Ignite Your Creativity…adding spark to your creative life! 

More and more people are becoming aware of the healing powers of creativity.  Human nature makes people want to strive to feel good, and keep their bodies free from illness and dysfunction.  Two goals most people hope for are to be creative and to improve/maintain health.  Taking our cue from physics, the first law of thermodynamics states that energy is neither created nor destroyed but is changed from one form into another. Expressing your creative energy means the energy within you is given an outlet; it is redirected into a more positive energy.  Everyone is inheritably born with the potential for creativity.  Drawing, painting, writing, acting, sculpting, knitting, dancing, cooking and playing an instrument are all creative activities that can ignite that creative spark.  Many people already embrace their creativity while others are in the realm of “I am just not creative”.  The key to being creative is taking action!

“Another word for creativity is courage”  ~ George Prince

Weekly Writing Spark~July 21st,2014|| via IgniteYourCreativity.net

“Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey barsYou have to let go at some point in order to move forward. ” ~ C. S. Lewis

Write about what happens when your characters anger catches up with them.  How does their anger manifest itself? Does it cause them to lash out?  Has it been channeled into something positive and productive? Do they manage to resolve their feelings? How does their anger serve them in the long-run?

Reflect and write …

Quote of the Week via www.IgniteYourCreativity.net ~ July 18th, 2014


 “Knowing you have something good to read before bed is among the most pleasurable of sensations.” ~ Vladimir Nabokov

You’re Invited: Summer Beach Reading Party!

Your invited to our Summer Beach Reading Party!
Come on over, & pour yourself a drink, relax and enjoy these great Summer reads

After a hard day at work, caring for children, or gardening, you deserve a night of pleasure!
Open your Kindle or turn the pages of these great books for summer.
Whether you’re enjoying the sun on the beach reading or simply curled up in your favorite chair – let us tempt you with these awesome summer reads…

beach ball

Young Adult Summer Reads


into the light  the girl who swam to atlantis  entertaining angels

Hot Summer Romance Books

Sisters in Love  Lovers at Heart

whole latte love  home again  the curvy girls club  Game of Love  Taken By Love

Thriller / Adventure Beach Reads

the collector of dying breaths  the stream

These awesome authors have come together to offer
a super combined giveaway

summer beach reading

Check out the prize packs you could win below the Rafflecopter Form

Ending on Friday 1st August at 11.59pm EST

Enter Below & Good Luck !!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

1st Prize
The Girl Who Swam to Atlantis by Elle Thornton
The Stream by A. R. Silverberry
The Curvy Girls Club by Michele Gorman
The Collector of Dying Breaths by M.J. Rose
Return to Love by Kathleen Shoop
Taming Romeo by Rachelle Ayala
Into the Light by Amy Manemann
Game of Love by Melissa Foster
Taken by Love by Melissa Foster
Entertaining Angels by Emerald Barnes
Prodigy by Natasha Brown (book 2 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)
Emergent by Natasha Brown (book 3 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)

2nd Prize
The Girl Who Swam to Atlantis by Elle Thornton
The Stream by A. R. Silverberry
The Collector of Dying Breaths by M.J. Rose
Return to Love by Kathleen Shoop
Taming Romeo by Rachelle Ayala
Into the Light by Amy Manemann
Game of Love by Melissa Foster
Taken by Love by Melissa Foster
Entertaining Angels by Emerald Barnes
Prodigy by Natasha Brown (book 2 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)
Emergent by Natasha Brown (book 3 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)

3rd Prize
The Girl Who Swam to Atlantis by Elle Thornton
The Collector of Dying Breaths by M.J. Rose
Return to Love by Kathleen shoop
Taming Romeo by Rachelle Ayala
Game of Love by Melissa Foster
Taken by Love by Melissa Foster
Prodigy by Natasha Brown (book 2 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)
Emergent by Natasha Brown (book 3 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)

4th & 5th Prize
The Girl Who Swam to Atlantis by Elle Thornton
Prodigy by Natasha Brown (book 2 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)
Emergent by Natasha Brown (book 3 of the Shapeshifter chronicles)

6th – 10th Prize
The Girl Who Swam to Atlantis by Elle Thornton

Enjoy your reads !!

