The Deceiver Secret: Book II - The Deceiver’s Fall!

LISTEN TO Chapters 1 thru Chapter 3 Here! Book Coming January 2025!

The stakes have never been higher for Eve Lafoy. After narrowly escaping a chilling abduction, she’s thrust into a darker world of hidden betrayals and dangerous secrets.

This time, she refuses to be the victim—she’s ready to take on those who deceived her. Hawke Deville, carrying secrets of his own, is the only one Eve dares to trust.

Yet his loyalty isn’t without its own complexities. With a powerful attraction between them, they must navigate a web of lies, as one wrong move could shatter everything they’re fighting for.

In this thrilling sequel, Eve and Hawke are drawn into a ruthless conspiracy that challenges their trust, passion, and survival. With enemies circling, they’ll need every ounce of courage to unveil the truth before it’s too late.

The Deceiver’s Fall is a heart-pounding tale packed with suspense, electrifying twists, and a fierce romance that will grip readers until the final, unforgettable page.

Watch the preview here!

The Soul of Thanksgiving: Cornbread Dressing and Its Rich Legacy!

There’s a magic that happens in the kitchen on Thanksgiving morning, a symphony of flavors that takes us back to the essence of home, heritage, and history. At the heart of this feast for many Southern families—especially in Black households—lies a dish so treasured it feels almost sacred: cornbread dressing. Its aroma wafts through the house, carrying stories of resilience, ingenuity, and love from generations past.

Introduction

Cornbread dressing is more than a holiday staple; it’s a symbol of survival and community. Unlike its northern cousin, stuffing, which is typically cooked inside a bird, dressing is baked separately, its crispy edges and moist center the perfect complement to turkey, ham, or even a hearty vegetarian main. Yet, its true beauty lies in its roots. This dish carries the legacy of West African cuisine, the creativity of enslaved people in the American South, and the enduring spirit of family traditions. As we gather around the table this Thanksgiving, let’s take a moment to honor the history, culture, and flavor that make cornbread dressing a dish worthy of celebration.

Key Ingredients and Their Stories

1. Cornbread

The heart of dressing, cornbread is a Southern staple made from cornmeal, a grain deeply tied to African and Native American culinary traditions. Whether made with yellow or white cornmeal, it provides a nutty, earthy base for the dish.

2. Butter or Margarine

Rich and creamy, butter adds depth to the dressing’s flavor, a nod to indulgence during holiday feasts.

3. Onion, Celery, and Bell Pepper

Known as the “Holy Trinity” in Southern cooking, these vegetables bring balance and brightness, echoing the fresh ingredients that West African cooks would have used.

4. Eggs

Eggs bind the dressing, much like they bind families together during holiday gatherings.

5. Slices of Toast

A practical addition, toast absorbs flavors while adding texture, a small detail that elevates the dish.

6. Cream of Celery Soup A modern touch, this creamy element underscores the resourcefulness of home cooks blending old and new traditions.

7. Poultry Seasoning and Black Pepper

Spices give dressing its warm, comforting aroma, hearkening back to the African use of bold seasonings.

8. Sage

The unmistakable herbal note in dressing, sage ties the dish to Thanksgiving’s essence of gratitude and homecoming. 9. Salt

A humble yet essential addition, salt reminds us of the resourcefulness of those who created “struggle foods” from the bare minimum.

10. Chicken Broth

Broth brings moisture and richness, a small indulgence that transforms simple ingredients into something extraordinary.

11. Olive Oil

A nod to modern health consciousness, olive oil mirrors the evolution of the dish without straying from its roots.

Cornbread dressing is not just food—it’s a reflection of history. Its origins can be traced back to kusha, a West African dish resembling couscous, crafted by enslaved Africans who adapted it to their circumstances in the American South. This culinary ingenuity transformed humble cornmeal into a beloved holiday centerpiece. Historians like Toni Tipton-Martin and Michael Twitty remind us that dishes like cornbread dressing hold stories of survival and creativity. These recipes were born out of necessity but have grown into symbols of celebration. They connect us to our ancestors and provide a taste of home no matter where we are.

Growing up, Thanksgiving wasn’t complete until my grandmother’s cornbread dressing hit the table. She’d hum hymns as she chopped onions and crumbled cornbread, her hands moving with the confidence of decades of practice. When we’d ask for her recipe, she’d laugh and say, “Child, this isn’t a recipe—it’s a feeling.” That feeling came alive with every bite. The crispy edges gave way to a savory, moist interior that seemed to hold the warmth of her love. It wasn’t until years later that I learned the history behind this dish, and I felt an even deeper appreciation for the legacy she carried forward with every pan she made.

