Behind The Door - A Short Story

Sharing a Short Story I wrote a couple of years ago :)

                                                           "Behind The Door"

                                                     By: Tracey Criswell Wilson      

The frosty wind bit mercilessly into the old man's paper-thin, pallid skin. Shuddering uncontrollably, Dan trudged back toward the weather-beaten, colorless front door. “I'm gonna kill me some damn kids, if'n I ever catch 'em,” Dan mumbled to himself.

         That was the third time this week that they knocked on the front door and called his name. By the time he got off of his bed -- the couch -- and made it to the front door, there was never anyone in sight. 

         “You damn kids. You think you're fooling an old man, but you ain't foolin' nobody. I taught you'un once, and I'll teach you'un again,” Dan screamed while struggling to get the front door closed against the savage wind.

         Shuffling his feet back toward his only afforded luxury; he stretched out on his over-stuffed, overly large, pillow couch. The couch seemed to be the only place he found any solace, except tonight. Losing himself in the cushions, he closed his eyes, and fell into a fitful, distressful sleep.

********************************************************************************************************

         Bam, Bam, S.. C..R..A..T..C..H, BAM. Dan's eyes flew open. Reluctantly, he looked toward that hellish room; his bedroom. The same bedroom he shared with Sarah, his wife, before she went away. The bedroom Dan would never dare sleep in alone, ever again. 

         “Who's there? Answer me!”

         Laughter echoed like a rubber ball off the time-beaten walls and throughout the sparsely furnished, old home. It wasn't the bubbly laughter of children at play. No, it was a dark, evil laughter. One that made the old man's hair stand on end.

         Not wanting to let his fear show through, Dan flipped the heavy quilt off of his shriveled body. Trying to step over the creaking, aged boards, he made his way toward the bedroom . . . toward the injurious laughter.

         The air grew thick. It reminded him of how the air felt after he and his buddies in World War II took control of an island off of Guadalcanal. The stench of ironclad blood mixed with gunpowder filled his nostrils. The laughter stopped abruptly. It was then that Dan noticed somehow he was on the other side of the bedroom door. Turning quickly to make his exit, the door slammed shut. The temperature dropped traumatically, making it feel as frigid inside as it was outside. The sinful laughter enveloped him. “Stop!” he cried, throwing his arms over his head and crunching his body as far down to the floor as he could.

         “Dan? Dan?” The soft, recognizable voice called. 

         “Sarah, is that you?” His voice cracked. Turning and looking slowly behind him, Sarah stood as beautiful as the last time he saw her.

         With tears streaming down his wrinkled face, he backed into the now closed bedroom door. “But how? How can it be you, Sarah?” 

         Sarah looked at him, her head tilted slightly. “Oh Dan, don't fear me. What do you have to fear from me? Come now, Dan. Come into my arms.”

         There she stood, with her arms held opened wide. She was so alluring and accessible. Like the broken man he was, he flung himself into her arms sobbing like the day he had to go away. The day after Sarah and the kids left. The day he...

         Suddenly, he jumped back, as recognition of that fateful day hit him like fire on a sunburn. 

         “No! You're dead!” When he glanced back up, he was alone in an empty room. There was no laughter, no sound at the door, no Sarah. I'm going crazier than I already am, he thought. It's all a figment of my fevered brain. That's what it is. 

         Hastily he opened the bedroom door and walked into a well-lit living room. Halting where he stood, his mouth fell ajar. How? This isn't possible. What's going on around here? It couldn't have been no later than midnight when I went into the bedroom. Glancing up at the clock, the time read straight up 12:00. Twelve o’clock in the afternoon?Running as fast as his weary legs would carry him, he flung open the front door; as he rubbed his eyes trying to make them see a different scene in front of him, his mouth fell open. There was Sarah in plain sight. Looking the way she did before she died. And that wasn't all; Diane and Billy were in the front yard with her. The same age they were thirty years ago. Wearing the same clothes they were all wearing on the last day he seen them all. That was the last time when they were laughing together, just as they were now. The last time they were all still alive.

