Help! Like That Beetles Song

Hi--All,

I'm writing, writing and scratching my head trying to figure out who the hell this women is. What kind of person does she sound like? What are any thoughts--seriously, anything.

Opening Prayer
… And I say unto you, Lord, you are my light and my salvation of whom shall I fear? You are the strength of my life of whom shall I be afraid?

The deacon will always be apart of me now that he’s gone. Storm clouds may rise and strong winds may blow, but he’ll still be here beside me silently praying for my soul. The deacon was my lover and also a friend. He was the one man I thought could change my world—make me a better Jamie and saint of God. But who was I fooling; being a saint of God was the last thing on my mind when he would stretch me across his alters of praise to devour my sins. Sometimes I can be a real jerk when it comes to faith and sex and believing in God and doing the right things like not sleeping around with husbands. But I’m trying to be honest here because that’s what the saints want to hear. The first time I heard him preach I knew I had to have him. Lila McCree and his three children were the last things on my mind. I didn’t care about a wife waiting by the phone for him to call or repetitiously peeking behind lavender Priscillas hoping he’d come home. On those nights, mornings, days I wanted him wrapped comfortably inside of me so that I could be his shelter in the time of storm. Some of the saints upon hearing my story might want to pick up a stone and Mary Magdalene me, but they would be throwing out of ignorance.

Some Things to Live By

Two wise quotes from a wise women that I admire.

"It's not how much you make--it's how much you can save."

"It's not necessary to live paycheck to paycheck."

--Jackie S.

Speak to Me Jaime Thome

Somehow I've become addicted to iced coffee and talking about people. This is not good. Sometimes I feel like a real jerk, sometimes I just want to say "and who are you again?"

Time goes by so quickly. I'm scattered and trying to find my writing identity. My life is different now. I'm not the same person I used to be. I like who I am. Somedays. I searching for something that doesn't want to be found--apparently.

I'll give $20 to the first person who can tell me what it all means.

Novel Here I Come

Last week I received an email from a New York Literary Agency that's looking to expand their clientele and wanted to know if I was working on a novel. I think this is the question I need to get me writing again.