Chronicles Woven in Runes
Christ is Risen!
Truly, He Has Risen!
Being an author isn’t just about putting words on a page—it’s about chasing the spark that turns ideas into stories that touch hearts. As the creator of Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast and George and the Brave Eagle, and a blogger who recently hit 1,048 visitors, I’ve learned that writers live in a world where imagination and purpose collide. If you’re wondering whether you’ve got that writer’s spark, here are some signs, tied to my own journey of crafting children’s books, growing my blog, and advocating for hope.
You’re Always Asking, “What Happens Next?”
You might be a writer if you can’t help but wonder what’s around the next corner of a story. Whether I’m walking along the Emerald Coast, where Discovering Misty was born, or brainstorming for George and the Brave Eagle, I’m constantly asking, “What happens next?” A seashell could inspire a mermaid’s quest, or a soaring bird could spark a tale of courage. If you’re always chasing the next plot twist, you’re a writer at heart.
You Rewrite the World to Make Sense of It
You might be a writer if you process life’s highs and lows by turning them into stories. When life feels heavy, I pour my thoughts into blog posts about resilience or craft scenes where Misty faces challenges with grit. Writing is my way of making sense of the world, and if you find yourself doing the same—whether through poetry, fiction, or a journal—you’re likely a writer, too.
You’re a People-Watcher with a Purpose
You might be a writer if you process life’s highs and lows by turning them into stories. When life feels heavy, I pour my thoughts into blog posts about resilience or craft scenes where Misty faces challenges with grit. Writing is my way of making sense of the world, and if you find yourself doing the same—whether through poetry, fiction, or a journal—you’re likely a writer, too.
You might be a writer if you study strangers in a coffee shop, imagining their backstories. I’ve built characters for Discovering Misty: Friends Forever by watching kids play at the beach or families share stories. Writers don’t just observe—they weave those moments into narratives that resonate. My blog often reflects these snapshots, connecting everyday life to bigger themes like hope and community.
You Fall in Love with Your Tools
You might be a writer if you have a favorite pen, a lucky notebook, or a laptop you treat like a trusted friend. My desk, cluttered with notes for my GoFundMe campaign for George and the Brave Eagle, is my creative sanctuary. If you get a thrill from the click of a keyboard or the smell of fresh paper, you’re part of the writer’s club.
You’re Haunted by Stories That Demand to Be Told
You might be a writer if an idea grabs you and won’t let go until it’s on the page. The story of George, soaring with bravery, or Misty, discovering her strength, kept me up at night until I brought them to life. If you’ve ever felt a story tugging at you, insisting it needs to exist, you know the writer’s calling.
You Find Joy in Reader Connections
You might be a writer if a single reader’s comment lights up your day. When someone leaves a review for Discovering Misty on Amazon or shares how my blog inspired them, it’s like fuel for my soul. Hitting 1,048 blog visitors felt like a milestone worth celebrating, and every interaction reminds me why I write: to connect, inspire, and spread joy.
You Write for Something Bigger
You might be a writer if your stories carry a deeper purpose. For me, it’s about more than children’s books—it’s about weaving hope and resilience into every page, a mission that ties to my advocacy for suicide prevention. Whether I’m sharing a blog post about family reading or a story about a brave eagle, I write to remind readers, young and old, that they’re not alone. If your words aim to lift others up, you’re a writer with heart.
You Keep Going, No Matter What
You might be a writer if you push through rejection, doubt, or the grind of promotion—like pitching Discovering Misty to bookstores or rallying support for George and the Brave Eagle. Writers don’t quit because the spark of creation is too strong. Even on tough days, I find myself back at my desk, writing a new blog post or polishing a chapter, because stories are how I make a difference.
If these signs feel like home, you might be a writer. Embrace the spark, chase the stories, and let your words light up the world. For me, it’s about bringing Misty and George to life, growing my blog, and sharing hope—one story at a time.
Maybe you’ll set a goal for this new year. Some people choose a word to represent their intentions for the year ahead. This year, our family will be focusing on the same verse of scripture: Moses 6:34, “Walk with me.” This was an invitation given to the prophet Enoch.
As Enoch journeyed through the land, the Spirit of God rested upon him. Then the Lord spoke to him. He taught him about His plan of happiness, which would give purpose and meaning to life. Everyone longs to have better and deeper meaning and purpose in their lives. When the Lord finished describing His plan, He gave Enoch an invitation: “Walk with me.”
As you journey through this new year, maybe you’ll find yourself looking for happiness, purpose, and meaning. We could all learn from Enoch’s story and invite the Lord to be part of our journeys this year, no matter where we go…or stay.
As you might already know, I have been dealing with Chronic Kidney Disease. I’m thankful to still be here, as I’ve got much to do. I hope to use my time wisely, so I’ll be ready when the time comes.