Cornbread dressing, much like the Black experience in America, has endured transformations. From struggle food to holiday staple, it stands as a testament to resilience and adaptability. In honoring its roots, we recognize the strength of those who came before us and the creativity they passed down through their recipes. Today, young chefs like Mashama Bailey and Kwame Onwuachi are reinventing these dishes while preserving their cultural significance, ensuring that cornbread dressing remains both timeless and relevant.

Conclusion

Cornbread dressing is more than a dish; it’s a story on a plate. It’s the love of a grandmother, the ingenuity of ancestors, and the unity of family and community. This Thanksgiving, as you savor each bite, take a moment to appreciate the journey this dish has traveled to grace your table.

Closing

In the hustle of holiday preparation, let’s not forget the heart of the season—gratitude. And what better way to express it than by sharing a dish that embodies history, resilience, and love? Cornbread dressing isn’t just a side; it’s the soul of Thanksgiving.

Thank you for celebrating with us.

How ChatGPT Saved My Twins (And My Sanity) From a Bra Crisis!

So, Ladies did you ever think you'd use chat GTP to find your next new bra? Yes, you heard me right.

Did you know you can use tret GPT to find a new bra. Well, honey, let me tell you—I sure didn’t think I ever would too. But when desperation struck, and my favorite bra vanished from store shelves, I gave it a shot. Spoiler alert: Hallelujah, it worked!

Let me tell you, my story. My mother got my first bra from Sears Roebuck and Company. My mother loved Sears, JCPenney, Montgomery Ward. Well, we lived in the Midwest, you get the picture.

My first bra? A Sears Roebuck treasure picked by my mom. Back then, Sears, Montgomery Ward, and JCPenney were the places. Simply because my mother loved them. Fast-forward a few decades, and I’ve become a JCPenney girl, loyal to one bra in particular: the Ambrielle® Everyday Full-Figure Strapless Bra. Ladies, this wasn’t just a bra—it was the bra.

You see, I’m not the only United States of America 40 C size bra wearing woman out there. Let me do the math for you. There is a million of you walking out there.

Okay, a bit to wild, you say? Yeah, you guessed it, math wasn’t my thing in high school. I loved English and creative writing.

Anyway, what this means is that since 40C is your average size in California, (where I live) and maybe America. Then when I need a new bra, every “Shelia, Kay, Karen, Carmen, Carmelita, Betty, Bobby Sue, Annie Mae, Shaquita and Lolita out there in California land needs a new bra size 40 C.”

Now back to the Ambrielle® Everyday Full-Figure Strapless Bra. I love this bra! It’s the best bra in the world!

Why? Because finding a 40C strapless bra with padded back support that doesn’t pinch or jab is like spotting a unicorn in the wild. And as much as I adore my “twins” (yes, that’s their nickname), they need comfort, security, and the freedom of no shoulder straps digging into my flesh all day.

But then... one day disaster struck.

The Great Ambrielle Bra Drought Hit California!

It’s summer 2024, and I head to JCPenney for my trusty 40C. To my horror, the shelves are bare. Not just my local store—every store. I turned to JCPenney online, only to find they were sold out there too. Cue my frustration.

I turned to Google and of course it sent me some eBay links and Mercari links. Where I found some desperate housewifes trying to sell me their old used funky Ambrielle® bra. Ew! Aww Sh--, can you say “just too stinky”.

Sorry, “Desperate Housewife Debra” on eBay or Mercari… Hard Pass! No, Thank you!

Anyway, back to my story so I decided to ask old faithful good old ChatGPT.

Enter ChatGPT—My Bra Whisperer.

In my darkest moment, I turned to ChatGPT, hoping AI might succeed where Google failed. I typed, "Who makes bras like the Ambrielle® Everyday Full-Figure Strapless Bra?" And guess what? ChatGPT came through like the hero in a rom-com, complete with a heavenly choir singing, "Hallelujah!"

The moment was resplendent!

It led me to the Curvy Kate Luxe Strapless Bra—a revelation! With silicone grips, memory foam cups, and support tailored for full-figure women, it ticked every box. Available in sizes from 28C to M cups (bless their ambition), it made my twins so happy they practically threw a party.

The 40C Struggle Is Real

Here’s the thing: My math might not be that great but if 40C is the average bra size for many women over 35. That means every Sheila, Kay, Karen, Carmen, Carmelita, Betty, Bobby Sue, Annie Mae, Shaquita, and Lolita is hunting for the same size.

So, when I couldn’t find it at JCPenney, I wasn’t just mad—I was mad on behalf of all of us. JCPenney, are you listening? You’ve lost sales because your buyers can’t stock enough for the real demand. And when loyal customers like me have to look elsewhere, we’re taking our friends with us. “Come along, Sheila, Kay, Karen, Carmen, Carmelita, Betty, Bobby Sue, Annie Mae, Shaquita, and Lolita. We are going elsewhere! (Say it Like you Mean it Ladies!)

