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This or That: New Website

As most of you know, I’m currently in the process of merging my baby company (Indigo Productions — not officially registered) and my main business, EvaMc.ca/Letters by Eva, to provide content development, publishing and editing services, along with more digital graphic/photography work. I’m still searching for the “right fit” in regards to the name. I’m working with the main ideas/keywords of Indigo Productions, Studio Indigo, Letters by Eva, Indigo etc, Indigo PR, and so forth. I was really keen on Studio Indigo, but unfortunately it has already been registered.

I’m open to new suggestions, but it seems as though the main runner up is “Indigo etc,” supplied to me by the great @davidjwidmann. I’ve come up with two mock banners for the layout, and would love it if you joined me in a round of This or That! Please comment below with your choice of Option 1 or Option 2.

Option 1: (blank banner — seems to focus more on the writing aspect, need to incorporate photography)

Option 2: (more subtle/basic in terms of colors)

My Apologies

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am here today to offer you my sincerest apologies on a subject matter that you may find rather invasive. That’s right, my peers. I am owning up to it and offering you insight on a topic that is rather avoided.

I am sorry. I am sorry that I do not believe that love is for the weak.

Midnight Thoughts: I Dreamt Upon a Dream of Blue

Sorrow is like a toxin – when you seal it inside of you, it develops enough strength and power to become potent. There are just some days you must sit and weep for all you’ve lost. Then, you wipe your tears and walk away from the grievances. Leave them in piles under your bed, in boxes sealed in your closet, but never forget. Mark those tears in your notebooks, so they are never lost. Spin grief into relief and move through the circle of emotions, the circle of healing – the circle and correlation of life and love.

Closet of Creativity

On a hunt for inspiration, I decided to start right where my source generates from: my surroundings. I wanted to give you guys a sneak preview of the things I’ve either encountered or own that help aid my creative senses. These are some of my favorite belongings or things I’ve come across that bring me happiness, motivation and serve as an outlet for my thoughts and emotions. I can only hope that the meaning behind each and every one of them will help do the same for you. Welcome to my Closet of Creativity!

Art Attack

Your opinions are greatly valued:

As my novel Letters to Blue is being finalized, I’ve been working on some mock-ups for my book cover ideas. Quite obviously, I’m no expert at design – this is my first attempt at even playing around in Photoshop.

Version 1 was mainly done in Paint, and Version 2 is closer to my goal. I’m looking for any feedback or opinions; likes, or dislikes in regards to these samples before I can go ahead with hiring a professional. As fellow writers, authors and readers – your two cents are always highly appreciated and taken into consideration!

Red Dawn Redemption

In my search for redemption, I found many skeletons in the closet of my mind; some, still wearing their outfits of deception. In order to delve into the search wholly, I had to escape my room filled with memories and broken promises – both his, and even the ones I made to myself so many moons ago. I open the door, struggling as the demons push and block my way out, trying to force me to drown in the nostalgia that is rapidly filling the space between floor and ceiling.

After proving my physical strength and making my way out of there, I soon found I had another test to pass – and this one required a lot more energy: mentally, and emotionally. What’s worse, my battery was already beeping, warning me that I was running on low… but I had left my charger behind during my struggle. It was up to me to make use of my internal power and strength – a muscle in my body that had not been flexed for a very long time.

The first obstacle in this strategic course placed me back in the room where he first told me he loved me. The smells were the same, drifting past my curious and tempted nose. You truly can’t control what you inhale, nor can you control relating scents to past times and locations. Every time I catch the breeze of a fresh, spring air, or the faint aroma of tomatoes like the ones that were growing right outside of his window, I am relocated to this memory.

The lighting was just as I remembered. I couldn’t stand to remember but I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes, either. The fresh, anxious May sun came flooding into my heart and soul. My skin drank it in as my eyes drank him in. I am chilled to the core by witnessing and returning to what I have long lost, yet my hatred towards his disappearing act keeps me warm and determined.

