It All Started When...

It started with a desire to read another paranormal romance that sucked me into its world. I had just devoured the entire “Twilight” series in the span of one week and was craving more. I searched online and through some bookstores, but nothing appealed to me. Then a light bulb went off.
 
If I couldn’t find a book, why not write one?
 
It could be whatever I wanted. I could blend genres and themes that I had always found fascinating. I wasn’t writing for critical acclaim, so I could bend publishing rules and make this a story that sparked my imagination and combined elements that I could explore in one story instead of ten different types of books. The rusty wheels of creativity started to turn. My story had to have romance, history, philosophy, mythology, religion, occult, travel, and of course a paranormal twist. Better yet, it needed to be a story that transcended time both in theme and relationships.
 
I sat down at my laptop over the last weekend in September 2008 and started to write, not really ever having a plan or hope of finishing a novel, even though that had been a lifelong aspiration. Writing this story was just a cathartic outlet to deal with some personal stresses. My fingers started to type and the words flowed seamlessly. The characters, locations, and plot seemed to write themselves. After typing without interruption for three hours, I remember thinking, “Wow, that was easy!” Muses and inspiration collided and in seven days I finished writing the first seven chapters. I reread them and thought—wouldn’t it be a great accomplishment if I could actually finish writing a novel? Three months later, the story was complete at over 800 pages. With some editing, this monster turned into books #1 and #2.

Like the pride and joy one feels when holding their newborn in their arms for the first time, words cannot express the countless emotions pulsing through me as I held my dream come true this past February when the first novel, "Eternity," was finally published.
 
“Eternity” might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but it’s mine and from the great feedback I’ve received from its fans to-date, the story transports you into its world of normal life—pains of death, falling in love, making friends, testing convictions, and learning to trust, which clash with the extraordinary—the unseen yet very much alive, magic, fantasy, nature’s power, and the world of gods, goddesses, vampires, werewolves, and an ancient favorite, witches.
 
It’s hard to believe that my adventure with “Eternity” began four years ago, but as I am currently working on the fourth novel, the story continues to evolve with new twists and turns that are sure to keep you on the edge of your seat.
 
Thank you to everyone who supported “Eternity” along the way—my Muses, Jeff, Joey, Maria, Amy, Sue, Kathleen, Deb, and Wendy.
 
Many thanks to all of my readers for joining me on this adventure—as a writer, your feedback and encouragement is appreciated more than you could ever know.
 
To those who are getting ready to enter the world of “Eternity”—welcome to Angel’s world!
 
Purchase “Eternity” on Amazon:

• Paperback
• Kindle

A Dream (or Two) Come True

Well, they’re in the process of coming true. Three years ago this week, I started writing a novel. Considering I lack in the patience department, I never seriously thought I would finish writing the story. At the time I needed a cathartic outlet and I had always dreamt of writing a full-length novel. Seeing my name in print on a book cover was literally a childhood dream of mine.

Wanting to read a story that blended my favorite themes of romance, history, mythology, travel, and the supernatural, I figured I’d give it a shot and write one myself. Three months later, my baby was complete. Of course, things are never easy and editing it took two years and nine months. Today, the story is in the publisher’s hands and will hopefully be in readers’ hands in the next couple of months!

Dream number two goes hand-in-hand with the story, only it is a much more personal accomplishment. In October 2008, I was struggling with personal issues, not the least of which was my weight. I was not blessed with miracle genes like other moms and after my second pregnancy, the seven pounds I lost post-birth, I regained. I had no energy. I couldn’t keep up with my kids. I couldn’t breathe. My spark was gone. After I began writing, I felt some life come back to me. The old, go-getter “Andrea” started to work her way into my conscience. I figured if writing was making me feel better, getting back into shape would help too. Not that I expected to be able to remold myself into the pre-pregnancy form I once had, but I missed the ballerina / cheerleader body of my youth. I set three weight milestones for myself and set out to lose weight my way.

