My name is Ivy. It’s short enough and shouldn’t have a nickname. Still, those three letters comprise two syllables and compel the lazy to shorten them even more, but in reducing the number of syllables, they inadvertently augment the spelling into four letters: Ives. A word to the wise, I don’t like being called Ives, but I can tolerate it.
My entire name is seven letters in all. It has always been seven letters. Both my maiden and married names have four letters. A seven-letter full name is too concise for dramatic flair. Naturally, I took liberties in coming up with pseudonyms. I generally write fiction under two.
Since one only has activity books under it (even if there are three unfinished novels and a finished but unpublished picture book as well), I won’t discuss it yet. The other one currently has four titles on Kindle right now. I’d love for you to check them out (just 99 cents each, free on Kindle Unlimited). Just click on the image. 🙂
Lichen shamelessly stared at a boy, making him uncomfortable and ultimately driving him out of the shop. Uncaring of what anybody thought, she went after him and chased him down.
Were the answers she had desperately been seeking finally within reach?
Almost a decade ago, Lichen’s seven-year-old brother had disappeared without a trace, a tragedy that seemingly only she had cared about.
Could it really be Cedar after all these years? And was she prepared to find out what secrets had been hiding behind the little boy’s limpid silver eyes?
Lichen was determined not only to learn the truth, but to get her brother back as well.
Descendant of the infamous Yerbabuena gypsies and reluctant crone nominee Esme Finklestein woke to an ominous morning a couple of days before her seventieth birthday.
The sense of foreboding only grew stronger as the day progressed. This was reinforced by the appearance of strangers who possibly posed a threat on a beloved island family.
These new arrivals may unwittingly provide the answer to the almost century-old mystery surrounding Carolina Yerbabuena’s death and the curse she had left behind.
Does Esme have the power to neutralize the threat and circumvent multiple impending complications? Was it even her place to do so? Was she really even supposed to be where she was? Did it matter? All these simply meant there was no way Esme would be turning seventy in peace.
Dominated by the need to keep her coffee shop out of the red, Taci Terman has only made room for a pseudo-relationship in her life. Lucky for her, it’s with the dishy high school art teacher Alejandro Alberti. Unlucky for her, she realizes that her feelings are very real for the non-boyfriend she’s almost dating.
Not only won’t Ale commit to a real date, his air of mystery keeps Taci’s relationship hopes and dreams at bay. Finally, his secrets called him away from their small town. It’s supposedly temporary, but Taci fears he’s never coming back.
Is she ever going to find out what the real score is with Ale? Or should she just, once and for all, ditch their so-called nightly dates in favor of real ones with someone who can actually be with her?
Is there any way to neutralize a curse that has already proven its potency for centuries?
Cris Yerbabuena is fast approaching his 30th birthday, the precursor to the drowning of the eldest Yerbabuena male of each generation. His loved ones figure the seemingly simple solution is to stay away from water.
So why does Cris sign up for a triathlon that requires swimming across almost two miles of dangerous seawater?
It doesn’t help that a mysterious stranger shows up to reinforce the dire warning of his certain death. It’s wasted breath since he’s already aware of his awful fate.
So what business does he have gleaning a promise of protection from her grim prediction? Does she unwittingly bring false hope?
His destiny awaits him, but Cris is no longer certain what that is.
Incidentally, I use my real name for my articles (the ones I don’t ghostwrite), including the ones on Medium. Most of the time, I hyphenate, sort of as a tribute to my Dad, from whom I got my writing chops, and to the little girl who aspired and worked toward becoming a writer.
You might want to check out my most recent articles. Here are the friend links that will allow you to read them in their entirety.
P.S. Ives is actually a Breton saint who is known as an advocate for the poor. He apparently is also the patron saint of lawyers and judges as well as abandoned children. The nickname just grew on me. 😀




Beautiful pic 👌
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