  I edge closer to retirement as each day passes.  (Makes me sound old.)   I’m looking forward to retirement.  Here’s to praying I can actually afford to live on a retired salary.

I have set myself a goal.  I want to be a published author.  I have given myself five years.  Five years to write, edit, get a social media following (hence the blog, Twitter and Facebook pages) and hopefully sell books.  I’m realistic.  I don’t want to be Danielle Steele or J.K. Rowling.  I could care less if I get uber rich.  I just want to a) sell enough to supplement my retirement and b) have people read (AND LOVE) my stories.

I have always been a story-teller.  Just as my cousin Kay.  We would sit out on Granny’s front porch talking all day about some movie-length dream I’d had the night before.  Filling in the gaps with embellishment.  We’d also sing on the swing too until Granny would scream out the front door telling us to shut up.

So, if you feel so incline, please follow my blog; leave comments, encouragement but leave your negativity in your head.  Too much of that around the world anyhow.  Don’t need it here.

Thanks for reading.

Cera Fallon


Mother’s Day 2017

It’s Mother’s Day, again.  All I can think about is how much I miss my mom.  I mean, I always miss her, but today, I miss her so much it physically hurts.  My mom passed away on September 2, 2014.  I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that she’s been gone almost three years.  I can recall the day as if it happened just yesterday.

The other thing about Mother’s Day?  Thanks to circumstances beyond my control, I was never able to have children.  I never got to experience the feeling of the baby growing, moving, kicking.  Then again, I never had to experience the pain of birth.  I never got to have that first contact, skin-to-skin, with the child I carried for nine months.  I didn’t get all the “firsts”.

I helped my niece bring her daughter into the world and helped her for the first year of her life but I wasn’t the mom.  Which was an advantage when the baby made a boom-boom.  “Here.  She stinks.”

The one saving grace, I have the privilege of helping my husband raise his three daughters:  Courtney, and twins: Kaitlynn and Bethany.  Now, I realize I am not their biological mother; nor did I ever tell them that I was trying to replace their mom.  She’s still in the picture.  I’m the “bonus” mom.

Courtney will be 23 in just a few weeks.  She graduated high school and moved to Pennsylvania to go to school.  Katie and Bethany will be 17 in October and will graduate from high school this time next year.  I have enjoyed almost every minute of it.  LOL.

Yes, there have been challenges and hiccups along the way.  It’s a learning process.  I have made mistakes.  I admit it.  No human is perfect.  Are there times when I wish that they were biologically mine?  You bet.  I wouldn’t have to watch them leave every other week.  I wouldn’t be excluded from their lives two weeks out of the month.  But, to be honest, being a full-time parent can be exhausting.  As sad as I am to see them leave, I also like having “me” time during our off-weeks.  It helps me re-charge my batteries.  And I think it helps me be a better bonus mom.  I don’t know how full-time parents manage it!!!  Seriously.  I’m in awe!  More power to all of you!

I also acknowledge, I am a fur baby mama.  I have four (yes, four) dogs.  All little, I assure you.  I love them with all my heart.  They always greet me when I come home.  They are happy to see me.  They cuddle me all night and keep me warm.  This year, we had to say good-bye to one of my fur babies, Niki.  She was poisoned, either by someone, or by eating something that was poisoned.  We don’t know for sure.  It hurt to say good-bye and I miss her too.

So to all you moms: bio, step or fur, I pray that you have had a wonderful, relaxing day.  God bless.  (All opinions are my own.)



Starting from the Bottom

I have given myself a deadline of seven years in which I am to garner a book contract and a following of loyal fans.  Lofty?  Perhaps.  I teeter back and forth categorizing myself between author or writer.  I know what other people define those terms as but for me, author indicates someone who has written and published whereas a writer just writes and hasn’t sold anything yet.  I have written and published non-fiction and poetry but not under this pseudonym so I don’t consider myself an “author” and I haven’t received any money for my works … yet.

So far, I’m relying heavily on social media to get my name out into the literary world.  I currently have 158 followers on Twitter (yay me).  I have started a Facebook page and this blog.  This has left me very little time to devote to writing.  But that’s okay.  I need to recharge my creative batteries right now anyway.  I joined Romance Writers of America in the hopes of networking with like-minded writers and authors.  It’s a lot of work promoting oneself.

