OK, there are lots of things I miss at the moment; I’ll chalk them up to growing older and being in a contemplative frame of mind today. And no, the dreary, wintry landscape outside my window isn’t helping any.
So, what came to mind officially, were better days — days I’ve spent in the Carolina’s, namely this past summer at Ocean Creek Plantation and Resort.
Why, you ask?
Not so much for the obvious, really: the free-flowing, sugary cocktails, sun on my olive skin…nope. Well, yes, but for the experience I had, the mindset of freedom that arose within me each day I was there. And, more importantly, for feeling self-accomplishment and positive self-worth due in part to attending a local book signing.
For those of you who know me, I never stop. Sick? Nope, I keep going. Tired? Too bad, hustle. On vacation? Oh well, you’ll never become a free man if you sit on your loins and rest. And, yes, I set-up a book signing for my self-published breakout novella, VOUDOU JUICE. It took place the second week I was down in Myrtle Beach and it went off, in my opinion, without a hitch.
It wasn’t the attendance that made it perfect, or well, how amazingly handsome I obviously looked, but it was the experience. Books Warehouse were true professionals, and I just like speaking with people. Teens, older southern women, moms, teachers, etc. would pass by my table and interact with me. Two hours of ME time; me interacting with the public. That was the greatest takeaway last year while on my vacation.
Later that night, as I sat down to celebrate my future husband’s birthday, I noticed something extraordinary on the menu at TBONZ; it was a “Voodoo Juice” mixed cocktail, and I hardly could contain myself.
“Oh, another fruity drink…hooray,” you may be saying to yourself, but it was a sign from the writing gods above. In 2012, when I was, where else, but in Myrtle Beach, I ordered that same particular cocktail. The juices in my mouth alarmed the creative juices within, and the beginnings of what eventually became my book, VOUDOU JUICE, were born.
Of course I had to order it, and *smh*, was it calming and celebratory. It tasted just as I had remembered, but five years ago. And hell, even if it was just my sensory memory convincing me as so, it still tasted as if an old friend came to say, “You’d done good!”