You could choose to walk with Him. As you do, blessings await. I’m sure each of us will be better for it, if we determine for ourselves that we will walk with the Lord.
It’s going to be a good year.
As S.M. Ulbrich, author of Discovering Misty: The Mermaid of the Emerald Coast and George and the Brave Eagle, I love diving into new storytelling adventures. Tale Time Tuesday is my way of sharing fresh tales right here on the blog, inspired by the magic of Misty’s world.
This week’s challenge? Drafting a brand-new Misty story between 2400-2500 words. Use the 4 prompts from the Storyteller cards the kids choose for me to use.
It’s a fun stretch for me, weaving in themes of courage, friendship, and hope—one word at a time.
Oh, and a quick update: I’m still working on my YouTube channel for story readings and behind-the-scenes peeks. It’s not quite ready yet—I’m taking so long to finish it because I want it to sparkle just right for you all!
In the meantime, enjoy this extended Misty adventure below. If you love it, check out Discovering Misty on Amazon or support George and the Brave Eagle via GoFundMe. Let’s spread hope one heart at a time!
Misty’s Deep Sea Challenge
Once upon a time, in the shimmering waters of the Emerald Coast, lived a brave little mermaid named Misty. Her tail sparkled like emeralds under the sun, and her long, flowing hair danced with the ocean currents. Misty loved exploring the coral reefs, making friends with colorful fish, and discovering hidden treasures. But today was different. Today, Misty faced her biggest challenge yet.
It all started on a sunny morning when Misty woke up in her cozy seashell bed. The water was warm, and beams of light pierced through the surface like golden arrows. “What a perfect day for an adventure!” Misty exclaimed, twirling in a circle. Her best friend, Finn the dolphin, swam by with a playful flip.
“Misty! Have you heard about the Deep Sea Challenge?” Finn asked, his eyes wide with excitement. “The wise old sea turtle, Grandpa Tortuga, is hosting it. It’s a quest to find the Lost Pearl of Courage, hidden in the deepest part of the ocean. Whoever finds it will bring bravery to all the sea creatures!”
Misty’s heart fluttered. She had always dreamed of proving her courage. As a mermaid inspired by the legendary performer Misty Joy from the human world above, she knew that true bravery came from within. But the deep sea? It was dark, mysterious, and full of unknown dangers like swirling whirlpools and shadowy creatures. “I want to try, Finn,” Misty said, her voice a mix of nerves and determination. “But I’ll need help. Will you come with me?”
“Of course!” Finn replied. “We’re a team, remember? Let’s gather some friends first.”
Together, they swam to the Coral Playground, where all the young sea creatures playedj. There was Shelly the shy seahorse, who could camouflage herself in a blink; Bubbles the bubbly clownfish, always ready for a laugh; and Spike the spiky pufferfish, who puffed up when scared but had a heart of gold.
“Friends!” Misty called out. “Grandpa Tortuga’s Deep Sea Challenge is on! We need to find the Lost Pearl of Courage. Who’s with us?”
Shelly peeked out from behind a coral branch. “Me? But I’m too small. What if I get lost?”
Bubbles giggled. “And what if we meet a grumpy shark? I’ll tell jokes to make him smile!”
Spike puffed up a little. “I’ll join, but only if we stick together. Safety in numbers!”
Misty smiled warmly. “That’s the spirit! We’ll face whatever comes our way, one fin at a time. Remember, courage isn’t about being fearless—it’s about swimming forward even when you’re scared.”
With their team assembled, they set off toward the edge of the reef, where the water grew cooler and the light dimmer. Grandpa Tortuga waited there, his ancient shell etched with maps of old adventures.
“Ah, young ones,” he rumbled. “The Lost Pearl lies in the Abyss Cave, guarded by trials of the heart. You must pass three challenges: the Whirlpool of Doubt, the Shadow Maze, and the Guardian’s Riddle. Only a true team can succeed.”
Misty nodded bravely. “We’re ready, Grandpa. Lead the way!”
The group dove deeper, the ocean floor dropping away like a vast blue canyon. Fish darted around them, whispering warnings. “Turn back! It’s too dangerous!” But Misty led on, her emerald tail glowing faintly in the fading light.
First came the Whirlpool of Doubt. It swirled like a giant funnel, pulling everything toward its center. “Hold on tight!” Misty shouted as the current tugged at them. Shelly clung to Finn’s fin, Bubbles spun in circles laughing nervously, and Spike inflated to twice his size.
“I can’t do this!” Shelly cried. “I’m not strong enough!”
Misty reached out a hand. “Yes, you are! Think of all the times you’ve hidden from danger—that’s your strength. We’re stronger together!”