A Love Letter to ChatGPT

Here’s the moral of my story: Don’t knock ChatGPT. Whether it’s helping you rediscover a lost favorite or finding new alternatives, it can be a lifesaver. AI might not fold laundry (yet), but it found me a bra when nothing else could.

If JCPenney doesn’t fix this, they’ll lose loyal customers like me. And believe me, when women find a bra that works, we’re not shy about spreading the word. ChatGPT helped me find Curvy Kate, but imagine the loss of trust JCPenney faces when we all realize we don’t need them anymore.

Conclusion: The Twins Are Happy Again.

The Curvy Kate Luxe Strapless Bra has become my new go-to. It’s supportive, comfortable, and everything the Ambrielle used to be. To my fellow 40C ladies: don’t despair. There’s hope out there, even if it’s not where you expect it. And to JCPenney, here’s my final PSA: Restock your Ambrielle line in 40C—or prepare to wave goodbye to Sheila, Kay, Karen, Carmen, Carmelita, Betty, Bobby Sue, Annie Mae, Shaquita, Lolita, and me. Closing: Share the Bra Love!

Ladies, if you’ve been burned by a discontinued product, don’t give up hope. Try ChatGPT. Whether it’s bras, jeans, or that perfect lipstick shade, AI just might save your day—and your wardrobe. Happy Holidays—and happy shopping! Black Friday is coming, and trust me, Curvy Kate is worth it.

Preston Castle: The Haunting Heartbeat of Ione, California

In the remote town of Ione, California, there stands a foreboding figure of brick and stone, whose weathered walls cradle secrets darker than the shadows that cling to its towering structure. Built in 1890, Preston Castle is no ordinary historical landmark—it’s a chilling chapter in the tale of California’s past, a haunted relic where echoes of the state’s troubled youth and paranormal activity blend into a tapestry of horror. Once a juvenile correctional facility for boys, Preston Castle has become a fixture in the folklore of paranormal investigators and thrill-seekers alike. A place where, some say, the veil between life and death grows thin and the spirits of the past reach out to remind us that history is not so easily buried.

Welcome to Preston Castle, where history is haunted and each brick bears witness to the spectral residents of this “Castle of Lost Souls.”

The Secrets That Bind: A Dark Legacy of Punishment and Prison

Nestled in the rugged hills of Amador County, Preston Castle was initially intended as a new form of rehabilitation for boys, a place to reform, instill discipline, and teach trades. But the grandeur of its architecture hid a much harsher reality—a place where discipline often took on a severe form, and tales of physical punishment still ripple through the community’s memory. Since the castle opened its doors in 1894, whispers of brutality, despair, and mistreatment have woven themselves into its walls, forming an energy that lingers like a shadow over the site. It’s this very energy that so many believe attracts the supernatural to Preston Castle, where the souls of those who suffered and perished are said to wander.

Among the tragic tales is the story of Anna Corbin, a staff member whose murder in 1950 was never fully explained. Her name haunts the lore of Preston Castle, her spirit reportedly lingering, still seeking justice that was never served. As one visitor recounts, the lingering spirits feel trapped within this fortress of forgotten hopes, where fear and sorrow continue to reverberate. Today, visitors on the castle’s paranormal tours report cold chills, whispers in empty corridors, and shadows that seem to defy the laws of light, sparking spine-chilling sensations of being watched.

Specters of the Past: Paranormal Presences and Frightening Encounters

For some, the stories of Preston Castle’s tragic history are enough to chill the soul. But for others, it’s the tantalizing promise of a ghostly encounter that draws them in, as they hope to glimpse the otherworldly residents who haunt this decaying landmark. Longtime docent and empath Chris Garbarini leads paranormal tours, guiding brave souls through the castle’s darkened hallways and abandoned rooms. Chris has seen more than he cares to recount, yet he shares just enough to make the blood run cold.

Chris tells the tale of standing alone in the decrepit staff kitchen, only to be greeted by the inexplicable aroma of freshly baked pastries, despite the ovens having been cold for decades. In another encounter, he describes a shadowy figure—a tall man in a spectral form—drifting down a hallway, silently following a woman in a flowing dress. These visions, he says, have only intensified over the years, leaving visitors questioning the thin line between the living and the dead.

The encounters don’t end there. Some visitors report hearing a faint, desperate voice of a young boy whispering, "Come down here…help!" caught on audio recordings in the castle’s annex hallway. A voice no one else heard at the time. Each experience at Preston Castle feels like peeling back layers of time, revealing a horror that transcends the physical boundaries of walls and windows.

Unearthly Residents: Faces in the Windows and Footsteps in Empty Halls

One of the eeriest aspects of Preston Castle is the frequent sightings of ghostly figures dressed in period clothing—small children in uniform and other spectral forms wearing the military-style garb once worn by the boys. These apparitions are seen roaming the corridors and gazing from the castle’s windows, their faces captured by visitors’ cameras, despite those rooms standing empty. For a structure long abandoned, Preston Castle seems unnervingly alive with the echoes of its past residents, a place where the spirits seem to drift through time, untethered and unaware of the decades that have passed since they last took their breath.

