Serendipitygate

My other Tumblr Blogs

Sharp’s Awakening Heart

Raymond Jackson, call sign Sharp, had never flinched from violence. Special Forces had carved him into a blade—forged for silent kills and cold decisions. Threats were targets. Emotion was noise. He had lived that truth for years.

Tonight, it faltered.

The objective was simple: intercept insurgent leaders before they slipped into the mountains. Fast. Clean. Final. But as Sharp’s team ghosted through the shattered compound, a scream tore across the night—high, panicked, female.

His jaw locked. Civilians weren’t supposed to be here.

Through his scope, he found her—two insurgents dragging her across the dirt, limbs thrashing until a fist cracked against her temple. She went limp, the sight punching through him with a fury he didn’t recognize.

No waiting. No orders.

His signals cut the air; his men moved like shadows. Seconds later, bodies cooled in the dust and silence returned.

Sharp was already kneeling beside her. Dirt streaked her skin, yet even through grime and fear, he saw beauty. Long, wavy chestnut hair tangled across her cheek. A tank top hung ripped at the shoulder, losing the battle to cover generous curves. Mud-caked jeans clung to a slender frame no taller than five and a half feet. Bare feet. Pink polish chipped, toes scraped raw. Fingernails broken, ragged—proof she’d fought like hell. Wildcat, he thought. Not a shrinking violet.

Her breathing trembled in shallow pulls. Blood traced the curve of her lip. A bruise spread along her jaw. Carefully, more gently than he’d ever handled anything in combat, he lifted her, her weight fragile against his armor.

As he carried her toward extraction, the thrum of rotor blades rolled across the dark. Something shifted under his ribs—feelings protective, primal, possessive in a way that had nothing to do with duty. What in God’s name was a girl like her doing here? A little sprite like that had no business in this hell.

At the bird, the medic knelt beside her, hands quick and sure. Sharp hovered too close; his men noticed. They didn’t speak.

“She’s dehydrated, a couple nasty bruises,” the medic murmured. “No signs of sexual assault. She’s stable for transport. We can drop her at base, let them take over.”

“She goes with us.” Sharp’s voice cut like steel. “That’s final.”

The medic blinked but didn’t argue.

One of the men exhaled softly. “She kinda looks like that singer, Lindsey Case.”

Sharp didn’t answer. He didn’t even know her name.

But he knew this: something in him had shifted—clean and sudden, like a blade catching light.

And Raymond “Sharp” Jackson—the soldier, the weapon, the master of the knife—wasn’t walking off this mission the same man who walked in.

I needed to step away from the paranormal for a while.

As much as I love writing prophecies and impossible worlds, it takes a different kind of energy — the kind that bends reality and asks me to hold entire universes together. Right now, I don’t have that in me.

So instead of forcing myself into Book Two while I wait for my first human proofread, I’m giving myself permission to breathe. I’m going back to something simpler, warmer, and more human.

I’m picking up Sharp’s Heart, the love story I started a few months ago.

No magic. No spirits. No destiny weighing down every scene.

Just two people learning how to love each other in the middle of their own scars.

It feels good to slip into something grounded again — something real.

A small break from the unbelievable so I can find my balance, refill the well, and remember why I love writing in the first place.

✨ Writing Through the Night ✨

Another night of ink, rhythm, and moonlight.

Finished the second draft — at last.

Now it’s down to polishing the fine points, checking continuity, and making sure every heartbeat in these pages flows just right.

Soon… it’ll be done. 🕯️✍️🌙

And then I get a two week break!

#amwriting #writerslife #secondDraft #novelwriting #creativeprocess #nightwriter #wolfmoonsaga #artofwriting #booklover #writingcommunity #progressnotperfection

“The House That Time Forgot” 🕰️🌿

I was walking along the shore of St. George’s Island when I saw it — an old house standing against the wind. Its green shutters were still hanging on, stubborn as memory, though the paint had begun to peel away in long, tired curls.

There was something haunted about it — not in a ghost story way, but in the way forgotten beauty lingers. I couldn’t help but wonder who once stood at that window, who laughed inside those walls, who looked out toward the same ocean I stood before.

Now she just stands quietly, weathered and waiting, as the years take what’s left of her color.

People are like that, too, aren’t they?

Sometimes life chips away at us, and we forget that we were once bright, loved, and full of laughter. But even in the peeling paint — there’s still a story, still a soul worth seeing.

-Tee M.

When I write I try to include a soul worth reading. -Tee M.

Still busy - working through the second draft.

The photo was taken with a Nikon D90 - still my favorite camera 📷

✨ Wishing You a Wonderful Day ✨

May your day sparkle with color, kindness, and quiet moments of joy—like a bouquet of light blooming just for you.

Tee M.

Happy autumn everyone

“In the hush of a peace dove’s flight, we find the courage to forgive and begin again.” — Tee M.