Diets and impossible exercise routines never worked for me. I would inevitably stick with it for a month or so but gradually stopped denying myself the foods I craved and working out. This time was different. I was determined that I wasn’t going to diet. I was going to eat right and that meant making better choices every day and allowing myself a glass of wine, pizza, cheesesteaks, and desserts on the weekends. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t go overboard, but knowing that I was able to enjoy the not-so-good-for-you foods motivated me to work out more. It was a matter of creating balance.

Two years, eleven months, and three weeks after I started to reclaim my health, I’m proud to say that I reached my third tier weight goal! Twelve dress sizes smaller and defined muscles from head-to-toe—yeah, I can confidently say that I’m happy, healthy, and proud. It’s such a sense of triumph, because there was more than one occasion on which I wanted to throw in the towel. However, along the way, I learned something about myself. Weight is just a number. I needed to be healthy. Today, I can outrun my kids and keep up with them throughout the day. I’m no longer parenting from the couch, feeling depressed about the extra weight dragging me down. I’m racing with them, playing catch with them, and still have enough energy to feel like I can take on the world after they’ve gone to bed.

The most important lesson I learned over the past three years was that all I had to do to make my dreams come true was to believe in myself. I couldn’t depend on or expect someone else to motivate me or pick up my broken pieces of shattered dreams. The opportunities were always right in front of me; I just needed to want it enough to make them happen.

What do you want to achieve? It’s never too late to go for it and even if obstacles get in your way, step around them. You can make your dreams come true!

Images:
1) A teaser look at the logo for my novel, "Eternity." Logo designed by Debra Early.
2) The "me" of today

The Day the World Stopped

My heart stopped beating. The world around me moved in slow motion as my mind tried to catch up with what I just heard. A co-worker had just rushed into my office to tell us that one of the Twin Towers in New York was hit by a plane.

‘It couldn’t be,’ I doubted. It had to be a practical joke or a way for the media to get more coverage. They had to be overreacting. The office began to chatter. Others were asking if we heard any other news. With our office based in Philadelphia, many of us had friends and family in NYC.

Friends. My heart still hadn’t begun beating. My dear friend was working in downtown Manhattan. Her boyfriend was working in one of the buildings that was part of the Tower complex.* I tried calling her but the phone lines were all busy and I couldn’t get through to her. Panic started to set in.

I managed to walk down to our cafeteria where a TV was set up to show news coverage as the event was unfolding. Equally mesmerized and disgusted by the image of the burning first tower, my jaw dropped as I watched the second plane hit the other tower. The only other tragedy I’d seen on live TV was the Challenger space shuttle’s explosion as a child. Like that accident, the image of the plane careening into one of the New York skyline’s most recognizable buildings was now permanently etched into my mind.

Everyone has a story from 9/11—where we were, what we were doing, who was with us at the time. One way or another, all Americans and many around the world were personally touched by the tragedy.

In the course of American history, on 9/11 our country lost a little more of its trusting innocence and idea that we were invincible. Yet, the best thing that came of this tragedy was that for a short while, we, as Americans, set aside our differences. We were one nation, one family, united to protect our ideals and our freedoms. For a brief moment, our nation remembered what it meant to be a citizen of the United States. Democrat, Republican, Independent—these were just political labels that didn’t matter anymore.

Our country was founded on protecting basic human rights and freedoms. September 11 served as a painful reminder that we often live in a bubble in the Western hemisphere and that others most definitely do not share our philosophies or rights in their part of the world.

And from unexpected tragedy, hope was born. I was pregnant during the summer of 2001. I loved my unborn child with my entire heart already and knew that I would go to the ends of the earth to keep my baby safe and happy. September 11, 2001 made me realize just how precious life is and that every second we have with our loved ones should be cherished. Life is too short.

Today we celebrate those who made the ultimate sacrifice in the midst of one of the most horrific, hate-filled attacks on our country. Inspired by their bravery, we honor them and their families and hopefully remember that ten years later we are still “one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”**

* With all transportation shutdown on 9/11, my friend walked home from Manhattan to Queens that day. Her boyfriend made it home later that night. The sights, sounds, and smells are forever part of their memories from that day. They are now happily married.