Even the castle’s skeptics have experienced unexplainable moments that chill them to the bone. Karl Knobelauch, president of The Preston Castle Foundation, initially dismissed these ghost stories as mere legend. But one day, while working alone, he heard a voice call his name—only to find the hallway empty. Such stories have left even the most rational minds grappling with the unsettling possibility that the castle’s reputation as a haunted place might hold a dark kernel of truth.

The Horrors Within: Buried Secrets and Lives Lost <

Beyond the paranormal encounters and eerie voices, the grim reality of Preston Castle’s history is impossible to ignore. Eighteen young boys lie buried in the on-site cemetery, most having succumbed to disease while attending the school. One young man was shot during an escape attempt, his life ending at the castle that had become his prison. These stories only scratch the surface of the hardships endured within Preston’s towering walls, and their spirits remain as a testament to the consequences of a broken system.

Ghost hunters claim that this tragic history imbues the very walls of Preston Castle with an energy that draws the supernatural. They describe seeing heavy doors slam shut, objects moving seemingly on their own, and hearing disembodied footsteps that echo down long-abandoned halls. Visitors often leave with a feeling of dread, as though they have stepped into a living nightmare that will follow them long after they leave.

An Unfinished Restoration, an Unfinished Story

In the years since its closure, the Preston Castle Foundation has made efforts to restore the castle, opening its doors to tourists and paranormal investigators alike. Despite this, only two of the five floors are accessible to the public, with the remainder of the castle in such a state of decay that full restoration remains a distant dream. Even as it crumbles, Preston Castle retains a magnetic allure, a haunted beacon that calls out to those fascinated by the unknown.

Perhaps it’s fitting that a place like Preston Castle—so marked by hardship and heartbreak—refuses to fade quietly into history. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about this fortress of sorrow, a beauty underscored by its brutal past. It stands as both a monument and a mausoleum, preserving the stories of those who entered its doors seeking redemption, only to find despair.

Haunted by the Past: Why Preston Castle Endures The story of Preston Castle is more than just another haunted location; it’s a testament to a dark chapter in the history of juvenile justice. In recent years, as California re-evaluates its juvenile correctional system, the castle stands as a reminder of the cost of reform. It asks questions without easy answers: What are the consequences of a system that seeks to control rather than heal? And for those souls who suffered, can peace ever truly be found?

If you dare to step into its halls, remember that Preston Castle isn’t just haunted by spirits of the dead. It’s haunted by memories of a history not so far gone, and by the lives that were forever changed within its cold stone walls. It’s a place where history refuses to die, where the past clings to the present like a ghostly hand on your shoulder. Preston Castle’s story is one of suffering and endurance, a reminder that some places—and some spirits—are not so easily laid to rest.

Check the Sacbee.com/news/local/history/article for more information on this topic.

COMING SOON! BOOK II The Deceiver’s Secret ~ The Deceiver’s Fall!

**NEW BOOK COMING SOON! ~ Book II ~ The Deceiver’s Secret ~ The Deceiver’s Fall ~ By J.A. JACKSON

Book II ~ The Deceiver’s Secret ~ The Deceiver’s Fall ~ By J.A. JACKSON * * New Book Coming Soon! **

Chapter 8

A Dangerous Game 8

Izard made his way out of the alley and cautiously scanned the street in front of him with his eyes. The lights on the building across the street was dark. He knew everyone should have left for the day.

Quickly he crossed the street and slipped into the back entrance of an old building, Izard entered a dimly lit room where a large table sat in the center. Spread across it were blueprints, documents, and photos of both Eve and Hawke—everything he needed to execute his plan. He had been watching them for weeks, learning their patterns, their weaknesses. And now, it was time to strike.

At the far end of the room sat Voss, a lean man with sharp features and eyes that gleamed with mischief. Voss had been Izard’s right-hand man for years, and he thrived on chaos.

“They’re too happy, Voss. It makes me sick,” Izard said as he tossed a photo of Eve onto the table. “I want her to feel what I felt. The pain, the betrayal. And Hawke—he’s going to pay for what he took from me.”

Voss raised an eyebrow, a sly grin playing on his lips. “What’s the plan, boss? You’ve never been one to keep things simple.”

Izard smirked, leaning over the table and tracing his finger along one of the blueprints. “Oh, it’s far from simple. You see, Hawke’s business is vulnerable. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve set a trap. Tomorrow, we’ll leak some ‘information’ that will make his clients doubt him. I’ll plant just enough doubt to cause a few of them to jump ship.”

“And what about Eve?” Voss asked, his tone eager.

