MY NOVEL, 'ON CALL'

I am delighted to bring this update to you on my book. ON CALL can now be purchased at my website:


Please visit WWW.SANDRAHOYNACKI.COM, and move into the realm of hardcover mysteries">


You will find it exciting from beginning to end. It is a mystery and will certainly keep you spellbound from page to page as you find yourself wondering who is watching you........

Circles

Life is not a book but a performance. Dreams are glamorous realities filled with gossamer thoughts. Wishes dance inside our minds as reality becomes the braided channel of life. Those things which run deep inside our veins. Embrace each moment that you dare to dream. Time began and it will end. We spin through the circle of life upon the axis of destiny.

le cercle rapproché

Who I am

Being specific about who I am is a difficult thing to do. I wear many hats in reality. From the inside out, I am a romantic whisper, a scintillating dreamer, a writer, singer, and a perfectionist. There is nothing common about me and I like it like that. My motto is, Love me for who I am or love me not at all.

Once Upon A Time

Nebulous symbols of romanticism lead us to a mountain top. We may never trace the reality of its true meaning, nor take the hand of its magic wand, but we hear the whispering words gently pass our way.

Once upon a time, while walking barefoot in the rain, I dreamed of wearing satin slippers as you twirled me beneath your silver stars. Once upon a time, I stood by the window and waited for you to dazzle me beneath the pale light of the waiting moon. A time came, once, when the symbols disappeared with the morrow's dawning.

Listen as I speak to you of a place where I once danced without inhibitions. I closed my eyes and ran with you.......in time
ONCE

Il etait une fois

July 25, 2009

SOMEWHERE

In a far off place, one can see the sun peeping from a lazuline canopy. Strips of light are seen walking across the beginning of summer’s first performance.

Yoshino trees blush as red as the cheeks of Kathy’s clown. Out in the country, the cattle gather around a bale of hay like politicians on the senate floor.

Somewhere a woman becomes a thin slip of sound
As she watches the meadowlark in his crisscrossed wanderings; in the distance a singer belts out an old country song.

An artist draws an image in his mind as his hands comply with palette and easel. Somewhere in Paris, it is morning as lovers sit beside the La Fontaine de Medicis and sip strawberry frappachinos.

'quelque part'

Nostalgic-Reality

As night descends, I sit under the light of the moon. A face circles inside twilight's greeting. Words whisper as they are swept away into the silken waterfall of illusion. A pause in the gap of time becomes nostalgic dust.

Below, the dark night pond will immerse every phrase letter by letter as they fall away into the unknown. The wind is compassionate as I drift to the tip of the earth to observe their meaning. It whispers of tomorrow’s kiss.

Life is not a book but a performance. Dreams are glamorous realities filled with gossamer thoughts. Wishes dance inside our minds as reality becomes the braided channel of life that runs deep inside our veins. Embrace each moment that you dare to dream.

nostalgique réalité

June 26, 2009

REFLECTIONS

I feel inward tears as I reflect upon the lasting memories. I purpose to understand the black and white finality involved in death.

There's a map that directs us to a place of acceptance, understanding, and peace while taking away the painted darkness that lingers

Believing with my whole being that God would heal you, I diligently prayed. I had no doubt in my mind or did I?

I became a child with mustard seed faith. I stood strong every waking hour while my insides crumbled at the wasting away of your physical body not to mention your mind. I felt winter’s chill grip my heart as I stood by your bed watching decay consume you slowly and painfully.

Yet, I believed with all my heart, soul, and mind that you would be healed. It’s been almost a year since you closed your eyes, and I said goodbye. I've found the map that has allowed me to accept that you’re gone.

I've found understanding from the one that created you. I continually seek peace within this valley of the shadow of death as I find myself amid this place.

You see, Daddy, I know that you are healed, the cancer is gone, the broken bones are restored, and you are happy beside your Creator, but I miss you still.

God is a loving God … You taught me that…

God is my map and I have the Precious Memories

I love you, Daddy

June 20, 2009

Bayview Park

I draw in a breath and hold it. The smell of the ocean permeates every cell. Overhead, the seagulls circle in unique patterns. Down the way one can see him sitting there on the sea wall....a man in ragged clothes. He stares out into many worlds.....worlds within himself.

As the drawbridge raises, the sound of a tugboat takes predominance over the lull of traffic behind me. The horn sounds harsh against the stillness.

Patches of whitecaps slide across the sugar white sand. Seashells cover the sandbar as far as the eye can see. A young couple walks out on the fishing pier. I wonder of their world.

The sand clings to my bare feet as I stroll toward the man that stares into his own ragged spots. I draw in another deep breath of sea air as the seagulls swoop down for their hunt. I, too, keep hunting.......