         “Hey Honey. Won't you come join us?” Sarah called from the yard. Dan gazed at Diane and Billy, wanting to go to them, but afraid. Suddenly, Diane called out, “What's wrong, Daddy? You look like you've seen a ghost.” Slowly all their heads turned toward the shadow of the old man at the front door, and from somewhere far in the distance, the laughter begun. As if he was stuck in a puddle of molasses, Dan couldn't move. He felt sluggish, like he was being suffocated by an invisible darkness. His heart was pounding for escape. Helplessly he flung his arms trying to hold onto anything that might help him. His family was coming nearer. Their faces were melting like a chocolate bar left on a hot dashboard of a car. Their mouths stretched opened, long and wide, with eyes sunken deep within sooty, dismal sockets. Arms outstretched, they called in a grating voice, “Come now. What do you have to be afraid of? Come to me. Come Dan, come with us.”

         Screaming, at the top of his lungs, Dan's feet finally came free. Jerking himself clear, he slammed the front door and locked it. Then the stark living room went gloomy and foreboding once more. The view outside was obscured. It was midnight once again. The immoral laughter was now deafening. Falling, he slid down the wall until he was limp on the floor. Curled into a fetal position, he wailed, “I'm sorry. Oh Lordy, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to kill ya'll. Don't you'un see? I had to. The devil had you all, just as he has you'un now.”

         The temperature in the room was scorching, like the furnace was on full blast in the middle of summer. Dan felt as if he was being roasted alive. He heard footsteps in the room with him. 

         “Who's there? Leave me alone! Go away and leave me be!” 

         With a loud clamor, all the doors in the house shut at once. All that is, but the one door which was closed to begin with. The bedroom door swung opened so fast and furiously that it now hung only by a single door hinge. Through the distortion of the heat waves, Dan saw before him his family standing in the same bedroom where he took his rifle and blew his wife and kid's away. 

         “Come Dan. Come Daddy.” They called. 

         He found it impossible to look away from their contorted faces, which stared through him with an impenetrable glare. 

         As if having no will of his own, Dan trudged to his unearthly end. 

Today I Cried, Once More

Just when I thought all my tears have dried - today I cried once more. I cried for the time together we have lost, and for the time we'll never have. The tears came quite unexpectedly. I awoke today feeling no different than yesterday. Nothing to make me feel more nostalgic ... I thought. Perhaps, the holidays have spoken to me. Quietly deep within - perhaps my mind carried on an internal dialog so secret, even my conscious self wasn't aware. I cried once more for the parents I had lost; and as I write this, tears threaten to fall again. Why would tears for lost parents be so foreign? You see, I didn't lose my parents just last month, or even last year. My parents have been gone for many years. I'm a middle age woman in my late forties. I lost my mom in 1997, and my dad I lost at the tender age of thirteen. Oh, how I still miss them. I think sometimes I miss them more now, then I did in recent years. I yearn for the guidance which only parents can provide. For comfort one can only find within a parent's words or arms. I understand now that it doesn't matter what had happened in the past. During the years of my youth, my parents were still growing up in so many ways - more ways than I could have ever realized, until I started growing older.

I watch others, especially those my age or older, interacting with their parents. I wonder, Do they truly know how fortunate they are to still have their parents? They can still go to them when they need to talk, call them when they need a word of reassurance, and gaze into their eyes to feel the security and comfort of one who can truly understand them. One who yearns to help them achieve to be the best person they can be - without judgement.

I don't envy those who still have their parents. I just ache for the years I have not had mine. I ache for the times when I long to speak to them. The times when I know that it's the only two people in the world, who could understand what I'm going through, what I'm feeling deep within. The only two who could help comfort me at those certain times. At other times, I have the thought, If you could have just hung on a little longer, Mom, we could have helped each other so much. I would have taken you into my home, and you would have never had to work for another thing! You could of finally had rest and peace. As for my father, it is who I received my writing ability and creativity. He was an artist and a poet.

He wrote this poem to comfort me, when I was hospitalized and hallucinating from a severe illness: 

Come lite on my hand, my little butterfly
And I will build you a nest of sticks, stones,
Sunshine and happiness.

Now Spread your wings, my dainty one,
And fly without fright, For my army of love,
Will protect you through the days and nights.

He wrote many beautiful poems and had a book in hardcover, ready to be published, before he had a major heart-attack. He never regained enough strength to finish quite a few things he had in the works, before the heart-attack would lead to his death, a year later. A few years after he died, the preventative cure which would have kept him alive was released to the public. So once again, I find myself saying, If you could have just hung on a little longer...

