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Tag: Pages Alight fiction

Blast from the Past: You Might Be a Writer If… (And You Might Be Reading The Collector)

Blast from the Past: You Might Be a Writer If… (And You Might Be Reading The Collector)

Published by S.M. Ulbrich on 09/30/2026

Every now and then, it’s fun to look back at the posts that first connected us as writers, readers, dreamers, and storytellers. As our blog continues to grow beyond that exciting milestone of 500 visitors, I found myself revisiting an old favorite: “You Might Be a Writer If…”

When I first wrote that post, I reflected on the habits, quirks, and passions that seem to unite writers everywhere. Looking back, I realize those same qualities have followed me through every project, from Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast to George and the Brave Eagle, and now into my newest work, The Collector.

So, let’s take another look.

You See Stories Everywhere

Writers don’t simply observe the world. They imagine what lies beneath the surface.

A quiet beach can become a magical kingdom. An eagle soaring overhead can become a symbol of courage and determination. And sometimes a simple object, forgotten by most people, can become the centerpiece of an entirely new adventure.

That spirit of curiosity helped inspire The Collector. What begins as an ordinary discovery can quickly lead to extraordinary questions, reminding us that stories are often hiding in plain sight.

You Never Stop Asking “What If?”

What if mermaids lived along the Emerald Coast?

What if a brave eagle taught valuable lessons about courage?

And now, what if someone discovered something so unusual that it changed the way they viewed the world around them?

Writers thrive on “what if.” It is the question that opens every doorway to imagination and invites readers to step through alongside us.

You Fall in Love with Characters

One of the greatest joys of writing is creating characters who begin to feel like family.

Misty’s determination, George’s bravery, and the personalities taking shape within The Collector all started as ideas. Over time, they grew into companions who taught me lessons of their own.

Writers know this feeling. Characters stop becoming words on a page and start becoming voices in your heart.

You Daydream Without Apology

If you’ve ever stared out a window and lost yourself in a story, welcome to the club.

Writers spend a lot of time in two worlds at once. There’s the everyday world where dishes need washing and errands need running. Then there’s the story world where adventures unfold, mysteries deepen, and possibilities seem endless.

Many of the ideas behind The Collector arrived during those quiet moments when imagination took the lead.

You Keep Going, Even When It Isn’t Easy

Writing is rewarding, but it’s rarely simple.

There are moments of doubt, rejected drafts, editing headaches, and days when inspiration seems to hide. Yet writers continue because storytelling is more than a hobby. It’s a calling.

Every book I’ve written has required persistence, patience, and faith. The Collector was no different. Each challenge became another opportunity to refine the story and make it stronger.

You Hope Your Words Matter

Perhaps the biggest sign that you’re a writer is this: you want your words to make a difference.

Whether through the friendship and adventure found in Discovering Misty, the courage demonstrated in George and the Brave Eagle, or the themes explored in The Collector, my hope has always been to create stories that encourage, inspire, and spark imagination.

Stories have the power to bring people together. They help us see through someone else’s eyes, discover new perspectives, and find hope when we need it most.

Looking Back and Moving Forward

Revisiting You Might Be a Writer If… reminds me how much this journey has grown and how grateful I am for every reader who has come along for the ride.

The signs of being a writer haven’t changed. We still collect ideas, chase inspiration, daydream endlessly, and obsess over the right words. But each new story adds another chapter to the journey.

As we celebrate the past and look toward the future, I’m excited to share The Collector with readers and continue creating stories that spark wonder, curiosity, and hope.

So let me ask you:

Do you see stories everywhere?

Do you daydream about characters and adventures?

Do you carry a notebook just in case inspiration strikes?

If so, you just might be a writer.

And if you’re not a writer, perhaps you’re exactly who writers create stories for.

Thank you for being part of this journey. Here’s to the next adventure, and to the magic waiting to be discovered in The Collector.

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✨ One Year Later

✨ One Year Later

Published by S.M. Ulbrich on 08/22/2026

One year ago, on August 19, 2025, I wrote an update during a season of rebuilding — physically, creatively, and spiritually. Reading it again this week, in the middle of my anniversary emotions and all the memories that come with it, reminded me how much has changed and how much God has carried me through.

At that time, I was recovering from CKD stage 4 and learning to work within the rhythms of my health. Today, I’m back in stage 4 again, and while that is difficult, it has also deepened my understanding of resilience. I continue to honor the quiet days and celebrate the creative ones. This journey still teaches me patience, strength, and grace.

Last year, I was searching for an illustrator. Today, I’ve found a workable rhythm using NightCafe for my artwork. It has allowed me to keep moving forward without the financial strain of hiring an artist. I still hope to collaborate with a young illustrator someday — especially someone who feels connected to the stories — but for now, this path has given me freedom and momentum.