I’ve been considering self-publishing and I have talked with an author who has done that.  She doesn’t have a full time job outside of writing, publishing and promotion.  I do.  There’s no way I can devote that much time to do all that and work a full time job.  Not possible.  Everything I do has to fit within my “down time”.  And right now, I haven’t been particularly motivated.  My emotions are across the board.

You see, tomorrow is the 2-year anniversary of my mother’s passing.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t miss her terribly.  It’s still difficult to believe that she’s gone.  So much has happened in my life since she died.  I find myself wanting to call her and tell her about my day.  Some days I just want to lay my head in her lap and feel her stroke my hair.  She always had a way of calming me down.  I miss her.

As hard as it is on me, I can only imagine how difficult tomorrow will be for my dad.  They were married for 60 years.  They met when they were just kids.  Not a fairytale romance by any stretch of the imagination and they didn’t have a rocky-free marriage (no one does).  But they had a love like no other.  Something I hope to aspire to in my own marriage.

I feel guilty because I was at work the day my mother died instead of being at the hospital with her.  She had been in and out a lot and we knew the time was nearing.  One of my co-workers even scolded me for being there instead of being with her.  I come by guilt naturally so it doesn’t take much to pile it on.  I reached the hospital after work and six minutes later, she was gone.  She had slipped into a coma a few days before and never came to.  I didn’t get to say goodbye.  I didn’t get to tell her that I loved her.  Even now, the emotions are overwhelming.

Towards the end, she was in so much pain.  The dialysis had taken its toll on her.  She was one gigantic bruise.  She suffered so much and lashed out at everyone.  It was emotionally draining on my dad.  It was physically exhausting.  He was her sole caretaker.  He did everything for her:  cooked, cleaned, laundry, beds, showering, dressing … everything to make her as comfortable as she could be.

I am grateful that she is no longer in pain and I know she’s in a better place.  I also know that I will see her again.  But that doesn’t comfort my aching heart from missing her like crazy.  I love you mom.


Sunday Night Blues

It’s Sunday night and I’m sitting at my laptop dreading going back to work tomorrow.  I like my day job well enough but it’s not what I’d rather be doing.  I started my career because I was forced to get out of bed at 20 (even though I’d only been out of college a few months and only unemployed for 2 weeks) by my mom.  She insisted I get up and go drop the application that took me an entire weekend to fill out.  Twenty-nine years later I’m still working for the same entity.  Different job; higher pay but no real job satisfaction.

I wanted to go to law school and become a lawyer.  Yes, I like to argue but that’s not the point.  I had this great need to right the wrongs of this world and as a young person, I actually believed that one person could make a difference.  There’s a part of me that would like to still believe that, but I don’t.

The real passion I have for my life’s work is writing.  I started reading when I was two years old.  Granted, I wasn’t reading War and Peace but I certainly could read the Reader’s Digest.  My mom was a firm believer in reading to a child and for that, I’m eternally grateful to Mom.  Yes, I’m grateful that she also forced me to get my butt out of bed and go to work too but for different reasons.  I will be able to retire young (56 if I have my way) and be able to enjoy the rest of my non-working career doing what I love best (God willing).  That is travel and write (AND most importantly) sell books.

So, I am finally putting myself out there and taking a chance.  I have one completed novel and have put it in the hands of a publishing house.  Ninety days later, I got my first rejection.  The first of many to come.  I didn’t expect to get picked up by the first publisher and yes I was disappointed.  I think what I was most disappointed about was the fact that I didn’t get any input as to why my book didn’t fit in to what they were wanting to publish.  I wasn’t expecting a critique, but it would have been nice if the editor could have said, “perhaps you should send your manuscript to XYZ editor/publisher.  They’re always looking for new authors.”

Too much to hope for?  Yes, I suppose.  I know they have a lot on their plates besides my silly little manuscript, but still, I was disappointed, nonetheless..

Well, that’s my rant for the night.  Check back soon.

That’s just one strong-willed woman’s opinion.

Love y’all and good night.