But God was ready for them, He opened His arms and welcomed them home, into a home of rest. Into a home where they no longer feel pain, physically or emotionally.

So this morning when tears came for the first time in a few years, it caught me by surprise. I didn't have just a few single tears, no; I cried once more for my mom and dad. And as I cried, I yearned for the comfort of their arms. "God, please wrap your arms around me and bring me comfort and peace."

And as I felt a warm embrace, tears fell once more. I wrapped my arms around my body, and with a smile I spoke aloud, "Thank you, Lord for being my Heavenly Father and when I need it most, my Earthly Daddy." 

Get Paid For Tweeting

You can get paid for tweeting- it does work! After you sign up, with the link below, make sure you go into your account and change the money requested for each tweet to around .25 -.35 cents. It will probably be at .50 - 1.50 suggested price. You will make much more money, if you make it lower than suggested price. You probably won't get hardly any offers, if you keep it at the suggested rate. Once you get more followers or become pretty successful at sending out tweets which do result in clicks, you can try to start raising the amount, a small bit at a time. Also, make sure you put in the category keywords in which you are interested in sending to your followers. Play around with these keywords to find the ones which will send you the offers you are searching for. Keywords, along with the suggested amount per tweet are the two things which will determine how many offers you are sent - as you go along, the more you send out, with people clicking on them, the more offers you will start to receive. If you're not getting any offers after a couple of days, or not enough- pay attention to the subject of the offers you are receiving- if you like the offers you're receiving, keep the keyword in which you believe those offers are coming from and play around with inserting new keywords- pretty soon, you will have plenty of offers coming in, with the subject content you are comfortable sending your followers. Whatever you do, be sure not to flood your followers- no one likes to be spamed, but no one minds getting great offers!


If you sign up through my link, contact me if you don't start receiving offers, or if you have any problems and I'll try to help you all I can :)


Click Here to Start Making a Few Bucks :) 


Wishing you lots of Success. Have a Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!

IFCJ: This Week with Rabbi Eckstein

Israel is on Fire! Please help now- prayers are so needed and appreciated!

Read about here:

IFCJ: This Week with Rabbi Eckstein

In Too Deep: A Crafter's Reality: Defeating The Devil

In Too Deep: A Crafter's Reality: Defeating The Devil:

"Do you have questions about the Devil? Does satan actually exist? Get your questions answered- read below :)

Defeating The Devil"

Stillness

Have you ever stood still in the middle of chaos and felt the breeze on your face and the sun on your back; knowing that each breath you have taken in, you're closer to death, but one step closer to Jesus' arms?~

Have you ever noticed that a bird flying around in a circle has more freedom in that one flight then we will have in our entire lifes?~

Did you ever watch all the people walk by and wonder about their lives, and what they have going on inside their heads? If they have been hurt, abused or lonely? If they look forward to a special event tomorrow, next week, next month or even next year? When we don't even know what the night's end will bring~

Have you ever felt sorry for yourself for having heartbreaks and hurts from someone you love...but realized there are many out there that have no one who loves them enough to have their heart broken?~

Have you ever heard a seagull's call and noticed that every time it brought a peace and tranquil feeling; And filled your mind with visions of white sandy beaches and waves that have crashed upon the shore?~

And, have you ever wondered how the sky can be such a perfect blue that you have never been able to get just the right shade when painting?~

And, how even the trees grow in bunches and thrive off each other because even a tree knows life is better and more nourishing with friends~

Have you ever wondered? 

Dr. Chauncey Crandalls Rx: Medicine and Jesus

This story is absolutely amazing- a must see!!

A Cardiologist is compelled to turn around and pray for a man who he pronounced dead forty minutes prior- after praying, he asked another doctor to shock him just one more time- a man who was black from being cyanotic, rose from the dead!! All because the doctor obeyed God's voice: Watch this amazing video below:

Dr. Chauncey Crandalls Rx: Medicine and Jesus

This is his book:

Introducing Beautiful Treasury Chest

Beautiful Treasury Chest on Ecrater

I'd like to introduce you to a very nice lady, Elaine. Do yourself a favor, and take a minute to check out her store- she has something for everyone! Her store is sure to delight your senses! When you find something you just can't live without (and you will ;)) buy with the confidence of doing business with a trust-worthy business owner, who will offer you the best price at the lowest shipping possible.