“I’ve saved something special for her,” Izard said coldly, his eyes darkening. “Eve thinks her past is behind her, but she has no idea what’s coming. I’ve found someone she’ll recognize, someone she won’t be able to ignore. And when she does, it’ll shatter everything she’s worked to rebuild.”

Voss let out a low whistle. “Brilliant, boss. But how do you know it’ll all fall into place?” Izard stood tall, his confidence unshakable. “Because I don’t leave anything to chance. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’ll be too late.”

Suddenly, the door to the room creaked open, and a woman stepped inside. Her face was partially hidden by a hood, but Izard recognized her immediately.

“Right on time,” Izard said with a satisfied smile. “Are you ready?”

The woman stepped forward; her voice low but resolute. “I owe you nothing, Moulard. But I’ll do this. After that, we’re done.”

Izard’s smile didn’t falter. “Of course. Just follow the plan, and everything will be as it should.”

Then the woman loudly cleared her throat. “There’s something else.”

“What is it?” Izard demanded.

The woman voice as like steel when she spoke. “For this plan to be effective, I must ask that you wait a few weeks, if I start your plan tomorrow it will be too soon, and it won’t look legitimate.”

“Ah! I see your point,” Izard nodded as his lips curled into a sinister smile. What do you have in mind?”

“I need time. Just a few weeks,” she paused. You see, not many understand the importance of shaping a story. And this story must be shaped.” The woman paused as if choosing her words carefully. “Even still, few how the true art of being shrewdly proficient enough to manipulate the media. And as I am sure you know. Social media is a shrewd bitch, and for this to be done right I need a few weeks to build up your victim, before I can destroy them.”

Izard laughed out loud at her words.

“So, tell me Moulard, are you a patient enough man for me to do this right?”

“I’m a patient man. I can wait a few weeks,” he smirked. “As long as you destroy my victim.”

“Good, then it is settled I’ll leave now,” the woman said as she turned and made her exit. As the woman disappeared behind the closed door, Voss looked at Izard with a mix of curiosity and unease. “Who was that?”

“An old friend of Eve’s,” Izard replied. “One she’d rather forget.”

The two men shared a knowing glance, and Izard’s eyes glinted with anticipation. I may have to wait a little while longer with Eve. But Hawke, I can handle him now. Tomorrow, the first blow would land, and there would be no going back.

The night was still, but beneath the surface, the game had already begun.

Book I ~ The Deceiver’s Secret By J.A. JACKSON

Book I ~ The Deceiver’s Secret By J.A. JACKSON

Book I Chapter 2

PARTY HEARTY WHO SAYS WE WERE TARDY

The bright lights on the front porch of the old mansion beamed across the grand front door. Loud music echoed as the two friends crossed the threshold.

Carina smiled gingerly at the host as they entered.

Xavier Newhouse’s expressive brown eyes smiled back. He was a local kid that had made good. He was a businessman, a former jock and a self-proclaimed gift to all women.

He reached out and pulled Carina into an embrace like the sister he’d always wanted. “Hey there Miss Cutie, so glad you could make it, oh and your best friend Evie too.”

Eve looked up at the tall man standing in front of her. His jet black curly hair shone against the light. His dark eyes surveyed her in a way that put her on edge.

“Well, well, well, Miss Eve you are on my territory now. Want to pay your toll fees now or later?”

Eve frowned. “Screw you Xavier, and don’t call me Evie.”

“I’ve been trying to screw you but you just won’t let me,” Xavier chuckled.

More people pushed through the front entrance.

Xavier’s tone changed. “Guess what? I’ve got four rooms set up for your dancing pleasure. There are a few folks here from our old high school.”

“Really,” Carina’s gray eyes danced excitedly. “Who?”

“Nicholas La Cour and Quinn Rolandis, you remember them,” Xavier replied.

Eve’s mouth dropped opened. “Really? I had home room class with both of those guys. They were a lot of fun.”

“Nicholas and Quinn were way older than me,” Carina said. “But I was good friends with Nicholas’ sister, Lacey La Cour. Is she here?”

Xavier shook his head. Carina was like a little sister to him. “Sorry sweetness, I haven’t seen Lacey or that big mouth friend of hers Maëlle Mallard,” he smiled softly. “Speaking of big mouth friends, Evie, that red lipstick really looks sexy good on you tonight.”

Eve’s lips curled up into a devilish smile. She flung back her long wavy jet black hair.

“Why thank you Xavier,” she cooed. “Now what about that tall guy Kienan Egan, he was good friends with Nicholas and Quinn, is he here?”

Xavier lifted a brow. “I think I saw him come in,” he hesitated. “Is that what you like Eve, tall geeky guys. What about us solid rock hard jock looking guys? You know jocks are known to be non-stop grinding machines. We can go all night if a woman needs us too.”