** US Pledge of Allegiance – “I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and to the republic for which it stands, one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.”

America – Where are the streets lined with gold?

On the way home yesterday, I passed a man on a street corner. He was wearing nice jeans, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap. In his early 50’s, his clean shaven face was kind yet careworn. He certainly did not fit the stereotypical homeless unfortunates who work part-time begging on select street corners around our town of 53,000. The sign he was holding caught my attention and broke my heart. “Laid Off. Need to Feed Family & Pay Rent. Anything helps.”

Having recently found myself in the same boat, seeing this family man resort to begging made me feel like I’d run into a brick wall of reality.

America—the land of the free where prosperity overflowed abundantly—was the promise many immigrants had their hearts and hopes set on when they moved to the United States throughout our country’s 235 year history. America has always been a land of opportunity and an escape from the religious, financial, and political horrors around the world.

But where do we as Americans escape to when our country is imploding before our eyes? Democracy is an ideal form of government if it works the way it’s supposed to. However, our two primary political parties are too busy treating Washington like a pre-school playground, playing tug-of-war with the shiny “new” toy (our votes) instead of getting work done to help not only their constituents but the country as a whole.

Currently, 13.9 million Americans are without work. That’s 9.1 % of the total workforce. Think about that. Nearly 10% of American workers are unemployed. With all of the talk about financial deficits and raising the country’s ridiculous debt ceiling, 9.1% of Americans are also relying on jobless benefits to make ends meet while they search for jobs. This only adds to the country’s financial burden, which will likely lead to increases in taxes and decreases in publicly funded programs—two things which the unemployed can’t afford. It’s a vicious cycle.

I’m not a lobbyist or an active political mover-and-shaker, but right now, a particular cause has sucked me into it. Stalking websites and personal connections in the hunt for a job, the realities of unemployment are terrifying. On the surface, job postings make it seem like opportunities in my field are prevalent, but there are so many factors impacting this that it’s impossible not to feel disheartened and hopeless.

Many companies post jobs online and in newspapers to fulfill HR and government requirements. Often, these companies hire from within, posting jobs internally before releasing the information to the public. So, unless you already work for said company or know someone who can get your foot in the door, you’re pretty much out of luck.

The most illogical and unconscionable revelation I have come across is that some companies apparently don’t want to hire the unemployed. Perhaps they feel that we are unemployed because we are lazy, underperforming, unfriendly employees who couldn’t make the cut with our previous employers. The reality is that the recession over the past three years has caused countless companies to make drastic cuts and streamline their needs and expenses to boost their bottom line. While some of the unemployed undoubtedly fall into the category of sub-par performers, the result of the tough economic outlook impacting businesses is that thousands upon thousands of decent, hardworking Americans, who enjoyed and excelled at their jobs, are jobless through no fault of their own. We are/were top performers, but our companies had to make tough choices in wanting to sink or swim. We do NOT want to sit on our couches, watch TV and collect unemployment checks. We want to work. We want to do exceptional work. We want to continue our career paths. We want to add value to our future employers’ strategic growth plans. We just need to be given a chance to prove ourselves.

I keep trying to focus on the positives. My situation could be worse—a lot worse—but I want out of the unemployed circus. As someone who prides herself on high-quality results and thrives on hard, honest work, I don’t want to be a part of the growing unemployed masses. So, the search for new opportunities goes on…

Sources:
Bureau of Labor Statistics
TIME U.S.

The Huffington Post

CNN Money

Image:

Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco, CA - c. Andrea Kohalmi

Daddy's Little Girl

Playtime. Tickling us until we couldn’t breathe. Pushing us on the swings. Pretending to be a train so we could ride on his back around the house. Wrestling with us and letting us win. Racing us across the backyard. Teaching us badminton, tennis, and golf.

