I’m a storyteller who simply loves telling tales about what happens in relationships when people aren’t honest with themselves, and how to put those pieces back together once truth is revealed. My stories have been featured in It’s Not Enough To Dream Magazine, both in print and online.

You can learn more about me at/on:

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The Passion for Writing – From Julia’s Pen

Where does your passion for writing come from?
Comes from my desire to help people be better and do better in their lives and relationships. I get these nudges from characters, they tell me their stories. I don’t know where they come from. But something in me can’t rest until I tell their stories with the hope that if it gives them peace, others can have it, too.

If your passion for writing was a color, what color would it be and why?
Clear. I say that because my passion is driven by transparency. My characters bare their soul, and in ways, I bare my own. It’s what drives me.

How do you keep the passion burning in your relationship with storytelling?
I keep my passion for writing burning just like I would any relationship: I spend quality time with it, get to learn its idiosyncrasies, study its behavior, pay attention to its moods. We go places together; shopping, to the movies, out to dinner. We travel the world together. Even when we have disagreements or even experience moments of neglect, it’s our love and need for each other that keeps the fire burning.

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Heated Waters (story in anthology) deals with a couple facing divorce after a wife commits adultery. Two years after the fact, the husband realizes his decisions may have driven his wife to desperate measures. With the papers on the table, this couple has to decide if it’s worth giving up eight years of marriage or making the changes needed to give love one more try.

Excerpt from Heated Waters

The pool mirrors the moon in its stillness.

I dip the tip of my foot in and watch the moon’s reflection break into tiny pieces just as my life has shattered within the last twenty-four hours.

“I’m filing for divorce.”

My eyes sting as a fresh batch of tears form. I do everything I can to prevent them from falling. Clear my throat, swallow, cough. Nothing helps.

His familiar scent of Sicilian citron, apple, and cedarwood tickles my nose and betrays my emotions.

“How did we get here?” I ask as I feel him standing behind me.

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he sits down next to me, rolls up the legs of his pants and sticks his feet in the water right along with mine.

I look over at him, beg for answers with my liquid emotions.

He wipes away a tear just before it falls from my chin. “I think this is something we’ve both been wanting for a while. Why prolong the inevitable?”

I sigh. “It doesn’t have to be this way. I – I don’t want you to leave.”

Trevor looks up at the sky, says, “Full moon. Emotions always get the best of folks on nights like this.”

I lean my head against my husband’s shoulder. The shoulder that has carried the weight of my infidelity for the last two years. His love for me kept him around all this time despite my indiscretion. It wasn’t intentional, wasn’t planned. It was a moment of weakness. I was lonely. Married and lonely. Two words that should never be used in the same sentence. His job kept him away more than a husband should be away from his wife. Seemed like the more I spoke up about it, the more business trips he would make. One trip lasted a week longer than planned. When he came back, I had already broken my vows.

“It wasn’t the way you think.”

His shoulder tenses under my head when I refer to that night. He tenses and shuts down every time I try to talk about it. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Are we really over?” I want to know though I already know his answer. I just need to hear him say it again to make it official.

“The papers are on the dining room table. Movers will be here in the morning.”

My eyes begin to burn again.

Trevor leans his head down and places his lips against my forehead. “You’ll be okay. We both will.”

Maybe a full moon does get the best of people because as hurt as I am, another feeling between my thighs won’t let me break down the way my heart wants me to. Been fighting my hormones since he walked out smelling all good.

I lift my head, turn it in the direction of the lips that were just on my skin. I close my eyes and kiss my soon-to-be ex-husband.

“Let’s not—”

“Shhhhh,” I say as I try to have some control over what happens in my life.

For a second neither of us move or say anything. Contemplation is in the air. Him debating if he should oblige my offer. Me wondering if I should take it off the table.

He wins.

He removes his legs from the pool and walks back in the house.


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