Hi, Im the owner of Beautiful Jewelry Chest at Ecrater. I've been selling now for over 5 years on-line. I believe in selling items that are well made without paying the big price. 

Thus my slogan Quality Not Pricy. I keep shipping costs very reasonable and I will get you the cheapest and fastest. We specialize in vintage jewelry but also have a huge selection of craft supply, gifts, handmade cards and books. 

I wanted to point out we have a large selection of large print books. Our store is family friendly which means the whole family can come in and shop. About our jewelry: we have fun, unique, and many are rare or hard to find. 

We feature collectible and vintage costume jewelry, estate, and antique jewelry, including bakelite, Avon, retro 1940s, Sarah Coventry, JJ, rhinestone, a large selection of earrings, rings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, matching sets & Christmas pins.

Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful store with us! I wish you many happy sales ahead ;)


http://sewgood.ecrater.com
http://sewgoodsbeautifultreasures.blogspot.com

As another Hurricane Season grows near, my mind can't help but to wander back in time- and I pray to God
that we will not ever have to go through another season, like the one we went through a few years back. It was a year of non-stop hurricanes and tropical storms on the Gulf Coast. A year which brought brought people closer together, or tore families apart- it was a year of


Surviving The Storm
Hurrican Ivan The Terrible


We sat in the garage, looking out into the night, as Hurricane Ivan came upon our shores with a furry. I shone my powerful flashlight into the blackest night I've ever known. The darkness absorbed the light as if it weren't even there. What little I could see, I caught in strobe-flashes of lightning. The winds were howling and screaming as the 140+ mph winds snapped the trees as easily as snapping beans. My face grew pale and my heart raced as I thought, This has to be the worst storm I've seen since Freddy. I was excited and scared at the same time. Adrenaline rushed throughout my veins, making me feel wired, as if on some kind of drug. Glancing at the battery operated clock, it read 1:00 a.m. I exhaled a long breath, that I didn't even realize I was holding in. We're in for a long night, I thought to myself. The storm was horrid outside, but would get much worse -- as it was expected to last until noon the next day.


The darkness kept shocking us with an eerie bluish-green bright lightning that filled the whole sky. It was followed closely by a hiss, zap and loud echo of a boom, as another transformer blew. The transformers were blowing faster than we could count. We watched as different parts of the surrounding neighborhoods went black; houses and streetlights flickered out. We still had electricity, but knew it wouldn't last much longer. As the sky lit up with a freaky green light, we heard another hiss and boom that left us in darkness. Now, there was no light any where. We were in total obscurity.


Electricity continued to fill the sky. I could hear the angry Gulf of Mexico roaring about eight miles from my home. The radio announced that a 57-foot wave had been seen out in the ocean. God only knows how big it would be by the time it made landfall. The once beautiful, serene beaches wouldn't have a chance. Their tranquil visage was already being slammed with waves and sand. In the morning, the storm will still be raging on, but the beaches would have long since lost their battle.


Standing at the door, trying to watch what I could only hear, I wondered what destruction we'd be met with in the morning. All of a sudden, when I thought the storm couldn't sound any fiercer than it already was, a noise like a train fighting to stay on tracks filled the air. My huge, beautiful oak tree that stood proudly in my front yard started leaning over. I yelled, "There she goes! Our tree is falling, it's falling!" There was so much noise that all you could hear was an eerie creak of the wood as the tree was being pulled up by its roots. It went down sluggishly at first, almost as if in slow motion, as it came to a rest in my and my neighbor's front yard.

With all my might, I leaned into the door trying to close it, while yelling, "It's a tornado!" A sound like popping popcorn was all around us.


"Lord, what is that sound?" Pop-plop, pop-plop, over and over again. Flashlights lit our shocked faces as we listened to trees falling, debris flying and fences being torn apart. The sound of the handicapped train vanished, leaving us to once again hear only the screaming wind, as if it was in pain.