Encouraged, Shelly used her camouflage to blend with the water, guiding the others through a hidden calm spot in the whirlpool. One by one, they slipped through, emerging breathless but triumphant.
“Woo-hoo! We did it!” Bubbles cheered. “That was like a wild water ride!”
Deeper they went, until the light vanished completely. Now they entered the Shadow Maze—a labyrinth of dark seaweed walls and echoing tunnels. Strange shadows lurked, whispering fears. “You’ll never find your way,” one hissed. “You’re lost forever.”
Finn shivered. “Misty, it’s so dark. How do we navigate?”
Misty thought of the stories she’d heard from the surface world, where humans like Misty Joy performed daring feats under bright lights. “We use our senses! Bubbles, your stripes glow a little—lead with that. Spike, puff up and feel the walls. Shelly, listen for echoes.”
Working as a team, they mapped the maze. Bubbles’ faint glow lit narrow paths, Spike’s spikes brushed against turns, and Shelly’s keen ears detected dead ends.
When a shadow monster—a tricky illusion—lunged at them, Misty sang a brave song: “Shadows fade when friends unite, courage shines in darkest night!” The illusion dissolved, and they found the exit.
“Two down, one to go!” Finn exclaimed. “You’re amazing, Misty!”
Finally, they reached the Abyss Cave, a glowing cavern filled with bioluminescent jellyfish. In the center sat the Guardian—a massive, wise octopus named Octavia, her tentacles swirling like living vines.
“Welcome, seekers,” Octavia boomed. “To claim the Lost Pearl, solve my riddle: I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?”
The friends puzzled. Shelly whispered, “An echo? It speaks without a mouth…”
“Yes!” Misty cried. “An echo!”
Octavia nodded approvingly. “Well done. But the true test is why you seek the pearl.”
Misty looked at her friends. “Not for glory, but to share courage with everyone. We’ve learned that challenges make us grow, and friends make us strong.”
Satisfied, Octavia revealed the pearl—a radiant orb pulsing with light. As Misty touched it, a wave of bravery spread through the ocean, lighting up the deep sea.
Back at the reef, Grandpa Tortuga praised them. “You’ve proven that courage is in every heart.”
From that day on, Misty and her friends shared tales of their adventure, inspiring all. And Misty knew: every challenge was a chance to shine.
(The End – Word count: 2487)
Word Prompts: bravery, whispering, surface, and camouflage
Whew, that was a fun dive into Misty’s world! Drafting this story reminded me of the resilience I’ve seen in my own life—as a foster mom to over 200 medically fragile children, a Scout leader hosting massive campouts, and a patriot coordinating Overpassers for USA rallies.
Stories like this one echo those experiences, showing how we can overcome doubts and fears together.
If this tale sparked joy for you or your little ones, grab Discovering Misty on Amazon for more mermaid magic, or support my next book via GoFundMe for George and the Brave Eagle. My blog just hit 500 visitors—thanks to you!
What’s your favorite part of Misty’s challenge? Comment below, and stay tuned for that YouTube channel—it’s coming soon, I promise. Spreading hope one heart at a time!
The holidays are often painted as a time of pure joy—twinkling lights, family gatherings, and cherished traditions. But for many, this season stirs deep sorrow. Grief doesn’t pause for celebrations; it can make empty chairs, familiar songs, and festive cheer feel like painful reminders of what’s missing.
Whether your loss comes from the death of a loved one, estrangement, divorce, health challenges, or even the family you wish you’d had, holiday grief is real and valid. Expectations of mandatory happiness, resurfacing memories, and cultural pressure for perfect togetherness can all amplify the ache.
The good news? You don’t have to force cheer or pretend everything’s fine. Grief and joy can coexist. Here are some gentle ways to care for yourself this season:
• Give yourself permission to feel. Cry if you need to, laugh if it comes naturally, or simply rest. No guilt required.
• Rethink traditions. Keep what comforts you, adapt what hurts, or skip altogether. Light a candle in memory, share a favorite story, or create something entirely new—like volunteering or a quiet day alone.
• Set kind boundaries. It’s okay to decline invitations, leave early, or ask for space from certain topics. Protect your energy.
• Speak your needs. Tell supportive people what helps: “This year is tough—let’s keep it low-key” or “I’d love to talk about them today.”
• Practice small self-care. Eat, rest, move, breathe. Honor your loved one through a donation, a special ornament, or playing their favorite music.
• Seek support if needed. Friends, grief groups, counselors, or online communities can lighten the load.
If you’re supporting someone grieving, your presence matters most. Listen without trying to fix it. Acknowledge their pain. Offer specific help. Simply say, “I’m here for you.”
Grief changes the holidays, but it doesn’t erase meaning. In time, the sharp edges soften, and space opens for new warmth alongside the memories you carry.
