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Whispers, warmth, and the things that could make life glow. |
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Welcome to My Private Whispers and Light Blog Some places we create just for breathing — quiet corners where our thoughts settle, our hearts speak, and the small, bright things in life finally get a voice. This is mine. Here, I’m gathering the pieces that make my world feel warm and whole: • the love of my life and my family • art in every color and every form • photos, quotes, and little scribbles that catch me at the soul • Bible verses that steady me • daydreams, hopes, and the questions that keep me curious • wolves, birds, cats, and the creatures I’ve loved since childhood • podcasts I adore, memes that make me wheeze • and the writing that threads it all together ✍🏻 I’ve carried these whispers for a long time — tucked into journals, hidden in drafts, scattered across platforms. Now they finally have a home. If you’ve wandered in, welcome. Maybe you came for a poem, a thought, a spark… or maybe curiosity just nudged you here. Whatever the reason, I’m glad you stopped for a moment. I hope something in this little corner lifts you, warms you, or at least makes you smile. And if not… well, at least you’ll get to wonder why on earth you’re reading this jumble of thoughts and ideas. 🤣 Either way, the door’s open. Let’s see where the light leads. Always kind wishes, Tee |
Past Writing History In 1998, a friend won a Pulitzer Prize for The Hours. He mailed me an autographed copy of the book, along with a beautiful letter addressed to Veronica. It remains one of my most cherished writing mementos. Michael and I were on the phone one evening when, at 6:00 p.m., I was struck by lightning. The call, of course, went dead. Later that night, from my hospital bed, I called him back, and we talked for three hours. I was in Maryland he was in California. Michael and I first connected through my blog on Blogger. At the time, I was writing under the pseudonym Veronica Lane, and he had been reading some of my stories there. He became one of my first professional writing coaches. I will always be grateful for our long phone conversations, his insight, and his encouragement during those early years of my writing journey. Michael Cunningham has written several major works, including: * A Home at the End of the World (1990) * Flesh and Blood (1995) * The Hours (1998) — Pulitzer Prize for Fiction * Specimen Days (2005) * By Nightfall (2010) * The Snow Queen (2014) * Day (2023) |
“She is the daughter of the wild, wolf-guarded and moon-carved, born to follow a fire no one can tame.” -Tee M.  |
When someone tries to tear you down, remember it reflects their pain, not your worth, because kind people don’t destroy others. -by Tee M  |
| A Short Note Not a real entry today. I have two books in the queue that need reviewing and editing, and they both arrived at the same time. I couldn’t bring myself to work on one and not the other, so today belongs to them. I’ll try to make it up in a couple of days with a trip down memory lane and a look back at my early writing career. Thanks for understanding, and see you soon. |
Blog for 012726 The story in my mind demanded to be written. Yesterday, I finally listened and began a new romance story. Synopsis of the new story: When an international terrorist network orchestrated a straightforward ransom, they kidnapped Alexandra Van Alcott during a luxury vacation meant to reconnect her with her father. The careful planning behind the abduction and the extent of the betrayal are beyond anyone’s expectations. Someone removed Alexandra from her hotel room and transported her internationally. Alexandra was confined to a private residence, isolated from her familiar surroundings. They forced Alexandra to exist as both captive and commodity in a high-stakes extortion scheme. As a covert military team races against a relentlessly shrinking clock to locate her, Alexandra refuses to give fear the final word. Quiet, observant, and intelligent, she gathers information and communicates in the smallest, most controlled ways possible, knowing that every detail could mean the difference between rescue and disappearance. From intelligence briefings and surveillance screens to concrete walls and whispered conversations, the story unfolds in tense parallel, following those hunting for her and the young woman fighting to survive long enough to be found. |
| The First Spark A story’s first breath is rarely loud. It begins as a spark. A whisper sent into the endless scroll, not knowing who might hear it or how far it might travel. I did not know then that it would echo back. Wolves in the night. Moons burning red. Old words stirring from places that felt older than memory. A prophecy not invented, but remembered. That is how some stories arrive. Not as plans, but as awakenings. What began as a single thought, a quiet wondering, became a path. Each word found wings. Each page carried a little more truth than I expected to give. Writing an ancient prophecy is not about control. It is about listening. Letting the story reveal itself in fragments and symbols, in instinct and image, in the pull that says this matters long before you know why. What began as nothing became everything. And I am still listening. And I am still writing. |
The Caterella Ball Beneath bright chandeliers that shimmer and gleam, Where whiskers wear silk and the floors softly beam, The Caterella Ball hums late into night, With paws tipped in velvet and gowns spun of light. A tom in a tux with a confident twirl, Leads out to the floor a jewel-clad girl, Her dress blooms in color, in starlight and sway, Like midnight discovering it longs to be day. They glide past the clock as it quietly sighs, While magic stays stitched in their laughter and eyes, For here every kitty may sparkle and stand, A prince or a queen in a dream-made land. So dance, little hearts, while the moon holds it still, For wonder is real at the Caterella Ball. See the related word search
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| She keeps the small ones safe at night, When shadows stretch and stars burn bright. She cups their fears with careful hands, And teaches hearts to understand. That being gentle can be strong, That kindness is where we belong. She guards the hopes both shy and new, And helps them grow the way dreams do. For every little thing that’s scared, She stays, she sings, she shows she cared. The image is: Assisted ai digital art.  |
Quiet Courage We often imagine courage as something bold and visible. A single moment of heroism. A voice raised. A stand taken. But the kind of courage that shapes souls and sustains faith is rarely loud. It is quiet. Quiet courage is the strength to keep trusting when answers do not come. It is waking up each day and placing your life into God’s hands, even when the weight of yesterday still lingers. It is choosing faith over fear in the small, ordinary moments where no one is watching. This courage lives in prayer whispered rather than proclaimed. In tears shed in private. In the decision to remain gentle when the world invites hardness. It is the bravery of surrender, of saying, “I don’t understand this, but I will keep walking.” Quiet courage looks like forgiveness offered without an apology. Like loving others while guarding your own heart wisely. Like obedience that costs something, yet trusts that God sees what others do not. It is staying when God asks you to remain, and leaving when He asks you to go, even if neither choice is understood by those around you. It is faith lived out not in dramatic miracles, but in steady faithfulness. Scripture reminds us that God often works in stillness. Not in the wind, not in the earthquake, not in the fire, but in a gentle whisper. Quiet courage listens for that whisper and responds. This kind of bravery will not earn applause. It may never be recognized or rewarded in visible ways. But it is deeply known to God. Every unseen act of faith, every moment of restraint, every quiet “yes” is held and honored. If you are walking this path now, know that your courage matters. Heaven sees it. Grace surrounds it. And even in silence, your faith is shaping something eternal. Sometimes the bravest thing we do is simply remain faithful. |
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