End of html

Rafflecopter not working ??
Here is the grab link just incase


Wednesday Wallpaper ~June 16th, 2014 via www.IgniteYourCreativity.net

Campbell Gault Wallpaper

“If you haven’t got an idea, start a story anyway. You can always throw it away,and maybe by the time you get to the fourth page
you will have an idea, and you’ll only have to throw away the first three pages.”

~ William Campbell Gault

Weekly Writing Spark~July 14th,2014|| via IgniteYourCreativity.net

“Sometimes you wake up. Sometimes the fall kills you. And sometimes, when you fall, you fly.” ~ Neil Gaiman

Write about what happens when your fondest dream becomes your reality. What happens to you and those you love?  How does your life change? Do you long for your “old” life?

Get creative, write and most of all….have fun! :)

New & Good! A guest post by Lora R Fisher


A new project and a new focus…

With so many things seemingly going wrong in our world, it’s more important than ever to align oneself with positive people and projects.

One such project that I’m currently contributing to is a new documentary, Green Feathers: The unlikely story of Native American logging, which follows the histories of Native American families from The Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, and is currently in production. It recounts the forced relocation in the 1800’s from their homelands to a reservation in Western Oregon, and onto their success as loggers in Oregon’s timber industry.

Oh, how I love a new project and this one has all of the elements that make for a very happy contributor: a powerful social message; an epic story of survival; and the strength and industry of an adaptive people. Green Feathers is a story of struggle, personal and collective strength, and of finding creative ways to stay alive spiritually and physically by diverse tribes who had lived traditionally for thousands of years. They faced the unexpected reality of having to live an entirely new way, not by choice, but to survive, which can be a lesson for all of us.

Over the past concentrated weeks, graphic elements were designed and the website constructed and smoothly launched. Social media programming has also been successfully developed, and the response has been very positive. Additionally, the nonprofit Hollywood Theatre in Portland, Oregon has selected Green Feathers as one of their fiscally sponsored projects, which is a huge boost that will help immensely with fundraising and ongoing programming.

It was, and is, a pleasure to collaborate with writer, producer, and director, Tanner Givnan, on these key facets of the project. I see great things ahead! http://GreenFeathersDocumentary.com

Tying up those pesky loose ends…

This past spring was a bit of a wander through the uncomfortable realm of Loose Ends. One project in particular prompted me to ask, “What’s next?” A question that resolved with a shift in focus, from advocating for other artists to advocating for myself.

That shift might sound easy, but as many of us know, putting oneself first is often the last thing we can comfortably do. It often is a slowly developing process, but when it hits, it’s undeniable. Advocating for oneself is positive, productive, and deeply satisfying. The result is that I now have a website dedicated to my photography, http://www.LoraFisherPhotography.com, as well as an active Google Plus page google.com/+LoraFisherPhotography.

FlairCreativ Presents continues to move forward. In an effort to keep the personal out of the professional, I have spent years avoiding layering my spiritual or political perspectives onto my professional social media presence. Recently, I’ve realized that that is a huge part of who I am, and to deny it is no longer an option. So, when appropriate, you will see more personal posts and commentary. With this new perspective in mind, I’ve developed a sparkling new logo and have redesigned the website to reflect a more open presentation. This will give the visitor a sense of my approach to life and social issues, as well as highlighting design and development services and current projects. http://www.FlairCreativ.com

Another significant outcome of this new perspective is that I’ve changed the emphasis of Galri Montaj from a broad focus on a range of artists and media, to presenting photography and digital media only. While currently in a quiet phase, I intend to provide a platform for emerging photographers and digital artists and am planning a call for artists later this year. http://www.GalriMontaj.com

This reevaluation has led to a profound bit of wisdom: if you have something to say, let it be positive. Look for the good and share it as often as possible. If we only have this one life, the world will be a brighter place for it. If we have many, then what we do and say today will have a positive effect through the ages. Besides, being positive is simply more fun! I’m a firm believer in the “ripple effect”, and now ask myself before posting or sharing: Is it useful? Is it positive? Will it make someone smile?