It was going on 3:00-3:30 a.m. when my sister said she was going to go lie down. She went back to her room and called, "Tracey, come here, quick!" I ran back to her room. She was pointing up to her ceiling where it was bowed in two places and cracked down the middle. Water was streaming out of both of the bowed sections. We quickly found two buckets to catch the leaks. We checked the other rooms and found another room to be in just as bad a shape. It's then when we realized that the popcorn sound we heard during the tornado, had been our shingles popping off the roof one by one. We grabbed buckets, pots and pans to try and catch all of the leaks we could. Great, I thought, a leaking ceiling in the middle of a hurricane.


We all went back into the living room. Everyone was worn out. My husband fell asleep in the chair and a friend on an air mattress in the living room. Jackie, my sister, kept saying she was going to go lie down in her room.


"No, Jackie!" I begged. "Please don't go lie down. The ceiling could fall in on you at any second!"

I could see it happening just as plain as day. Twenty minutes later Jackie said, "I'll be all right, I'm going to lie down for a few minutes."

Just as I got ready to protest, we heard a loud crash, followed by a huge slosh. We ran back into her room and the whole half of her ceiling had fallen onto her bed and the surrounding area. It looked like waterfalls coming from her ceiling.

"All my stuff," she whispered.


We made a convoy line and cleaned her bedroom out in five minutes flat, except for the furniture. If the ceiling had waited five more minutes to fall, my sister would have been in bed.

"We need to go into the spare room and get all the things out, in case the ceiling falls in there as well," I said.

Everyone agreed. Then we heard another loud crash. It was too late; the ceiling was crumbling away to nothing. I stood under the waterfall and threw books, pictures, porcelain dolls and other knick-knacks toward them to be quickly carried out of the spare room into the living room.


While hussling to get as much items out of the room before it was ruined, we heard another loud noise. When we were through, we went through the house to find where the awful sound was coming from. It was the rest of Jackie's ceiling. The whole ceiling was now on the floor. The bedroom furniture might as well have been sitting outside. Turning around, we shut the door and ran into another stream of water coming from the ceiling in the hall. I went to check my room and found two more leaks there. As quickly as we could, we moved everything out of my room. We were able to save most of the items, but all of our furniture in each room was ruined. We came back into the crowded living room and sports room, which now contained three rooms full of stuff. We cleaned insulation and drywall from everything the best we could and placed them into stacks or garbage bags.

Exhausted, everyone laid down and closed their eyes. Mysterious noices filled the air -- both on the inside and outside of the house. I sat up with my flashlight and would go investigate each time I heard a crash. My mind could not compute the destruction inside my home. But I thanked God that He kept all of us safe, including my three little dogs.


I must have dozed off for almost an hour or so, because when I opened my eyes, daylight was streaming through the double doors. I quickly got up and looked outside. It felt strange seeing daylight, because it seemed so out of place in the midst of such destruction. As I looked out the door, my eyes grew wide and all I could think of was how much it resembled a war zone. It looked like bombs had been dropped all around us.

Slowly, the others started to wake as well. Not only was there total destruction outside the house, but inside as well; three feet of insulation lay scattered throughout the house. Ceiling material lay angrily at strange angles on the floor. By the time morning had arrived, the storm still howled, but no longer so fiercely. I walked through my home. The ceilings in the foyer, hall, three bedrooms and garage had all collapsed. Outside, our two biggest trees were pulled up by their roots. Branches on trees were twisted around. I could see neighbor's homes that were always protected by what were once privacy fences. The streets were not passable because the trees, power lines and floods covered most of them.


I will never forget the destruction Hurricane Ivan the Terrible brought upon us. We are still living in our living room, waiting for our FEMA trailor to be delivered. The smell of mold and mildew is still strong. Slowly we're tacking up felt for the ceilings, cleaning up the inside and outside of our home, and pulling up wet carpet so we won't have to feel the squish beneath our feet or inhale their awful, sour smell.

As I stand amidst all the destruction, I thank God, as I realize we are among the lucky ones.


10/07/04

Healed From Hate

Barbara Kouba had the perfect life as a young girl. She loved life and was in total love with creation itself. She went to a Catholic School, and even though

one year she found herself in the principal's office way too often, she still considered herself to be a good girl, who just liked to peer over the other side of the line every once in a while. Most of all, Barbara was a very happy person who loved God dearly... until a walk she took within four walls, would not only change her outlook on life, but also her relationship with God.