And the creative growth… I never expected this much to bloom in just one year. The George Washington children’s book — inspired by my great‑granddaughter in her bright red patriotic dress — has grown into a full project. My Bedtime Story book is almost ready for publishing. I’ve created an adult coloring book, nearly finished a second mandala coloring book, and designed six “Walking with Christ” journals featuring artwork that reflects every stage of life. I’ve built an Acadian clip‑art book and several other projects that weren’t even imagined a year ago.

Looking back at the post from August 19, 2025, I see a woman hoping for progress. Today, I see a woman who has built an entire shelf of books, journals, and art — one gentle step at a time.

Here is the post exactly as it appeared one year ago.

August 19, 2025

Hi, everyone! I’m excited to share the second installment of my author blog. Let’s dive in! My sleep disorder has posed challenges, but it has forged resilience and adaptability within me. There are nights when I wake up around 10:00 or 11:00, yet I’ve learned to embrace those quiet moments and reflect on what I cherish most.

This journey, though isolating at times, has illuminated the strength found in the cycles of my health. When I feel “well,” I seize the opportunity to immerse myself in writing, gathering rich material for my stories and eager to unleash my creativity.

Moving to East Texas brought a long stretch of limited activity, but I emerged with invaluable lessons in perseverance. Surviving heat stroke and battling Covid twice revealed the immense power of prayer and community support, helping me recover from stage 4 to stage 3.

Recently, a video from my daughter featuring my great-granddaughter in her bright red patriotic dress filled me with inspiration. Her exuberance rekindled my passion for the stories I hold dear. Now, I am diligently working to get my books published!

I am actively seeking an illustrator, reaching out to past collaborators, and my husband has explored local high school resources. The art department head was impressed with my story and suggested involving a student—what a brilliant idea!

I am determined to move forward quickly and will be following up soon. Stay tuned for more updates on my creative journey!

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🌌 Savannah’s Ancestral Song

🌌 Savannah’s Ancestral Song

Published by S.M. Ulbrich on 08/21/2026

Savannah’s birthday arrives wrapped in music, memory, and light.


This year, her celebration carries something deeper — a legacy long hidden, a lullaby rediscovered, and a truth ready to rise like a lantern in the dark. Savannah’s journey begins with a stolen speakeasy song, a diary tucked away for decades, and an ancestor whose voice refused to fade.

As candles flicker and wishes lift, Savannah steps into the story she was born to finish — a story of generational healing, clean romance, and the music that lives forever. Her birthday marks not just another year, but the moment her ancestor’s dream finally finds its way home.

Prologue: The Boarding House Years

Long ago, in a modest boarding house filled with dreamers, two young women shared a room. One would be remembered as a famous star; the other, Savannah’s ancestor, was a gifted songwriter with a voice that could hush the world into reverence. They were inseparable—confidantes of trauma, keepers of each other’s dreams. Together, they chased the same horizon: to be a star.

Their Secret Love.

The Song of Secret Love

Savannah’s ancestor poured her heart into a song, written for a secret romance with a married man. The melody was tender enough to be a lullaby, yet powerful enough to stir the deepest longing.

🎵 “How Long Must Love Be Hidden” 🎵

Verse 1
How long must love be hidden,
Behind the shadows of the night?
I whisper dreams in silence,
But my heart still burns with light.

Pre‑Chorus
Every secret has a rhythm,
Every longing finds its tune.
Though the world may never hear it,
I will sing this song for you.

Chorus
I believe to my soul,
This love was meant to be.
Though the world may never know,
Your song still lives in me.

Verse 2
I cradle hope like children,
And hum it soft and low.
A lullaby for angels,
Of a love the world won’t know.

Bridge
That’s enough to keep me breathing,
Though the night is cold and long.
Your memory is my comfort,
Your heartbeat is my song.

Final Chorus (soaring)
I believe to my soul,
This love was meant to be.
Though the world may never know,
Your song still lives in me.
Forever lives in me.

🎭 Scene: The Speakeasy Song

The speakeasy was alive with secrets. Lanterns flickered above small tables, candles burned low, and smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling fans. The air was thick with whiskey, tobacco, and perfume — a blend of longing and danger. Patrons leaned close over their drinks, whispering confessions, while couples stole kisses in shadowed corners.

The pianist struck slow, jazzy chords, the bass walking steady beneath. A trumpet sighed, weaving in and out of the melody, hypnotic and sultry. The crowd swayed gently, caught in the rhythm.

Savannah’s ancestor stepped onto the small wooden stage, the spotlight softening her features, making her seem both fragile and radiant. She clutched the microphone, closed her eyes, and let the first verse slip out like a prayer.

The room hushed. Glasses stilled mid‑air. Her voice was tender, aching, yet strong enough to hush the clinking of ice. The pre‑chorus rose, building anticipation, and then the chorus soared, gospel‑like, echoing Ray Charles’ confessional honesty and the aching vulnerability of Charles Bradley.