My daddy. After he came home from a long day (smelling like chocolate—yum!—one of the benefits of being an engineer for Godiva and R.M. Palmer), he would still make time for us. Every child needs a parent who will be silly and forget the world of grown-ups even if only for a few minutes each day. Our moments with dad held us over as we got older and his job got more intense, requiring long hours and weekends when we no longer had time with him at all.

As the years go by, I cherish my childhood memories, especially as I think of what’s important to my own children. My dad worked hard and taught us to do the same. Having struggled through his own childhood and working three jobs to put himself through college while learning English at the same time, he showed us that every challenge is an opportunity to grow and achieve our dreams.

Despite the lack of time he had for us as we got older and the endless arguments and stress we caused him when we were teens, we knew that he loved us because he laid the foundation for a solid relationship with each of us when we were little.

It doesn’t matter how old I get, I know I’ll always be daddy’s little girl. He still wants what’s best for me and he’s not afraid to give me his honest opinion every chance he gets. And for that, I’m extremely grateful. Being a parent isn’t about being a buddy; it’s about making difficult choices and guiding your children especially when you see their decisions are leading them down a path that might not be best for them.

To my daddy: Boldog Apák Napját kivánok, Apu! Thank you for being the best. (Szeretlek most és mindig!!!!)

To all dads, grandpas, uncles, and men who play a positive role in the lives of children—Happy Father’s Day! Always remember, if you touch the life of a child even if just for a moment, you have made a significant impact.

CCHS: As One Door Closes…

Yesterday, Reading Central Catholic High School (CCHS) closed its doors forever. I think it’s fitting that this will also be my last post about CCHS. It’s time to say goodbye. The past few months have been a whirlwind of emotions since the CCHS community found out that the school would be merged with Holy Name to create the new Berks Catholic with the start of the 2011– 2012 school year. Emotions and drama ran high on both sides of the Schuylkill River as the arch rivals tried to make sense of what was about to happen.

I’m grateful that the current CCHS administration organized the Mansion Memories event in May for alumni and that I was able to attend. As soon as I stepped through the wrought iron and glass front doors of the Bon Air mansion (our school was once the Bon Air mansion and home of William Luden), memories of rushing from class-to-class, friendships forged, high school crushes and heartbreak, cheerleading practice, basketball games, play rehearsals, falling in love, and, most importantly, learning, came back in an instant.
While memories can offer heartwarming solace when it’s time to bid farewell to something or someone, it’s important to remember that they also last forever. The good, the bad, and the ugly are all part of our histories and high school sure offered its fill of every high and low that’s an essential part of every teen’s life.

As I left the event on May 14th, I found myself hopping down the school’s back stairwell just like I used to 15 years ago. Right when I reached the doorway, I caught myself and realized that this was the last time I would ever feel the school’s exuberant energy, touch the banister, and set foot in the place I called my home away from home for four years. From my spot on the first floor, I glanced back into the school, said goodbye, and wiped the tear that managed to escape my sad eyes. I left a little bit of my heart there, but I’ll carry the countless memories with me forever.

Walking down the pitch black, tree-lined Eckert Avenue late that night toward my car, my thoughts drifted back to wandering the halls of CCHS and meeting with old friends and classmates. In that moment I remembered instantly what it felt like to be a part of such a close-knit community. It’s not the school that creates such a sense of belonging. CCHSers were, are, and always will be a family.

"We love thee, Alma Mater,
Dear old Central High,
Within your walls may it be said that hidden treasures lie.
So we must keep on seeking them,
Though strength we have no more.
But we will keep you on the top, Excelsior!
Oh, Alma Mater, we will fight!
Through thick and thin
For the red and the white,
Because on you we can rely
All hail to Central Catholic High!
When the great wide world surrounds us,
And our ideals would mar,
Then all your teachings through the years
Will be our shining star!
Though each New Year brings memories
Of days that have gone by,
The ones we’ll cherish most are those of Central High!"

CCHS: When We Can’t Say Goodbye

Here’s the Reading Central Catholic High School (CCHS) article that some of you have been waiting for patiently. Before we say goodbye to our school for good, we have to acknowledge its permanent residents.

