Tag: fiction

Beyond the Ping

opreacarmen75

In a world flooded with pings, previews, and instant replies, we’ve never communicated more—and yet, rarely do we connect. We abbreviate emotions into emojis, reduce stories to 10-second clips, and measure relationships in likes and read receipts. But deep down, something in us longs for more than the quick tap of a thumbs-up. We crave something lasting, something true.

That something is the written word.

Reading—whether a letter, a novel, or even a well-crafted passage—invites us to slow down, to linger. It’s not just about absorbing information but about experiencing a world. Unlike text messages, which are designed for speed, written stories ask us to pause, breathe, and reflect. They open doors to inner landscapes, where thoughts echo, hearts stir, and time bends.

In stories, we meet characters who bleed with honesty. We explore wildflower meadows under silver moons, stand at the edge of ancient forests, or travel through memories too fragile to speak aloud. Through each word, we remember who we are—not the curated version but the soul beneath the surface. That’s the power of the written word: it roots us, uplifts us, and gives voice to what we’re often too busy to say.

In reading, we rise above the noise. We enter a sacred conversation between writer and reader, where empathy grows, imagination soars, and healing begins.

At my Amazon page, I believe in bringing that magic back—one whisper and one story at a time. This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s about revival and choosing depth. So, the next time your spirit feels tired or tangled, don’t reach for your phone. Reach for a page. Let it remind you that you are more than just a status update.

You are a story. And stories are meant to bloom.

Love,

Carmen

The Beauty of Books: Comfort & Joy in Every Page

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When you pick up a book, you’re not just reading words—you’re stepping into someone else’s shoes, exploring distant lands, or solving mysteries alongside unforgettable characters. Whether it’s a thrilling adventure, a heartwarming romance, or a thought-provoking letter between characters (😉 sound familiar?), books have a way of making us feel like we’re part of the story.

A book is the perfect companion for a cozy evening. Reading reduces stress and offers a peaceful escape from the noise of daily life. Every book stretches your mind, painting pictures more vivid than any screen could ever create.

Reading is a gift to yourself. 📖

Stories remind us of our shared humanity, showing us perspectives and experiences that deepen our understanding of the world.
Whether fiction or nonfiction, books expand our knowledge, vocabulary, and even empathy.

So, why not take a moment to rediscover the comfort and joy of reading? 💌 Dive into a new world, revisit an old favorite, or explore the beauty of books told through letters and stories that linger long after the last page.

What’s the last book that brought you comfort and joy? Share your favorites below—I’d love to hear!

Hugs,

Carmen

The Thanksgiving Cocktail: A Tale of Cranberries, Pineapples, and Oranges

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It was a chilly Thanksgiving morning in the small town of Evergreen Falls, where the snow always seemed to arrive just in time for the holiday. At the heart of the town stood the Silver Maple Inn, a cozy family-owned bed-and-breakfast famous for its roaring fireplace, delicious food, and, most notably, its unique Thanksgiving cocktail.

The cocktail was a tradition passed down for generations, known as the “Harvest Glow.” Its ingredients—cranberries, pineapples, and oranges—seemed simple, but the secret was in how they were combined. Sylvia Maple, the current innkeeper and great-granddaughter of the inn’s founder, guarded the recipe like a treasure.

Sylvia would gather the townspeople and guests every Thanksgiving in the inn’s grand hall. As the aroma of roasted turkey filled the air, she would serve the cocktail, a vibrant crimson drink that sparkled like autumn leaves in the sunlight. For those who tasted it, the cocktail wasn’t just a drink—it was a memory, a feeling of warmth and celebration.

This year, however, Sylvia faced a crisis. As she unpacked the morning’s delivery of fresh produce, she discovered the pineapples were missing.

“How can I make the Harvest Glow without pineapples?” she fretted.

The tart sweetness of the tropical fruit was essential to balance the bold cranberries and the zesty oranges.

Sylvia’s nephew, 12-year-old Max, overheard her distress. “Aunt Sylvia, can’t we just use something else? Maybe apples or pears?”

Sylvia shook her head. “No, Max. Pineapples bring the brightness that makes it special. Without them, it’s just…juice.”

Determined not to let the tradition falter, Sylvia decided to find pineapples herself. But on Thanksgiving morning, the local grocers were closed. Word spread quickly through the town, and soon Sylvia had a small army of helpers: Max, his best friend Emma, and even Old Joe, the town’s retired postman. Together, they set off on a snowy adventure to neighboring towns, searching for pineapples.

Meanwhile, back at the inn, the guests began to gather. As the hours passed and Sylvia hadn’t returned, the guests decided to take matters into their own hands. Inspired by the Harvest Glow’s spirit of togetherness, they began experimenting with different fruit combinations.

“What if we use pomegranates?” someone suggested. “Or mix in a splash of maple syrup for warmth?”

Sylvia returned just as the sun set, holding a single pineapple triumphantly over her head. But when she saw the guests laughing, mixing, and tasting their improvised drinks, her heart swelled. She realized the true magic of the Harvest Glow wasn’t just the pineapple—it was the community it brought together.

Love,

Carmen

Fading into fall

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Just as the leaves burn with fiery hues before surrendering to the pull of gravity, so too should we transform. Every day, we should strive to outgrow the person we were yesterday, to forge a better version of ourselves. But too often, we become ensnared in the frantic race through the monotony of our routines, blind to the subtle, magnificent changes unfurling around us. Generations before us spoke of the wisdom that lies in nature’s rhythm, the unspoken truth that understanding the world outside would lead to a greater understanding of the world within. Yet, I had been deaf to those whispers, blind to the signs. I was rushing through life as if it were a race to be won, my eyes fixed ahead but never truly seeing.

I didn’t notice the quiet unfolding of life—the flowers bursting into bloom, the sky turning a deeper, more vivid shade of blue, the ominous swell of gray clouds that announced the rain, or the fall of snow blanketing the earth. I was speeding through my existence, missing the poetry of every moment, until one day… it happened.

Someone I knew—a soul with dreams—slipped away from this life. Another person, like me, had been rushing, racing, and now their journey had ended, unfinished. I felt the weight of it settle over me, heavy and cold. It hit like a wave, crashing through the comfortable ignorance of my hurried life.

That night, I sat on the porch, a cup of tea growing cold in my hands. My gaze drifted upward, caught by the full moon hanging in the sky—so timeless, so patient, as if it had all the time in the universe. The moon didn’t rush; it moved with grace, circling the earth like a watchful guardian. How many lives had it seen come and go? How many hearts had it watched break, how many dreams had faded beneath its light? It had been there for countless generations, casting its glow over triumphs, failures, joy, and sorrow. And it would be there tomorrow, and the next day, without hurry, without worry.

At that moment, something inside me shifted. For the first time, I truly saw—summer was giving way to autumn, the roses had wilted, their once vibrant petals now curled and browned, while the mums flourished in their place. The air was no longer warm, but crisp, sharp even. The light faded sooner each evening, the shadows stretching longer as if the world itself was urging me to slow down, to see.

I realized then, in the stillness, that life isn’t a race to be run, but a series of seasons to be lived, felt, and embraced. And just as one season falls into another, so too can we transform. We can shed the past, like trees shed their leaves, and become something new—better, wiser, more attuned to the world around us. We can choose to be more present, more aware, and more alive than we were the day before.

Because life, like the moon, circles back. But we, unlike it, have only a finite time to find our place in the sky.

Love,

Carmen