With a sudden jolt, the floor falls out from underneath me and the memory begins to cloud over. I desperately reach out for where he is standing, near our bed comprised of secrets, comfort and laughter… but he only shakes his head and turns his back to me, while I am thrown out of the scene and back into my dungeon.

Today’s journey may be viewed as unsuccessful, but this is the furthest I have reached in the locked closet of my mind. I know that each time I am able to reflect and travel backwards, I am doing what’s best for me to move forward. One day I will meet him in this memory again, and I will pass the test: I will forgive him, but I will not reach out for him. I will be the one to turn my back.

The universe can not be saved in one day – just as I can not save myself upon a mere first try; and so I return to the start, not bothering to pass “Go” along the way. The nostalgia is still hanging in the air, but I have earned the right to set it aside for the time being. It appears as though I never left the room, but somehow, my insides have changed. I am filled with something heavy, something that I didn’t have this morning when I woke up. The quality is unidentifiable, but it is not entirely unpleasant.

Looking down at the picture I’m holding, I see that the sharp edges of the photograph have cut my finger, just as the image of us smiling cuts my heart. Back in the present, I sink myself into the couch and into the memories as my pen bleeds my emotions onto the page. I watch as the words dance and twist and contort until they’re playing me old slides of my old life.

“Electricity buzzing; humming, as if an army of dragonflies were approaching. So delicate and intimate that we opened our ears and could hear the soft fluttering of butterflies wings. He was the ultimate creator of this symphony, each day conducting an orchestra out of the life that surrounded us.

In later years, at the oddest of occasions did I notice my heart strings humming along to an old, familiar tune.”

Wandering and wondering; lust, and lost. My search for redemption has led me to great obstacles – some I have faced and defeated, like overpowering the elephant in the room, and some are yet to come, like the slaying of the dragon. Oh, the battles it entails…

But oh, the treasures I have found.

Flight 86 to Nowhere

His emerald eyes have lost their shine – the luster was gone the minute that I made him mine. What once appeared to be so divine was instantly damaged by his inability to define… simple companionship. He drew the line.

He took Flight 86 to nowhere in the middle of the night. I only wish I knew what happened to cause this fright. If he had talked to me, then maybe, I just might have been able to calm his never ending sight… for solitude.

Now my world is in shambles; my life is array. I hope and hope and continue to pray… but I don’t think I’m capable of being able to say the words that would coax him into wanting to stay.

He unraveled our tightly tied knots, with his strong, comforting hands; deciding to completely erase all of our plans. He took his bag and I took the demands… of trying to cope with abandonment, and a lifelong attempt to understand.

Now I’m a poet without rhythm and I can’t even rhyme. When he was around, I used to do it all the time. I’ve begun to see that words shouldn’t be so confined…

To being with a matching double – a view he shared when it came the idea of two people sharing their own little bubble. If I had grasped this from the beginning, I could have saved my heart a lot of trouble.

The last image of him I have in my mind is the one of him tracing lines on my back, helping me unwind; reciting “Just close your eyes, and you will always find visions of us intertwined. This way, I will never leave you behind.”

As much as it hurts, these words still ring true. I can’t even close my eyes without seeing images of you. As I know that you’re reading this, I’m officially bidding you adieu. Please know that I’ll always love you…

But you’ve moved on, and now it’s my turn, too.

Am I in Heaven?

It doesn’t matter what colour or religion you are, what race, what country you come from. It doesn’t matter what your beliefs are… because, well, we’ll strip you of them anyway.

The Bible, to those who worship its every encrypted line and even to those who reject it, simply serves as a depiction of our society today. The Bible, written only God knows how long ago, was merely foreshadowing mans hidden intentions.

We beat the man in the back alley with the pale blue eyes and vibrant style of clothing.
We beat the woman on the streets with only a dollar in her pocket and only a dream in her heart of where she’d rather be. We whip and stone the child who can’t, or won’t, speak.

Then we complain about how there is no good in the world today.
How can there be, when we send all of our Jesus’ back up to Heaven?

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