A few thoughts on social media…

Throughout this entire process, I have found Google Plus to be the biggest help in spreading my message of the moment. The folks who inhabit Google Plus are actively engaged and supportive. Additionally, there are a wealth of choices when it comes to participating in communities — one of the most effective ways to build a network and a following. And, if you own a website, getting it verified through a G+ page will boost your site’s ranking in searches.

Having developed both a G+ page and a Facebook page to present my photography this past year, I’ve found that between the two, there is no contest. Cleaner, more elegant, and a monster at building a following, G+ wins!

I’ve also heard great things about Tumblr, but with so much already in place to manage, I’m reluctant to take on another. There is wisdom in keeping things simple, plus there’s another story to tell that’s been waiting for my return.


I’m grateful to be a part of something bigger than myself — to be participating in a project that adds to the rich history of the Pacific Northwest. I appreciate the opportunity to help share the story of The Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde, and am grateful that they have endured.

That I was fortunate to have crossed social media paths with Belinda Witzenhausen a few years ago is a significant notch on my gratitude yardstick. She is unfailingly supportive and generous, and does her part each day to spread joy, inspiration, and simple goodness in this often tangled and beautiful world.

Thanks so much, Ms B.

To learn more:

Green Feathers Documentary


Lora Fisher Photography:


FlairCreativ Presents:


Galri Montaj:


Wednesday Wallpaper ~ July 9th, 2014 via www.IgniteYourCreativity.net

White Wallpaper

“A writer who waits for ideal conditions under which to work will die without putting a word to paper.”
~ E. B. White

Weekly Writing Spark~July 7th,2014|| via IgniteYourCreativity.net

man·i·fes·to  noun \ˌma-nə-ˈfes-(ˌ)tō\:

Merriam~Webster defines it as a written statement declaring publicly the intentions, motives, or views of its issuer

What is your manifesto for life? What are your intentions?  What values do you hold dear? What would you like your world to be like?

Create a manifesto or your own personal mission statement focusing what you “intend” to do to make a better life for yourself and others.  Use your imagination and don’t limit yourself….dream on the page! Reflect and write.

For some inspiration, check out some interesting ones on Brainpickings.org:  http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2011/04/08/five-manifestos-for-life/

Incantation Paradox by Annamaria Bazzi ~ Excerpt via IgniteYourCreativity.net

Tour Banner


Novel: Incantation Paradox

Author: annamaria bazzi

Genre: Urban Fantasy

Cover Designer: Natasha Brown

Available: June 2



IncantationParadox-smallA car accident cuts Dolores Reynard’s life short, leaving her with a long list of unfulfilled dreams. When she awakens in a strange bed, inside a much younger body, and living with a new family—she can’t worry she might be going insane. How can she be a teenager again?

Jason Richmond understands the danger awaiting his new houseguest. Wanting to ease her concerns, he works to earn Dolores’ trust. But attraction flares in the most unexpected way, and he finds himself caught between setting the situation right and following his heart.

An enduring evil threatens not only the blossoming love but their lives as well. As Dolores and Jason struggle to unravel the truth behind her resurrection, they find themselves tangled in a web of murder, intrigue and magic. Only together can they hope to overcome the incantation paradox holding them captive.

Book Links:

Amazon / smashwords / B&N

Enjoy the third chapter of the novel. If you follow the tour you’ll be able to read all three chapters. I hope you enjoy the chapter.