The Mountain Cabin

We drove along the narrow roads which still caused me concern. The residents on the mountain were familiar with the drive and its curves and jutting rocks. The fear of falling or running off the road kept me from seeing the beauty of things around me. I noticed as I became older that trees were beautiful in the fall; The yellows, oranges, golds and greens. Down as far as one could see, when looking over the cliffs, stood nature in her finest array.

Although I was born in the hills of Tennessee, we had moved to what is called the bikini state when I was a tender age. Daddy and Mama would travel back and forth to visit their mothers at least once a year. It's funny how as a child everything isn't black or white. It can be whatever we think we see. It can be what we are told or what we are happy with.

My brother and I enjoyed going to the little cabin on the hillside. A rather stately woman with demands to make on everyone was introduced to us as our great grandmother. She was less than pleasant in looks and mannerisms. I remember thinking her bark was every bit as dangerous as her bite.

We ran through the fields of tall grass exploring every animal that caught our attention. We sat high on the tractor as though we were the most important girl and boy in all those parts. We found pieces and parts of what became our special treasures.

The most intriquing part of our day was drawing water from the well. It looked ominous inside. As far down as we could see, the lower portion was jet black. We would drop the bucket down for water by turning the handle until it landed in the water with a loud echo. We were facinated. You could bring it up or drop it down quickly for a really big splash. We later learned, the hard way, that you were not to throw rocks in the well water to hear tinkling sounds. Oh no, that was not the thing to do.

Book Writing

An update on the progress of my book. I am totally pleased with things. I hope to be finished with the written portion within the next two weeks. Of course there will be editing, maybe a few changes, followed by uploading to lulu.com for publish. My advice to anyone would be that if you are not serious about this endeavor, do not start such a trip. It takes much work, dedication, thought, forbearance and the ability to be flexible with outside interruptions.

IN PEACE

The air is alight with angels. They float as mist across the outer edges of my eye. I blink to sweep them into veiled places. They trace my cheek with whispers. They line my soul from the inside out with images of love. My dreams are filled with mirrors. I gaze into the deepest colors of my soul. Somewhere in the distance, I feel the invisible arms of God's Son.
I slumber......................

Things About Things

What can I say about nature? I walk outside to become acquainted with the night sky. The clouds are lazy gray. They're scattered with splotches of dark, irregular-shaped pillows.

The air is thick with the smell of rain. The night hovers as a blanket over a vast meadow. The glow of the moon walks across the sky toward secret places. I wonder where it sits among the waking hours just before first light.

I wonder where God places the next day's paintings.

How many times I have wished to become a sleeping flower in my grandmother's garden. I lost count long ago.
She was as gentle as the summer rain. Her tulips always had a smile for her... as she had for me.
She was akin to nature, it seemed....

CHURCH

I remember well when Daddy became what he called ‘saved’. I didn’t know what that meant, and I really didn’t care. Saved from what, I thought? Due to this new saving thing, we were all going to put on new clothes and shoes and go to church.
Church—what was church?

It sits boxed up in my memory bank as though it just happened. We went to a little white church down the street from our house. I didn’t find a thing of interest. Strange looking men in funny looking clothes were playing music. Things called guitars, Daddy said. They looked like wood with strings tied too tight to me.

Church lasted way too long for my brother and me. We were glad when the preacher dismissed us. We had heard the sirens close by but I thought nothing of it. I just wanted out of there.

We walked outside and one look down the block told me that something bad had happened. Yes, during our first-time to visit God’s house, our house burned down. My brother reminded me tonight, May 1,2009, that our house had burned on Christmas Eve. We were indeed children that believed in Santa Clause. We lost everything that night. We were very sad. So very very sad.....

I remember thinking God must not have wanted us there. How angry he was to do this. I would vow to never go again. I was too afraid.

Life

I write out my life hour by hour, word by word, and thought by thought. I try to speak of something meaningful before falling into a corner of my own creation. Growing up, my life was happy for the most part. I grew like a wild flower in ground of strange soil. We were transplanted from place to place. My Father was a minister which had its own shortcomings. I oft times felt like a piece of thread trying to make it through the eye of change. I learned quickly that the spotlight was for my dad but not for me. Everything I did reflected on what he was and what he was... reflected on my being.

Emotions

If I talk until my words trickle like rain inside your emotions will the maze of tomorrow's greeting find me alone? Are we just an illusion against the backdrop of time? Long ago, my thoughts were wrapped in deep sleep. The rains came without warning. I can't chance waking... The rain will keep on falling, but I will only talk of you..in my sleep....

THE JOURNEY

The journey is filled with twists and turns. Few keys unlock doors that mirror the stranger inside this reflection. Purple represents the crosswalk between yesterday and today. Detailed perceptions flee from the corridors of my memory leaving only that which I allow to enter.