Eve feigned innocence and leaned in close and cupped his face. “So Xavier, my red lipstick is really turning you on huh?” She leaned in close and kissed him hard on the lips.

The kiss broke out of control. Xavier groaned and tilted his head devouring Eve’s lips. Eve took a step back and pushed out of his embrace. “My luscious red lips are as delicious as a red velvet cupcake, aren’t they Xavier?”

“Yes indeed,” Xavier said grinning wide.

Eve’s face glowed with mischief as she tore herself away from him and ran her finger down his lips and under his chin, she licked her lips and cooed softly in a smoky sexy voice. “Well then Xavier darling, when is big daddy going to put a ring on it?

“What?” Xavier asked like a quiet marriage scared man. Embarrassment and remorse flooded him. He took a step back.

Eve closed in for the kill and slowly caressed her fingers down his chest. “Wow Xavier, who knew you were husband material.”

“Marriage?” Xavier froze.

“Why yes of course, Xavier darling,” Eve whispered hoarsely. “What did you think I was after, your body?”

Someone muffled a laugh.

Xavier made a face at Eve and then quickly put some distance between them.

“Great to see you Eve,” a woman’s shrill raucous voice sang out. “By the way I like the way you handled Xavier.”

“Kitty Kennard, it’s wonderful to see you again!” Eve exclaimed.

Kitty, a pretty, petite almost fifty-something with a wavy cap of ginger brown hair cut fashionable to frame her face. Kitty was the editor, publisher, and co-proprietor of Talk is Cheap, Events, Announcements and Other Gossiping News. It was a local gossip column and website.

They were famous for knowing the goings on of local people to know. They knew if you were in or out or going up or down in the social scene in the South Bay area. Better known at the Silicon Valley or Geek Nation, as many locals joked.

Kitty giggled. “Same here, so where is baby sister?”

“I’m right behind you Kitty and you know I was hoping we’d see you tonight,” Carina said. “Have you got any hot gossip?”

“God you know I do, are you two all ears?” Kitty asked.

“We are. Start talking, and ladies move in close,” Eve murmured.

Kitty giggled. “Well, Charlene Baptiste is screwing Jacob Whitefield.”

“Everybody knows that,” Carina shrugged.

“Yeah but Jacob’s wife caught them screwing in her bed, and instead of throwing Charlene out on her arse She climbed in bed and joined them. She said seeing the two of them together made her horny again for the first time in years.”

“What?” Eve and Carina said simultaneously.

“Yes and his wife had nerve to tell Charlene that Jacob was so boring in bed. She stopped having sex with him. She was glad he’d started having an affair with her just so that she could watch them. That woman is a total freak.”

“You know Kitty it always amazes me how you know so much dirt on people.”

Kitty smiled and nodded. “Yes it’s a gift I have, folks like to tell me things, and I let them do the talking. Plus, I’m a good observer.”

“Eve!” Suddenly Xavier’s voice sliced the air. “Sorry to interrupt ladies,” he said. “Oh Eve, can I talk with you about something private?”

Eve shook her head. “Not now, I’m in the middle of a conversation here.”

“Later then?” Xavier asked. “And don’t forget to save me a dance.”

“Sure, later,” Eve mumbled.

The three friends watched as Xavier moved away.

Kitty shook her head disapprovingly. “You should have said no Eve.”

Eve and Carina looked at Kitty with disbelief.

“Eve shouldn’t talk with Xavier, huh?” Carina said. “I get it because you think he’s a player?”

Eve scowled. “Wait a minute you two. I’m the one who gets to decide who Eve talks to.”

“Hang on a minute Eve. We should find out what Kitty knows,” Carina said with deep concern. “Okay Kitty what do you know? Spill it.”

Kitty’s eyes grew as wide as saucers. “Just be careful Eve, Xavier can be possessive and old fashioned in his dealings with women. I’ve heard he believes it’s okay to hit a woman to keep her in line.”

“Oh really,” Eve said in disbelief.

“The bastard,” Carina murmured.

Kitty sighed heavily. “Let me give you a word of advice. You two ladies should always remember Prince Charming only exists in fairy tales. And most of all remember what is walking around today among us disguised as men, are really devils…All devils every last one of them.

Oh except for the ones that are just plain dogs.”

“Ah, you know Kitty it was great talking to you. But Carina and I need to talk to someone. Good bye,” Eve said hastily grabbing Carina’s arm and pulling her out of ear shot.

“Eve, we don’t have anyone to meet.”

“Shhhhh Carina, don’t let Kitty know that. That old bird gets loonier every day,” Eve shrugged. “Come on there’s got to be intelligent life at this party somewhere.”