Chapter Three

Dolores snuggled deeper into the covers, the fresh lavender fragrance from the bedding filling her nostrils. How sweet! Grabbing a fistful of sheets, she inhaled. Wait…the sheets don’t feel right. With a jolt, she opened her eyes and stared at smooth ceiling plaster, the crack she’d nagged her ex-husband, Ethan, to fix before he’d walked out, gone. When she moved the covers farther down her body, silk ran through her fingers.

What? With a gasp, she sat up, blood rushing from her head bringing momentary vertigo. Her gaze raced around the unfamiliar room. Her heartbeat inched into her throat. Two French doors leading out to a wide balcony stood where a large picture window had once been. She rubbed her eyes, but nothing changed.

Oh my God. What happened? She swallowed hard. The pictures of the girls were gone, replaced by a poster of Edward the vampire from Twilight. She shivered. Where am I? How the hell did I get here?

Black geometric figures flashed in her vision. She rubbed a hand across her forehead, pressing clammy palms on her closed lids. Damn. Not another migraine. When she released the pressure and glanced around, the tranquil tea-rose wall color did nothing to calm her. The morning light filtered through the curtains, assaulting her eyes. She squeezed them closed, gasping for air, lungs burning.

Breathe deep. In, out, slow….

Throwing the covers aside, she let them fall to the floor. When she stood, her feet rested on a black-and-white sheep pelt. The warmth from the woolen carpet wrapped around her cold feet. Her heart continued to somersault, slamming against her ribcage. Shaking her head, she pressed her fingertips to her temples, hoping to wake up from whatever bizarre nightmare had trapped her.

Knock, knock, knock.

Dolores jumped, rounding toward the foreign-looking bedroom door. Was there an enemy on the other side, armed and dangerous?

“Mona, time to get up,” came an unfamiliar voice. “You don’t want to be late on your first day of school.”

Terrified, her mind focused only on the unfamiliar baritone voice. Oh, God. Oh, God. Help me. Frozen, unable to decide if she should run or hide, her mind sank into that dark place where thoughts became hard to sort.

“Mona! Hurry up.”

“Think.” Gritting her teeth, she managed small panting breaths. “Breathe and think.”

Heavy footsteps indicated the man’s departure.

Who the hell was that? Did he call me Mona? She took a moment to compose herself, to get her bearings then inched through the room, making sure she was alone. Tiptoeing, she crept past a mirror, stopping to stare at the reflection.

Her eyes grew wide, and she gasped.

The reflection of her seventeen-year-old self mocked her. Leaning forward, she examined luminous, tight skin—the appearance of youth. How the hell did I get so young? But then, everything about her felt different—vibrant, energetic. The throb at the back of her head came and went. Shocked, she pulled up the oversized sweatshirt she wore to discover tight abs.


Dolores pinched her stomach. What happened to the little pouch of fat from having children? Her lower lip quivered with a bit of excitement at the sight of toned legs. Holy crap! Wait…what is this? Thin elastic strips circling her hips held a tiny bit of fabric in place. Butt floss…I’m wearing a thong?

Tanned skin covered tight muscles, giving her buttocks a sexy, jaw-dropping appeal. Facing the mirror straight on, she cupped her breasts. No longer saggy like plastic bags stuffed with silly putty, but firm and perky. She yanked the sweatshirt, stretching it as far down as it would go, grateful it fit more like a micro-dress.

The idea that what was happening might not be a dream lingered in a corner of her mind. But she couldn’t remember anything that would explain how she might have gotten here. The night before had turned into a whiteboard. It doesn’t make sense. She raised shaky hands to touch smooth cheeks. I must be going into shock.

Leaning closer to the mirror, she observed normal pupils—no dilation, no shock. Reality? She shook her head. No. More like a nightmare beginning.

Knock, knock, knock.

She spun toward the door. Oh my God. He’s at the door again.

“Mona, are you getting up?” the same voice called out. A moment later, footsteps moved down the hall.