Barbara is now going on 54 years old, and she said she indeed has been given a gift from God, every single day. Every morning when Barbara wakes up, she asks, "Okay God, what's going to be my gift today?"
At 18 years old, Barbara noticed she started getting abnormal bruising- if she sat down too hard, she would bruise the whole top part of her back, she'd notice bruises pop up all over her, and didn't know when or how she got them. It turned out she had a blood disorder, and so she was admitted to a huge research hospital. She was so sick at the beginning, that she never left her room, it wasn't until she started getting better, that she was strong enough to take the first walk outside of her room- this is the walk that would change her life forever.


Barbara was in the children's ward, where they housed patients from newborn to 19 years old. The walk around her end of the ward, was about a block wide. As she walked down the hall, this young woman who dearly loves kids, and wanted about 12 kids of her own, did not hear the normal laughter and play of children- instead she heard their screams, cries and the horrid stories that went along with them. Newborns with tiny bodies, and heads as big as a basketball, or only as big as a lightbulb, a little girl they called the bionic girl, because she drank a bottle of drano, which ate up her insides; every kind of horror story imaginable, Barbara heard and seen. Her heart broke into pieces on that one walk- her security walls came crumbling down, and Barbara crumbled with them.


Barbara closed the door on God. She couldn't understand how or why she was getting better, when so many other innocent children suffered and died. She began to hate God and called him a sadistic monster. She questioned, "Why God?" as so many of us have done. Because of this she sank into a deep depression with over-flowing anger. She found herself lashing out at everyone- she didn't understand how nothing had changed, when everything seemed to change within her. Barbara couldn't understand why she was alive, she didn't understand her deep, seething anger. As her anger grew, so did her mental problems. She had a complete mental and spiritual breakdown, and was admitted to a mental hospital. There she stayed heavily medicated, sinking deeper into her hate-filled void. They treated her with insulin shock treatments, shock treatments, medicated several times a day- she felt like she was a walking zombie.


One day she went into a quiet room- basically a padded room. She sat in a corner, totally over-whelmed, when she heard a voice, "I love you. I am proud of you." She looked around, this was not a thought that came from her, she still hated herself. The words were repeated- and she knew these were words coming from God. He told her there was much for her to learn, that she needed to open her heart and let him back in, that he would no longer let her lock him out. There she sat having an internal conversation with God. He told her she had had enough suffering, it was time for it to end. She questioned God, "Why does my suffering have to end? The babies are still suffering." Again, God repeated she had much to learn, and that he loved her. All of a sudden all of the anguish and anger she had held in for so long, came pouring out, like a flood. She cried and cried. Still asking why, she told God that she still didn't understand and still couldn't love him. He answered, "That's okay. I'm a big God. I can take it. Anger can be turned into love." She said that it was a long process, there was no over-night healing. But God told her that everyday he would give her a gift, which will help her grow and learn. (Please see the video here: http://www.wordnet.tv/videos.htm It's the one at top, entitled 'Healed From Hate')

Being an Artisan Store Owner

Come with me as I look into being a crafting addict. Do you believe you can relate? Most whom own their own artisan stores, can definitely do so- and I actually believe you almost have to be. Many people do not realize the work that goes into running an online business... not that I'm complaining, I absolutely love it- most of the time ;). But if you don't love creating new pieces, then online artisan stores, is not for you. You need to be able to list new items to keep your listings fresh in search engines, but mostly to keep your customers coming back, as well as bringing new customers in. I try to have a wide arrange of styles - though, I guess I can only design a limited degree of styles and fashion, I try to offer as wide of a range as I'm able. (And the more experience I get, the wider the range spreads).

I have four main stores, plus list my items on other places. I try to visit many of the social networks, and while I am getting better at utilizing them, I'm not doing so to their full extent. However, I don't believe in spamming in any sense of the word, but I do believe you have to be able to spread the name of your stores, or you will never do any business.