This season, be gentle with yourself. Your feelings are valid, your love endures, and healing comes in its own quiet way.
Wishing you moments of peace amid the complexity. 🎄
Below is my Creation Listing for 2025. As you can see, I haven’t been using this tool very long, but I’m certainly enjoying it. The entries in the piece shows some of my books and yet-to-be published books of this year.
You can see Misty, the mermaid of the Emerald Coast, from my 2 children’s books of the same name. She’s chatting with 6-year-old George Washington and his buddy, the brave eagle.
Under that section, you’ll find the book cover for my Washington’s Fantastical Crossing, where he’s being watched by merfolk – I really hadn’t planned to write so many stories about merfolk!
The one at the bottom middle is part of my America’s Great Perfect Storm. The leopard and night-watchers are suggestive of Obama’s dream — more on that later.
The bottom left is from my YA speculative fiction, “The Covenant Fire”, a story about a team asked to locate and activate an ancient artifact, while avoiding the evil cabal chasing them to recover the artifact to use for their purposes. This artifact is meant to bring about the 2nd Resurrection and gather the Lost Ten Tribes.
“Pages Alight” is my forthcoming podcast on YouTube! Coming very soon.
creator.nightcafe.studio/creation/9P7SXN5m9VIVEBZ8XgHJ/my-2025-wrap
Thanks for reading!
The good old days, a hazy glow,
When summers stretched and time moved slow.
We’d chase the sun through fields of green,
Laughter loud, the world unseen.
No screens to steal our fleeting gaze,
Just endless nights and carefree days.
The radio hummed, a simpler tune,
Beneath the stars, we’d dream the moon.
The Good Old Days contest entry
A prose in under 100 words or less.
“Just pick up the pieces.” Her voice trembled, a raw, jagged edge to it, like she’d clawed the words out of her chest and flung them at me. Clara stood in the dim kitchen, her silhouette framed by the gray dawn bleeding through the window, her eyes swollen but burning with a defiance I couldn’t match.
The air was heavy with the acrid tang of burnt coffee and the ghost of our grandmother’s lilac perfume, and on the floor, the shattered remains of her cherished teacup lay like a confession of everything we’d lost.
Each piece was a splinter of memory: her frail hands pouring tea, her voice weaving stories of love and war, her quiet faith that we’d always find a way through. Now she was gone, and the world felt like it had caved in, leaving me buried in the rubble.
I crumpled to my knees, the linoleum cold and unforgiving, my fingers hovering over the shards but too weak to touch them. My chest ached, a hollow, gnawing pain that had started when he walked out—his suitcase thudding against the doorframe, his “I’m sorry” as empty as the apartment he left behind.
But it wasn’t just him. It was Mom’s slow surrender to the bottle, Dad’s vanishing act years ago, the hospital bed where Gran took her last breath, whispering my name like a prayer I didn’t deserve. I was the dreamer, the fool who thought love could hold anything together, but all I had now was this broken teacup and a heart too heavy to carry.
“I can’t do it,” I choked out, my voice barely a thread, unraveling. “I don’t know how to keep going.”
Clara dropped beside me, her knees hitting the floor with a thud that echoed in the silence. Her hand gripped my shoulder, trembling but fierce, like she could anchor me to the earth by sheer will.
“You don’t have to know how, Lila,” she said, her words breaking as a tear slipped down her cheek, carving a path through the exhaustion etched into her face. “You just pick them up. One piece at a time. Not to make it whole again—because it won’t be. But to make something new. Something that can still hold you.”
Her voice cracked, and I saw it then—the weight she’d carried for years. Clara, who’d bandaged my skinned knees and Mom’s broken promises, who’d worked double shifts to pay for Gran’s medicine, who’d held my hand when the world fell apart. She was as broken as I was, but she was still here, still fighting, still picking up pieces when all I could do was stare at them.
My fingers closed around a shard, its edge biting into my palm, sharp enough to draw a thin line of blood. I held it up, the rose pattern catching the faint light, fractured but still beautiful, like a promise that even broken things could mean something. I thought of Gran’s hands, steady despite their tremors, and Clara’s, calloused but unyielding. Maybe I wasn’t them, but I was theirs—made of their strength, their stubborn love.
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice shaking but alive. “One piece at a time.”
Clara’s hand found mine, her grip warm and fierce, and together we reached for the shards—not to erase the cracks, but to build something new from them, something that could carry our grief and still shine.
WC: 571
What Happened? writing prompt entry
Writing Prompt
Write a story that starts with: “Just pick up the pieces.”
What do you think of my new favorite book cover for my upcoming book, “Washington’s Fantastical Crossing “? Please let me know what you think…
Thanks!
By Greg Mayro
You are breathing right now because God carefully designed the air around you—and the lungs within you.
And more amazing facts!
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