Bile pushed up her throat. She cringed at the bad taste, breathing deep to settle her stomach.

She glared at the door, unable to move. Who is Mona? The question echoed around her brain. Nothing made sense.

A sparkle of crushed glass flashed through her mind. Tumbling. The images blackened, and a sharp pain stabbed her temple then ran down her spine. She winced, disoriented, puzzled.

The door opened.

Dolores held her breath.

A tall man stood in the doorway, his brows knitted, appraising her. “Is everything all right?”

Who is he? Exhaling, she edged toward the French doors in search of escape. Did he bring me here? Why is he staring at me like that? Is he going to kill me?

A burst of light in her mind’s eye blinded her. Plummeting. Rolling. Glass grinding. Agony. And then…nothing. She flinched, the room seeming to spin.


Sweat rolled down the sides of her face, along her neck. She wiped her cheek. The more she studied him, the more she relaxed in his presence, realizing his expression held a great deal of compassion, of worry—not threat or malice. “Who are you?”

The concern in his chocolate-colored eyes deepened. “How’s your head, kiddo?”

She reached toward the relentless throb at the base of her skull. Why is he calling me kiddo? “Ouch!” She fingered a lump. “What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?” He stepped toward her.

Gasping, she moved closer to the balcony door. She reached for the knob. Locked. Her mind raced through all the self-defense moves she knew.

He stopped mid-stride, his brow furrowing. “Mona?” His soft inflection sounded strange to her ear.

With feet spread shoulder width apart, she stood ready to strike.

He moved to sit at the foot of the bed.

In a low voice, she repeated, “Who are you?” Then added, “Where am I?” Even while she spoke, she measured the distance to the open bedroom door.

“Mona, you hit your head pretty hard last night after you tumbled down the stairs.” He tapped his skull with one finger.

“But I’m not Mona. My name is Dolores,” she protested with an energy she didn’t think she could muster. She forced her fists to her hips.

“Kiddo, it seems you’re suffering from amnesia after all.” He hit his temple. “It doesn’t make sense. You didn’t even have a concussion. Do you remember the MRI?”

She shook her head.

“Do you have a headache?”

She nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I always have them.” Migraines had been constant companions like little lap dogs that never left her side. The current pain didn’t seem quite as bad as most, but the lump on the back of the head sent shockwaves of doubt through her brain.

He patted the space next to him. “Come sit by me.”

She stared at his kind yet unfamiliar face, making no move to do as he suggested, but did let her arms drop to her sides. Her heart did another flip before slowing. Realizing the man’s gaze never roamed over her half-naked body, she took a calming breath.

A smile brushed his lips. “Don’t be so afraid. I’m your father.”

“You’re not my father. I don’t know who you are.” She shut her jaw so tight it began to ache, but no matter how hard she dug into her memories, nothing surfaced that made any sense. She closed her eyes, willing the nightmare to go away.

Not a chance.

Peeking through her eyelashes, she observed the stranger.

With a deep sigh, he lowered his chin to his chest. “Then can you tell me who you are?”

“My name is Dolores….”

The man sighed again.

How can this be? In the mirror, she saw herself—a self from almost thirty years ago, but nonetheless herself. “What do you see?”

He opened his hands, showing his palms. “I see my daughter, suffering.”

“What does she look like?”

“Like a wild cat, cowering in a corner.”

She inhaled. “Do I look like your daughter?”

He wiped his face with his hand. “You are my daughter.”

The world had gone crazy. I’m a teen? No, I’m a mom with teenage daughters. Even though she struggled to draw enough air into her lungs, her head spun, making her stomach queasy again. She reached for the dresser to catch her balance.

Two strong arms scooped her off her feet. “Whoa. I got you.” He carried her to the bed. “Baby girl, how are you feeling?”

Dolores’s mind churned, pondering the puzzle pieces that did not fit. When the room stopped spinning, he came into focus, sitting on a dainty upholstered chair. He had a kind face with a strong, square jaw, his full lips forming a fine line. His gaze was locked on her.