When A Narcissist Says, You Have Trust Issues.” Understanding the Emotional Turmoil…

When A Narcissist Says, You Have Trust Issues.” Understanding the Emotional Turmoil…

Dealing with a narcissist can be an emotionally exhausting experience. Their behavior often leaves us feeling drained, insecure, and questioning our own sanity. In this article, we will explore the complex dynamics of interacting with narcissists, shedding light on the emotional toll it takes and why it’s essential to recognize and address this toxic behavior.

The Narcissist’s Tactic: “You have trust issues.” Narcissists have a knack for deflecting blame and avoiding accountability. When they accuse you of having “trust issues,” it’s not because they genuinely care about your feelings. Instead, it’s a classic example of gaslighting, a manipulation tactic designed to make you doubt your own emotions and experiences. This constant gaslighting wears you down, leaving you dependent on them and isolated like you’re navigating a never-ending emotional maze.

The Ongoing Struggle: Over time, narcissists reveal their true nature by failing to offer support when you need it most. They disregard your feelings and needs, leaving you to grapple with your emotions alone. For those who grew up with narcissistic parents, this behavior might seem all too familiar. They often believe that this is just the way people are, not realizing that healthier relationships exist. Many strive to please others, hoping that it will shield them from further hurt.

The Empathetic Trap: One of the most challenging aspects of dealing with narcissists is their ability to play the victim card. When they harm others, they often present themselves as the wounded party. As empathetic individuals, we naturally try to see the good in them and offer our help. This unwittingly enables their toxic behavior and perpetuates the cycle of abuse.

The Emotional Toll: The emotional toll of dealing with narcissists cannot be overstated. It leaves scars that run deep and can affect every aspect of our lives. Trust is eroded, self-esteem is shattered, and our sense of self-worth takes a beating. The constant manipulation and gaslighting lead to anxiety, depression, and a sense of hopelessness.

Breaking Free: Recognizing the toxic behavior of narcissists is the first step toward breaking free from their grip. It’s essential to establish boundaries and prioritize your emotional well-being. Seek support from friends, family, or a therapist who can help you navigate the emotional challenges of dealing with a narcissist.

Conclusion:

Dealing with a narcissist is a journey fraught with emotional turmoil. Understanding their manipulation tactics, recognizing the impact on your emotional well-being, and seeking support are crucial steps toward healing and breaking free from their toxic influence. Remember, you deserve healthy, nurturing relationships that uplift and support you.

Sofia and The Stingray!

Sofia and The Stingray!

Sofía stood at her favorite spot, gazing out over the vast expanse of the ocean. It was a place filled with memories of her mother’s words, echoing like whispers from her childhood. “Sofía, when you turn 24, your life on this Earth will change forever,” her mother had told her with a twinkle in her eye. “Ivan will come into your life, sweep you off your feet, and take you to his grand mansion in the Monterey mountains. You will be happy, my child, no more poverty.”

A solitary tear trickled down Sofía’s cheek as she recalled those cherished words from years gone by. Standing on the bluff, overlooking the tranquil waters, she waited patiently, as she did each day. It was almost three o’clock, the time she knew he would appear. Her eyes remained fixed on the crystal-clear water below.

Sofía’s breath caught in her throat when she saw it — the magnificent creature with enormous black wings, gliding gracefully through the water. It was as if he was flying in the sky, not swimming in the ocean. Ivan had arrived, and joy blossomed in Sofía’s heart. Every encounter with him was like a dream come true, although, in reality, he swam gracefully beneath the surface. That was his nature.

Her mother, Violet, had shared her wisdom about the dream. In her stories, seeing the majestic stingray flying symbolized freedom. People who had this dream were said to receive unexpected rewards — a harbinger of happiness and serendipity.

“Hello, Ivan,” Sofía called out, her voice carried by the sea breeze. “You are so beautiful, Ivan! I love you.”

As Ivan glided past her, an unfamiliar voice echoed back, shattering the serene moment. “I love you too! And I think you are beautiful as well!”

Sofía’s heart raced, and confusion clouded her thoughts. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “Did that stingray just speak to me?” she wondered aloud.

Laughter filled the air, dispelling her bewilderment. “I hope not, because I was hoping to get your attention myself and perhaps take you out,” a man’s voice responded.

Sofía turned abruptly to confront the voice. “Mister, you scared me! I almost jumped out of my skin!”

The man closed the distance between them, a warm smile lighting up his face. “I’m Ivan. Ivan Carlos Goldstein. I’m here to sweep you off your feet, Sofía. You turned 24 two weeks ago. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. Didn’t your mother tell you I would come?”

Sofía’s voice faltered as she realized the incredible truth unfolding before her eyes. Her mother’s stories had always seemed like fairy tales, but now they were coming to life. She could hardly believe it — a real-life Ivan, just as her mother had promised.

In this story, the symbolism is rich and relatable. The flying stingray symbolizes freedom and the unexpected reward, a universal theme recognized across cultures. Sofía’s

emotions — her nostalgia, joy, and eventual disbelief — are deeply relatable to anyone who has experienced a long-anticipated moment.

