Tymber Dalton - It's a Sweet Life

To Hubby, for all the love and patience and support hes given me throughout the years while helping me through lifes ups and downs.

And to Mr. B, especially the patience part.

To Cooper McKenzie, my bud, and whose name I threw around in vain (in a good way) in this book. And to fellow hooker (no, not THAT kind of hooker, the kind that plays with yarn) Mia Downing.

(No, I wont put the bitch in all caps. Sorry. LOL HUGS) Special thanks to my friend Christine for bakery questions. Any errors are mine, not hers. (And Ill blame errors on fibro fog. LOL)

As some of you already know, I am a member of the fibromyalgia club. With a dual diagnosis of chronic fatigue syndrome on top of that, and arthritis to boot, it can sometimes make lifeinteresting. I didnt have to stretch my imagination far to write the health issues the heroine in this tale goes through. I simply wrote from my own experiences, sometimes at the same time while I was writing this book.

Its very hard to describe how frustrating it is to go from being someone who could easily pull an all-nighter, a get shit done kind of gal, to someone who, on some days, feels like they can barely get out of bed. I dont look sick. And yes, I have plenty of good days, fortunately. But there are the days where simply walking through the grocery store can put me back to bed for the rest of the day.

Or suffering through bouts of word salad that sometimes accompany the condition called fibro fog, leaving me grasping for a word I know I should know and unable to think of it. Hubby and I even have a system where if I get stuck, he waits to start tossing words at me until I start pantomiming and gesturing at him that Im really and truly stuck. Sometimes, a well-meaning person trying to help can make the issue worse as my frustration grows if they try to offer me words too soon when Im still struggling to put a sentence together.

As you can imagine, that can be a particularly vexing symptom for a writer who makes their living slinging words. Fortunately, it seems to happen most verbally and not when Im actually sitting at my laptop. Although I do keep my trusty Rogets Thesaurus close at hand for when Im at a loss for a word. In the writing of this manuscript, it took me three different searches to finally remember the word I wanted to use in the Walmart scene was dysfunctional.

(Yes, there is a certain irony to that which I can appreciate all too well.) Im not looking for sympathy, and neither are most sufferers of this condition. I know Im lucky to have an incredible support system combined with a job that allows me to sit at home in my pjs all day.

And its not any more terminal a condition than life already is to start with. But what I, and other fibro patients, are usually looking for is patience and understanding. That its not in our heads. That were not lazy or trying to get out of doing things. That putting others before ourselves can, literally, be hazardous to our health in some cases. That we might need to beg off plans at the last minute even though we dont look sick because our energy plug got yanked out of the wall on us. And while we might have been in great shape the day before (or even the morning of) an event, that doesnt mean fibro wont wave its wand and put us on our ass in the space of a few minutes. That instead of belittling us for what someone might perceive as laziness you offer an understanding ear and not try to guilt us into doing something we will pay for later in terms of our spoon usage.

Yes, believe me, it frustrates the crap out of us, too. Most of us would give anything to be able to get to our pre-fibro (or pre-whatever) energy levels.

What are spoons? Please take the time to read The Spoon Theory by Christine Miserandino. It applies not only to fibromyalgia patients, but anyone with a chronic condition or disability that saps strength and energy.

(http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/) If you feel you might have fibromyalgia, please do your research and talk with your health care provider regarding treatment options.

Pain, fibro fog, and fatigue are just some of the most common symptoms of this complex disorder. There are various regimens, both prescription and homeopathic, that can help relieve some of your symptoms and make life more manageable.

This is the prequel to my new Coffeeshop Coven series, centered around the Many Blessings New Age shop. If you want to know more about the backstory of Many Blessings, including what happened to the former owner, Julie, please read my book Out of the Darkness (available from SirenBookStrand). Related characters also appear in my book Red Tide (SirenBookStrand).

And there really is such a deck as the Celtic Dragon Tarot. Its published by Llewellyn Publications, and its the first deck I cut my teeth on. Its a beautiful deck that I highly recommend.

The town of Brooksville, Florida, does exist, although Ive taken a little literary license with some of its geography to suit my own purposes.

Not now. Please, not now.

She slowly rubbed her hands together, wincing over the pain that shot through her knuckles at the motion. Experience told her even soaking them in warm water wouldnt completely soothe the pain and stiffness away when they felt like this.

It was seven oclock Thursday evening. With only half of the Palmer wedding order finished, she still had a good six hours of work ahead of her to have everything ready for Friday morning pickup as ordered.

Six hours if Im lucky.

She burst into tears as she stared at the table full of cupcakes awaiting finishing touches. If she didnt deliver this job on time, or if she delivered it subpar, the well-connected Palmer family could ruin her reputation and the small bakery, Its a Sweet Life, that shed struggled so hard to build.

LacieBelle AddamsLibbie to her friends and familyleaned against the large stainless double fridge and slid down it with her hands cradled in her lap and wrapped in her flour-covered apron. The pain was the worst it had been in months.

That was where she still sat ten minutes later when Grover Johnson, her part-time helper and lifelong friend, came in and found her.

Tsking as he shook his head, the large black man walked over to her and slowly lowered his considerable bulk to the floor next to her.

He wrapped a meaty arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

Lord, child. Dont you think its bout time you went to see Doc Smith?

She settled her head into his lap, her tears renewing. I cant, Grover. I dont have the money or the time.

But you have the time to sit here crying your poor eyes out?

Grover had been a close friend of her fathers since before she was born, coworkers during the tumultuous days of the civil rights movement of the 60s before opening a law firm together. It didnt matter that shed been a white girl. Grover and his wife, Connie, had always welcomed her into their large family of eight kids despite snide comments the families received from people of both races. The man was like a second father to her.

With her own parents dead, Grover and his kids were the only family she had. Connie had passed almost four years earlier after a stroke, right after Libbie had turned thirty-one.

He carefully clasped her hands in his large ones, enveloping them in a tender grip. I think its time for you to consider selling out to Katie Beasley, he gently said. She made you a generous offer last month.

No. I wont do that. I have to make this work. Everything I have is tied up in the building and the bakery.