Most Americans (roughly 66%) don’t believe in ghosts, but spend some quiet time wandering the halls of the CCHS mansion after hours and you might just change your mind. For some of the teachers who spent years at the school and for those of us who stayed late at night for extra curriculars, CCHS held some supernatural surprises—a heavy presence in the air, the feeling of being watched, and the worst, feeling like we weren’t alone.

Here are four of my favorite stories, which were told to us by the teachers themselves back in the day. (If any of you are reading this and want to add/fix details, please leave a comment below.) All of these events took place in the original Luden Bon Air mansion part of the school.

Crash
A teacher on the second floor was busy preparing classwork at her desk after school one day. Most of the students had gone home by this point. The second floor was virtually empty except for the last few faculty members working silently in their classrooms. Suddenly, an enormous crash echoed through this teacher’s room. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the class supply closet, where it sounded like every shelf just fell to the floor knocking down all of the contents. As she threw open the closet door, the most amazing site met her eyes. Everything was still in its proper place. She checked with the other teachers and all was well in their classrooms too. It’s interesting to note that this particular room was once one of the main bedrooms for William Luden’s family.

It’s Just the Wind
“It’s just the wind” my parents used to say to reassure me of every creepy noise echoing in our house. Creaking staircases and the moans of a house settling are things most of us have experienced. 99% of the time, it’s nothing; but that 1% possibility for the unexplainable is what makes us wonder, “What if?”

One day our assistant principal was speaking with a teacher on the second floor hallway, which was lined with the boys’ lockers. The windowless hall led to several classrooms, another hallway into the main school, and the marble staircase to the first floor. As they were speaking, all of a sudden the locks on both sides of the hallway began to swing as if someone had run down the hallways and dragged his hands across each locker. Was it just the wind?

The Joke’s on You
Our senior year Science Fair projects had just been set up earlier in the day along the tables in the physics lab on the third (and top) floor of the mansion. It was late in the evening. The physics teacher was finishing up another long day in the classroom. He was used to being the last to leave the school at night. He finished his daily routine, checked that the classroom was secure one last time, turned off the lights and made his way down three flights of stairs and out to the faculty parking lot. As he opened his car door, he glanced up to the top of the school and saw that the lights were on in the physics lab. He was sure he had shut off the lights. Regardless, he couldn’t leave them on all night, so he made his way into the school again and up to the top floor. When he reached the class, the lights were off. He double checked the room to make sure nothing was causing this strange anomaly. When he was satisfied that everything was ok, he made his way to the parking lot for the second time. As he got in his car, he looked up to his classroom again and there they were—the lights were shining brightly. Convinced someone was playing a joke on him, he rushed back inside and looked around the building but couldn’t find another living soul. Flabbergasted, he went back to the lab. This time the lights were still on, but that’s not what grabbed his attention. All of the windows were wide open and the science fair projects on the tables closest to the windows were knocked over. It appears that the playful spirit of CCHSers carries onto the other side. One thing was for certain, our teacher was not amused.

There’s a Monster in the Attic
Every summer a few teachers and students would care for the school until the new school year began. Performing necessary maintenance, these individuals had access to areas of the school which were typically off limits to the rest of us. One hot summer day, a teacher was working in the attic. As he kept to the task at hand, something caught his eye. It was something that he certainly didn’t expect to find and something that he’ll never forget. In the room stood a young man dressed in a white shirt and white pants. As the teacher tried to make sense of what he was seeing, the young man vanished.

Every ghost story is sparked by rumors—some containing a grain of truth, others altered by time and imagination. According to records, William Luden lost his first wife and a couple of his children. A slightly more sinister take on this fact was that one of William Luden’s sons committed suicide in a stairwell between the second and third floors. This staircase was boarded up years ago.

The mansion was built in 1914. By the end of the last century the electricity was shaky; the heating was bad; the school needed repairs. This alone could cause strange things to happen in the building. But for the people who knew the place, their experiences aren’t so easy to explain away. The Ludens loved their home. Perhaps some of them never left…