Wednesday, January 7, 2015

RELEASE DAY: RosaLinda Diaz "Bee Keeping"


Poppy’s life is in shambles, or at least that’s how it feels. As Poppy struggles against her decision to walk away from Michael, maid of honor duties, a bachelorette cruise, new dreams, and maybe even a chance for love interrupt her summer pity party. Will she seize the chance for a happy ending, or stay rooted in the past?

Several months of denial have revealed the truth. Michael can’t ignore his feelings for Poppy any longer, but what should he do about them? He teeters on the edge of a life changing decision. Will he disrupt his old life in order to create a new one, or succumb to the status quo.




RosaLinda Diaz was raised in a particularly magical section of Los Angeles; between the original Disney Hyperion Studios and Snow White’s Cottages. The magic in the air and soil gave her al-ready active imagination roots and wings. Wings that took her gypsying around Europe, Austral-ia, and Africa, and roots that brought her back to California to earn her B.A. at Pepperdine Uni-versity. She makes her home in California’s Central Coast igniting the fire of creativity and sparking imaginations with her creative endeavors.



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Chapter One

Act of Contrition – Poppy

The tiny box is warm and comforting. I wait for him to slide the partition open.

“Who is the patron saint of hopeless cases?” I blurt out, completely ignoring protocol.

“That’s an odd question. Why do you want to know?” He asks, interest piqued.

“I’m thinking of applying for sainthood. If that cause isn’t already taken.”

His big, booming, belly laugh shakes the flimsy mesh partition separating us. “Tell me what you have to confess.”

My eyes start to water. I hate admitting when I’m wrong. Which is why I haven't been to confession in ages. That’s not exactly why.

“I’ve fallen in love, Father,” I say, picking at the fraying fabric screen.

“There is nothing sinful about that. Go on.”

“He’s married. I told him I couldn’t see him anymore, but we kissed, made out actually. I guess if I’m going for total honesty here, we did a whole lot more than just make out. Now I just feel hopelessly lost.”

He’s silent for a moment. I’m not worried. Surely, he's heard worse over his years in the confessional, right? I can feel a hot, prickly blush creeping up my neck.

“Love is one of God’s greatest gifts. In fact, it is one of the fruits of the Holy Spirit. Your love for this man, though displaced, is not sinful, I feel. However, engaging in physical expressions of that love, on the other hand, is.” He pauses, probably to let the full weight of my actions sink in, or maybe he wants the dirty details. Either way I dissolve into the ugly cry. “Don’t cry. This is not a place of sorrow, but forgiveness. Hush, hush,” he says.

“I do feel sorrow, Father. This man, this wonderful man is woven into my sorrow by so many threads. I can’t separate him from them, or I’ll unravel,” I say, sniffling.

“You are not comprised of sorrow. Our Father did not make you to dwell in unhappiness.”

I know he’s right, but all I feel inside of me is sorrow. It's as if I’m a one-sided coin eternally landing face down.

“Now,” he continues a little hesitantly, waiting for me to compose myself. I’m probably scaring away the other confessors waiting outside. “No one is perfect, except our Lord.” He pauses. “How long ago was this?”

“A few months, more like three months,” I say a little wistfully, remembering the last time Michael and I were together. When the priest speaks again, my mind is far away. I barely register his question.

“Why did you wait so long to confess?”


“That is usually best,” he replies dryly.

“I wasn’t sorry...for any of it.”

“Have you any plans to see this man again?”

“No! I haven't even returned any of his calls, and there have been a few that were really difficult to ignore, let me tell you.”

“That’s good, about not calling, I mean.”

“Do I get extra credit for that?” I ask hopefully. He doesn’t answer, just chuckles. I assume that’s a no.

“I have an important question to ask you Poppy. Do you want to be a path of destruction for this man?”

The gravity of his words settle around my shoulders like heavy chains. Path of destruction? I shake my head, unable to find the words, unable to contemplate being anything but a source of joy and happiness for him.

“If you truly love this man, as you say you do, you’ll only want what is best for him. What is that?” he asks, then waits patiently.

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