I create jewelry, greeting cards, note cards, photography, mixed media, graphics and wall decals. I'm always dabbling in different mediums. I love staying busy- mainly with my mind and hands. It's really a must with me. Even when I'm watching T.V, I have something in my hands, rather it's a project, or a book. I'm an avid reader and writer. You can find many of my articles all over the internet. I write mainly for ezines.com- ezines is a site where web owners can post articles from the writers on their site, as long as they leave the credit to the writer.  I would like to start blogging on more of a regular basis- it would seem since I love to write, that blogging would just come second nature to me, and to tell you the truth, I don't understand why I don't do it more often. If it takes me all this year, I will learn how to utilize my time better (can you say that with me) lol

Owning an online store is very time consuming. Most people (including my own husband and family) still don't realize how much time and energy go into running a store. It's more time than an outside job, that's for sure. But I count my blessings everyday to be able to do something that I love and brings me in a little money.

My main store is Bonanzle: http://www.bonanzle.com/inspired
I not only have my creations here, but also list other items: dvds, books, clothes, etc... This is such a great site! It really is my favorite, and believe me, I have experience with many. Everyone is so friendly and will go over and beyond to help any way they can. The boys who run the place is the absolute best! They stay on top of it all and really care about what the members have to say- not only do they care, they actually listen to the members and put it into action. I believe that's why Bonanzle has grown so quickly so fast, and will continue to do so!

My main artisan only store is on Etsy: http://www.etsy.com/shop/traceystreasures 
This was my first artisan store and still my favorite "Artisan Only" store. I did take a break from it for almost a year, because if you're not careful fees can add up awfully fast, especially if you try to renew your items to keep them up front. Renewing was worth the money when Etsy was newer, but the day I renewed a piece of jewelry and found it only a short few minutes later already on page ten, I knew renewing often was only a waste of money. There's so many other ways to advertise- also, I believe if I'm going to advertise on etsy itself, the showcases are a much better way.

I also have an Ecrater store: http://www.intueys.ecrater.com/
This is also an 'everything' store. I don't have all of my products on this site yet, but have been adding them slowly. I sure can't complain, as Ecrater is totally free and has been since they opened their doors. I find that amazing! Ecrater also shows up in the search engines with no problems- which is a must!

My newest store is on Artfire: http://www.artfire.com/users/intuey 
It's an artisan only store as well- but vintage, supplies and wall decals are allowed (as with etsy) which is nice. I joined it last year, but actually just started using the site, listing my items, etc... about two-and-a-half months ago. I joined as a pro. but went to basic this month. I will probably go pro again shortly. I'm new to this site, but I like the layout of the place. The owner seems really nice.

I'd love to have you visit any of my stores. I'm always happy to make custom orders. If you come via this blog, please let me know. Also, if you shop on Bonanzle, you can put in a coupon code, 'yay' and save 20% off your purchase! :)

Thanks for stopping by- I would love for you to 'follow' me. If you have anything you'd like me to write about, give me a shout-out! I'd be happy to do so.

Tracey

The five pound chain was so tight it had turned into a deadly noose. The wound was so deep it was nearly to the bone. No food. No water. Locked in a yard, alone and covered in feces. Brutus had only a few days to live.

The paragraph above is the opening of the ASPCA's (The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals), letter to appeal to human's kind, tender, and caring soul. They know they are out there-- somewhere. But they also know that as much as they love animals, it emotionally tears them apart to actually look at the horrid pictures, and read the stories of these abused and neglected 'gifts from heaven'. So as often happens within our society, we turn a blind eye; thinking that somehow, someway, maybe it will all just disappear if we pretend it's not out there; if we shield ourselves from the ugliness of the world, and the evilness that is inflicted on these living creatures who only want what we all want and need- love, shelter, food, and human kindness.

People, we can't keep turning our head hoping that someone else will step in and do something. You and I are the ones who are going to have to take action. If the very souls who love animals the most won't do anything, than how can we expect other's to step up to the plate and save these poor, forgotten animals?

There's a certain commercial that comes on television, that when it comes on, I literally walk out of the room. The first time I watched it, the pictures they show with those sad, crying eyes looking into the camera, with a beautiful, soul-touching song playing from the background, left me blubbering like a baby. It made me really take a look at myself. How can I keep making excuses? "Oh, it just hurts me too much to work with abused and neglected animals; I'd stay depressed all the time. Someone who can handle it better will have to help them; I can send them a little money, but I can't see them suffer."

No one wants to see these beautiful animals suffer. No one is built for such an emotionally draining, and gut-wrenching job. I turned the page on the ASPCA bulletin:

You might think that ASPCA staff members would be hard to shock. We see so much neglect and abuse of innocent animals; we should be hardened by now.