Cultural sensitivity is shown through the respect Sofía and Ivan have for her mother’s beliefs and the way they meet at a place with cultural significance to Sofía. As the story unfolds, it follows an archetypal hero’s journey, where Ivan arrives to sweep Sofía off her feet, fulfilling her destiny and her mother’s prophecy.

Do You Really Know What Life Is!

Life, they say, is but an illusion — a tapestry woven from the threads of our experiences and beliefs. At times, it can seem like a maze of self-imposed barriers that hinder our progress. These barriers, known as self-limiting beliefs, are the mirages that hold us back from reaching our full potential. In this journey of self-discovery, we will embark on a quest to identify, confront, and conquer these illusions that prevent us from achieving the success we deserve.

Unmasking the Illusion

Life is indeed an illusion, but it’s an illusion largely constructed by our own minds. Self-limiting beliefs are the foundation of this illusion. They lurk in the shadows, disguising themselves as truths. Did you know that everyone, from the greatest achievers to the everyday person, grapples with self-limiting beliefs? It’s a universal human experience, and it’s time to expose the illusion for what it is.

The Power of Self-Talk

One of the first steps in dismantling the illusion is to identify and document your self-limiting beliefs. These beliefs often manifest as negative thoughts, lurking in the depths of your mind. They’re the conversations you have with yourself, your “self-talk.” Remember those moments when you doubted yourself, saying things like, “I’m not good enough” or “I can’t do this”? These are the clues, the breadcrumbs leading to your limiting beliefs. Write them down.

The Roots of Limiting Beliefs

To conquer these illusions, we must understand their origins. Where did these negative beliefs come from? Did they originate in your past, perhaps from your family or childhood? The key is to unearth the source, for it is in understanding the roots that we can truly uproot these limiting beliefs.

Validating the Belief

Now, let’s scrutinize these beliefs. Are they based on facts, or are they just figments of our imagination? Often, these beliefs are never challenged, allowed to fester in our minds unopposed. But we have the power to change that. When you identify a limiting belief, ask yourself: What are the facts supporting it? Challenge it, banish it, and flip the script. Replace it with a new, positive belief that declares success as yours.

The Power of Transformation

You hold the key to your own transformation. As you confront and conquer your self-limiting beliefs, you’ll find yourself walking a different path — an illuminated one, free from the shadows of doubt and illusion. With each negative belief banished, you pave the way for a brighter, more empowered you.

Embracing Empowerment

The next time a self-limiting belief tries to sneak its way into your mind, remember this journey. You are no longer a prisoner of illusion. You have the power to change your beliefs and shape your destiny. Empower yourself with the knowledge that success is not just a possibility — it’s your birthright.

Conclusion: Shattering the Illusion

In the grand tapestry of life, self-limiting beliefs are but frail threads, easily broken when we choose to confront them. Life may be an illusion, but it is one we can shape, mold, and transform. Armed with the tools to identify, challenge, and replace limiting beliefs, you can rewrite your story, turning illusion into reality.

So, dear reader, as you step out into the world, remember that the illusion of self-limiting beliefs holds no power over you anymore. Your success is waiting, and it’s time to claim it. Life is an illusion, but the power to shatter it lies within you. Embrace it, and watch your reality transform.

As we conclude our journey through the labyrinth of self-limiting beliefs, may you walk away with a newfound sense of empowerment and a smile, knowing that the illusions of the past no longer define your future.

Life, They Say, Is But an Illusion!

Life, They Say, Is But an Illusion

"Life, they say, is but an illusion."

Sarah had heard those words a hundred times, but today, they echoed differently in her mind. She sat on her porch, the sunset painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, watching the world move around her. Everything seemed normal, yet oddly distant, as if she were watching a scene play out in someone else's life.

Earlier that morning, she’d received a letter. It was from an old friend, someone she hadn’t spoken to in years. The letter was short and cryptic: “What you believe may not be real. Look deeper.” At first, Sarah laughed it off. But as the day wore on, her thoughts began to spiral.

Was her life as real as she thought? The routines, the people, the choices—were they hers, or just part of a grand illusion?

She remembered the strange feeling she got when she first met her husband, the odd sensation that she'd known him long before they’d actually crossed paths. Or the way time seemed to blur together some days, as if the moments weren’t truly hers to live. Sarah had always shrugged off these thoughts as daydreams. But now, sitting there, they felt more like pieces of a puzzle waiting to be solved.

Could everything she knew be an illusion? What if her life was just a projection of something larger, something she couldn’t yet grasp?

The sun dipped below the horizon, and Sarah stood up, a chill running down her spine. Maybe it was time to start asking questions. To look deeper, just as the letter said. Because if life really was an illusion, she needed to figure out who—or what—was pulling the strings.