The melody wrapped the crowd in warmth and longing, like a lullaby for their own forbidden loves. Some swayed, some wiped tears. It was more than music — it was truth.

At a corner table, her roommate sat frozen, glass untouched. She knew instantly: this song was a masterpiece. Fame could be built on it. And in that moment, envy stirred, ambition whispered.

The bridge carried aching strength, and the final chorus soared higher, filling the smoky room with light. Applause thundered, echoing against the walls. Savannah’s ancestor smiled faintly, stepping down from the stage, unaware that her closest friend had already decided to steal the song — and with it, her dream.

The Hidden Diary

Decades later, fate intervened. A thrift store customer stumbled upon a diary tucked inside the drawer of a vintage dresser. Its pages revealed the truth: the song was not the star’s creation, but Savannah’s ancestor’s. The diary spoke of their friendship, their shared dreams, and the tragedy that silenced one voice while elevating another.

One entry read:

“She says she will sing my song. She says the world will believe it is hers. I am afraid, but I cannot stop her. My voice is fading, but my song will live.”

Revelation and Inheritance

The family finally learned the truth. Legal battles brought justice, and royalties flowed to Savannah’s family. For Savannah, this inheritance was more than wealth—it was a legacy. She returned to school, pursued her music, and found herself lifted into success. Fame came not from imitation, but from authenticity.

Dreams and Visitations

Savannah had always dreamed of a lullaby, a melody she thought was her own imagination. In truth, it was her ancestor’s song, sung to her infant before tragedy struck. These dreams were visitations, reminders of a bond formed in the pre‑existence. Her ancestor’s spirit had been with her all along, guiding her toward destiny.

Clean Romance and Healing Love

Savannah’s rise was not only musical — it was romantic. She met him not in the spotlight, but in a quiet rehearsal hall where she was practicing her ancestor’s lullaby. He noticed her spirit before her fame, drawn to her authenticity.

Unlike her ancestor’s secret, shadowed love, Savannah’s romance was open, honest, and healing. Where her ancestor’s heart was silenced by betrayal, Savannah’s was nurtured by trust. Together, they dreamed not of fame, but of creating a life filled with music, family, and service.

Their love became a mirror of the song itself — tender, enduring, and meant to be. Just as the chorus repeats “Your song still lives in me,” Savannah realized her love was proof that legacy can be reborn in joy. Through romance, she healed the generational wound of betrayal. Her ancestor’s forfeited dream found balance in Savannah’s fulfilled one, and the love she carried was free of secrecy, built on light instead of shadows.

Savannah’s debut, sings

🌌 Epilogue: The Spirit of the Song

The theater glowed like a sanctuary. Velvet curtains framed the stage, and lanterns lined the aisles, their soft light flickering like guiding stars. Above, feather‑shaped patterns shimmered in the spotlight beams, drifting across the ceiling as if angels themselves were watching.

Savannah stepped forward, her gown flowing like watercolor, pastel hues catching the glow. A single butterfly motif adorned her microphone stand — delicate, luminous, a symbol of transformation.

She began softly, her ancestor’s lullaby rising like incense. Each note was a feather in flight, carrying memory upward. The melody wrapped the audience in warmth, glowing like candlelight against their faces.

Savannah sang the lullaby — the song her ancestor had written in secret, the song stolen and buried, the song rediscovered through dreams and diaries.

As the chorus soared, lanterns brightened, casting golden halos across the crowd. Some wept openly, others clasped hands, and a few closed their eyes as if in prayer. The song was no longer just hers; it was a legacy reborn, a keepsake passed through generations.

Her voice carried not just melody, but memory. Each note was a bridge between past and present, between forfeited dreams and fulfilled ones.

Savannah felt her ancestor beside her, the presence shimmering in the motifs around her — feathers for faith, lanterns for guidance, butterflies for renewal. The final chorus lifted higher, radiant:

“I believe to my soul,
This love was meant to be.
Though the world may never know,
Your song still lives in me.
Forever lives in me.”

The last note lingered like a glowing candle in silence. Then applause erupted, thunderous, rising like a tide. Flowers fell at her feet, lanterns flickered brighter, and butterflies seemed to dance in the air.

Savannah bowed her head, whispering:

“Your song still lives in me.”

The applause was thunderous, but Savannah’s heart was quiet, at peace. She realized that her success was not only her own — it was the continuation of a dream once silenced. Her ancestor’s spirit had been with her all along, gifting her the lullaby, guiding her toward love, and reminding her that legacy is not lost, only waiting to be sung again.

She left the stage knowing she was whole — an artist, a woman, and a granddaughter carrying forward the music of generations, wrapped in symbols of faith, love, and light.

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