But we never are.

Every case like Brutus's ... every kitten hurled from a window onto pavement below ... every rooster allowed to kill or be killed in vicious cockfights ... every dog beaten or left to die of starvation, exposure or dehydration - every time, we still cry.

Do you see? They do not leave the dirty work for others. Yes, they still cry, but they continue:

Witnessing so much suffering keeps us absolutely determined to stop the horrible epidemic of animal cruelty that causes millions of deaths - immeasurable pain - every year.

I know it's painful. Believe me, it has taken me a long time to get to the point beyond being afraid to witness such cruelty- no, that's not right- I'll never be beyond the point of being afraid to witness such horrible cruelty. I'll never get beyond the point of tears streaming down my face when I look into crying, desperate and fearful eyes of those beautiful fur-baby souls. My emotional pain and mental anguish is only relieved by knowing atleast I'm a small part of helping these animals get out of their personal hell; of knowing I am fighting to promote the punishment of the abusers, and justice for abused and neglected animals. And knowing that for each person I reach- whether it's to help support abused animals physically and/or monetarily- that the one contact I make could literally save thousands of animals.

The pain is lessened when I hear or see one more animal that no one thought would make it, not only pull through and live; but now live with shining bright eyes, a wagging tail, and most of all hope for a happy future full of love.

Fortunately, Brutus's story has a happy ending, and it took a lot of hard work and effort. His rescue and rehabilitation happened because people like you, gave from the heart.

Will you step up to the plate and help be a happy ending for many abused and neglected animals? I'm not going to lie to you- it's not easy. But the feel-good rewards of helping to save animals, far out-weigh the emotional pain of knowing abused animals excist but you're not doing anything about it because it's too painful. Look into a pet's eyes that's close to your heart; can you imagine your beloved pet going through the torture that so many pets have to live through daily?

I didn't think so. You have the choice to make a difference. Be a hero- step up to the plate.

-Paragraphs in Bold are direct statements taken from a recent ASPCA Bulletin

Pulling my huggie closer around my shoulders, I pour my first cup of strong coffee and inhale the delicious aroma. I wrap my hands around my favorite puppy dog cup and let the heat help warm my morning. Staring off into space, my mind is filled with all the possibilities that await me in my craft room.

Today, I will be productive and do more than just play and rummage through all of my ever-growing supplies. I say this to myself, with utmost determination, and try to ignore that little pang of doubt hiding in the darkest recesses of my brain. After all, an artist's block can only last so long, right?

Two hours later, and I still haven't started a project - but this time, I'm not letting it get me down. I'm going to try a little something new and hopefully put a new meaning to 'rummaging'. While sorting through all the gorgeous colors and mouth-watering textures, several ideas have popped into my head. I pick up my trust-worthy notepad and gel pens, which are always close by, and start sketching rough drafts of various projects. Instead of tagging various areas with the intended color, I use the coresponding gel pen color. Gazing at the delicious colors, my inspiration starts to rise. I embrace the electric energy of my old friend Creativity, flowing once again throughout every single cell of my being.

Standing up to stretch, I glance down at the notepad, pick it up and start leafing through my rough sketches. My smiling eyes grow wide at the emerging rainbow of colors. I can't believe all of the potential projects I now have before me - fabulous projects that may not have ever crossed my mind, if I hadn't gone through this 'so-called creative 'rut'.

Excitedly, I pull out containers of supplies I don't dive into often. Plucking items, one after another, which grab my attention for any reason. I'm not limiting myself to an idea project, instead I'm grouping a wide range of supply items into various piles: colors that work well together, materials which compliment each other, certain items for 'wild mood,' off-the-wall projects, supplies for different theme vintage projects, and so on. While separating the wide varying genre supplies, inspiration grows stronger, and snapshots of designs pop into my mind. I grab my pencil and notebook and write down the idea, making a rough draft.

The day grows late. I may not have created a certain project today, but I am so content, so fulfulled. I have finally broken the curse of my artisan's block! Beside me sits my notebook, flowing of color and ideas, several projects to keep me busy for quite a while. Tonight, the world outside will be sleeping, but the light in my window will be shining, right along with my spark of creativity.