Chilled, she shuddered. “I don’t remember you.” She continued to stare—no recollection whatsoever. Rising onto her elbows, she blinked several times.

A flash.

The same man saunters into the backyard. Mona jumps off the swing, screaming, “Daddy, Daddy.”
She runs. He bends with open arms to catch her, lifting her into the air. She laughs when he twirls her around.
“How’s my little girl today?”
Her small hands wrap around his neck. “I love you, Daddy.”

She squeezed her eyes shut tight to chase away the memory that wasn’t hers. Instead, she allowed images of her daughters playing with their father to come into focus. A tear snaked down her cheek. She swiped it away.

“Are you still feeling dizzy?” he asked.


“You don’t remember me?”

She shook her head, but stopped because she did have recollections of the man. Fog crept into her mental peripheral, growing, wrapping around her brain, rendering her incapable of coherent thought.

The doorbell rang.

“That must be Eric.” He looked to the bedroom door and waited.

A few seconds later, the front door slammed. Footsteps thumped up the stairs. The man got up, leaving to meet the person in the hallway.

Their muffled conversation reached her ears, but she couldn’t understand the words. Jumping off the bed, she searched for any clues to figure out why the world had turned upside down. On the elegant white desk sat a laptop. Propelled by desperation, she opened it and hit the On button. The screen flickered to life from sleep mode. Thank God it’s not password protected.

Perched on the edge of the chair, she clicked the icon to start a browser—adrenalin pulsed through her body. Surely, her email account would hold some answers. She tried to log on. The words “The email you entered does not belong to any account” flashed onto the screen.

What? Thinking she’d made a typo, she tried again. The message flashed on the screen again. Her email didn’t exist.

Maybe I no longer exist. She hesitated, pondering her entire life. Dolores Reynard’s life. It was too vivid, too real to ignore. She recreated her email account and wrote a message to Ethan. Thank God that went through. On second thought, she decided to send a message to her daughters also. Relief filled her heart. How long would it take them to see her message and reply? She closed the laptop.

She looked around the unfamiliar room, and her breathing sped up, coming in short, uneven sputters. I can’t hyperventilate, or I’ll faint. She panted into her hands forcefully, slowly, unable to clear her mind and understand what in heavens could have brought her here. She really needed to talk to someone, anyone from the life she knew she belonged to.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed a cell phone lying on a pile of discarded clothes. She rushed over and dialed Ethan’s number. Ringing. More ringing. Seriously? Come on, I don’t have much time. Ethan, where are you? He always answered right away. Maybe he didn’t recognize the number on caller ID. Voice mail came on, but then the line just cut off before she could hear the greeting. Damn it. With a groan she tossed the phone aside.

The Richmond Times Dispatch. She typed her name in the paper’s search box. Bingo. The morning headlines were unmistakable.

POLICE CHASE ENDS IN DEATH. Dolores Rima Reynard was pronounced dead at the
Medical College of Virginia several hours after arrival.



annamaria bazziAlthough born in the United States, Annamaria Bazzi spent a great deal of her childhood in Sicily, Italy, in a town called Sciacca. Italian was the language spoken at home. Therefore, she had no problems when she found herself growing up in a strange country. Upon returning to the states, she promised herself she would speak without an accent. She attended Wayne State University in Detroit Michigan, where she obtained her Bachelor of Science in Computers with a minor in Spanish.

Annamaria spent twenty years programming systems for large corporations, creating innovative solution, and addressing customer problems. During those years, she raised four daughters and one husband. Annamaria lives in Richmond Virginia with her small family where she now dedicates a good part of her day writing.

You can visit Annamaria at:

blog / website / Facebook / annamariascorner@yahoo.com / twitter / goodreads

Quote of the Week via www.IgniteYourCreativity.net ~ June 27th, 2014


 “If I read a book and it makes my body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.” ~Emily Dickinson


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