This is a story about a girl, named Mia. She grew up in suburb of medium sized city. There were cold winters, and hot sticky summers. Mia’s favorite seasons were spring and fall. She enjoyed the mild seasons, but also loved the vibrant colors each possessed. 

Mia loved music. She didn’t just love it, she sat on the floor in front of her Casio stereo for hours at a time, recording songs off the radio. Then she would cue them up and make sure she only got the music as she recorded them on a second tape, without the DJ’s voices on them, just the music. Then she would listen to those songs absorbing the words as she sat in her room and wrote her poetry. 

She wrote her first Poem when she was thirteen. It was called Sands of Time. When she was sixteen and again when she was eighteen she won two state competitions for her poetry. Her Poetry was stories of roses, starry nights, love, loss, and the scars left behind. She found recourse in those private moments filling notebooks of her writings. As she grew so did her inspirations, and when ever it hit her the rest of the world melted away until her verses were written, alive in the world. Even today as Mia writes mostly YA fiction, poetry still holds a special place in her heart. Her love for all things words propels her forward in her pursuit of the next great story. 

You can find Mia at her Website, Facebook, Twitter, Amazon and B&N.

It’s Just a Test

In sixth grade, there was a boy who told me every day that I was fat and ugly. I wasn't fat, but that grade year I gained 20 pounds because I believed him.

There were other moments through junior high, where both boys and girls said embarrassing things to me in front of the class. But in high school, there was this girl, who took as many opportunities as she could to knock me down emotionally. Like the time she told me I looked like a fat Minnie Driver in Circle of Friends. My response was, “Maybe I’ll get someone as cute as Chris O’Donnell, too.” She didn't know that the comment did to me what she intended; it humiliated me. Then there was the time she read out loud to me a note of what some upper class-men had written about me. She told me she felt I had a right to know what people were saying.  She didn't pull me aside to talk about this note; she announced it in front of all of her friends and some of mine, embarrassing me on the spot.

Then there was the chubby boy that enjoyed intimidating me countless times. He made comments about my appearance and how snobby I was. I wasn't a snob; I was shy.

Many experiences like these compiled with personal family issues meant that I hid my deep depression. Superficially I smiled, laughed and joked a lot, but inside I believed them and questioned my self-worth. I didn't talk to my friends about it. My school community was small, and everyone was “friends” with everyone. I didn't think that they would understand. I was tormented every day, by people who I thought were my friends and people who I knew weren't.