Gearing Up to Prepare for Your Creative Success: Seeds We Sow #MotivationMonday #SiezetheDream #Creative

“The little seeds sown today become the fruit trees of our tomorrows.” ~Candice Coates

The Word of God says that whatever we sow that we shall also reap (Galatians 6:7). When it comes to our creativity, like our faith or life in general, we still reap what we sow.

If you sow seeds of laziness or even fear of failure and choose not to make the time to create today, tomorrow you will have nothing but the fruit of regret.

But if you take the time, get your hands dirty and press past your barriers and fears, sowing seeds of action, even when it seems fruitless, soon and very soon you will eat of the fruits of success.

I want to help you sow your creative seeds! I want to help you find your success.

Success isn’t solely found in book deals or high priced paintings, but in the knowledge that you accomplished a challenging goal. In your efforts, you grew. That is always worthy fruit.

Let’s grow together!


Over the next 12 Mondays, I would like you to journey with me in sowing seeds to capture your divine and creative vision for tomorrow.

We will:

  • ‘Turn the soil’ of our creative ground and prep it to be fruitful
  • Relay proper foundations to build creatively upon
  • Learn how to design our personal roadmaps to ‘creative success’
  • Find out what it means to Dream, Imagine, Believe, Do, and, CONQUER!


Will you make a commitment to join me in this journey? If so, please

  • Follow ICFTS if you aren’t already
  • Invite others to join by spreading the word and sharing this post on social media
  • Make a commitment at the end of this journey to Sign my GUESTBOOK sharing how ICFTS has blessed you and helped you grow creatively

I look forward to sharing this creative table with you.


  • What steps have you taken to walk into your creative dreams thus far?
  • What were/are some things that were/are holding you back?
  • What advice would you share with others who have struggled to take hold of or regain their footing in conquering their dreams and goals?

Please share your wisdom and advice in the comments below.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

The Blessing of Trusting the Lord: A Word of Encouragement


Psalm 56:3-4Whenever I am afraid, I will trust in You. In God (I will praise His word), In God I have put my trust; I will not fear.What can flesh do to me?”


In life, we all come to a place where we face fear. It could be something as grand as the fear of crashing your car or the fear of a needle during a check-up at the doctor’s office. But as with all things, there is always the choice of choosing to live beyond the fear, and we can do this by trusting in God.

Jeremiah 17:5-8 Thus says the Lord“Cursed is the man who trusts in man And makes flesh his strength, Whose heart departs from the Lord. 6For he shall be like a shrub in the desert, And shall not see when good comes, But shall inhabit the parched places in the wilderness, In a salt land which is not inhabited.“Blessed is the man who trusts in the Lord, And whose hope is the LordFor he shall be like a tree planted by the waters, Which spreads out its roots by the river, And will not fear[a] when heat comes;But its leaf will be green, And will not be anxious in the year of drought, Nor will cease from yielding fruit.

Something I want to point out about the two men mentioned in the verses from Jeremiah. Both men were righteous men of God, but the first man turned His attention from the goodness of god and began to trust in other men for his preservation.

The fact of the matter is, no matter how sincere others are, no matter how sincere we are, we are bound to fail each other time and time again.

But failure is not in God! Not only that, but all of His promises are yes and in Christ, amen (2 Corinthians 1:20). He will do what He said.

When we chose to trust Him by faith, no matter the circumstances we trust Him we can:

The Word of God is full of words that don’t assure as that we will never experience or face fear, but rather that God is trustworthy to deliver us from whatever it is that has us afraid. Psalm 91 is a perfect example of that. Verses 9-16 express, like in Jeremiah, what the reward of those who trust in Him will be:

9Because you have made the Lord, who is my refuge, Even the Most High, your dwelling place, 10 No evil shall befall you, Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling; 11 For He shall give His angels charge over you, To keep you in all your ways. 12 In their hands they shall bear you up, Lest you dash your foot against a stone. 13 You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra, The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.

14 “Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him; I will set him on high, because he has known My name. 15 He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him. 16 With long life I will satisfy him, And show him My salvation [Yeshuati=Jesus*].”

Psalm 91 shows us the trouble will try to overtake us and cause us to fear, but as long as we continue to make Yeshua Jesus our refuge and trust, He will cause us to overcome every scheme that comes against us and He will prosper us.

So, how do we, in the face of trial and fearful things continue to trust in the Lord? We do so by staying in and meditating on His word daily.

It is in His Word that we are assured of His goodness, in His Word that our trust and love and faith grows. It is in His Word that we obtain Salvation/Yeshua/Jesus! the Living Word! (John 1:1-16, Colossians 1:15-20).

So let us rejoice in His Word and trust in Him taking our rest in Joy for He is faithful who has promised (Hebrews 10:23, I Thessalonians 5:24) and He has promised to keep all who trust in Him! And oh, what a blessing it is!

Jeremiah 15:16 “Your words were found, and I ate them, And Your word was to me the joy and rejoicing of my heart; For I am called by Your name, O Lord God of hosts.

~Poiema, Poetry in Motion

*The word used for ‘My Salvation’ is Yeshuati in the Hebrew. The Name of the Savior is Yeshua/Jesus.

The Bend: Flash Fiction Results of Monday’s Muse May 16th 2016


The Bend: Flash Fiction

The road was still dark though the fog had cleared. Still they hadn’t seen another car for hours. The same lurching feeling that they’d felt in the fog returned but with a greater degree of clarity.

It had happened.

The shockwave that had rocked him to the ground several hours ago, the one that had left his ears bleeding and his sight spliced to a sickening double, had come at the exact time that he’d predicted.

“They should’ve listened to me,” His words trembled from his lips. White knuckles gripped his steering wheel as he rounded the bend. Tears blurred his vision again before trickling down his face.

His breath hitched. He hadn’t cried in years, not since his first  prediction. Kelley, his sister. He’d told her that her breaks would give out, said he’d seen it in a dream. They’d fought over the keys. He became enraged by fear, busted out her window as she fought to drive off.

She died. The car didn’t stop, just as he’d told her. He’d fought to save her life and all he could think about while he sat in a prison cell for his sister’s murder, was how her last thought of him was one of fear.

That hadn’t been his first prediction, not really. He’d had several up until then. They’d come at random, like pebbles sliding down a mountain face, the gentle warnings of an ominous danger just up ahead.

They started after his own recovery. A bad high mixed with a fall into an empty swimming pool with a rain slick bottom and a lovely jolt of electricity from a construction lamp falling on top of him.

The predictions began the moment he opened his eyes and just like they pebbles they grew weightier with their warning. The last was the shockwave that brought the fog.

No one listened then, having dubbed him a murderous lunatic junkie. How he wished they were all right about him. He wished he had been every slur they’d called him just to have the suffocating emptiness that had been strangling him for hours to lift away for good.

He pressed the gas and picked up speed. Maybe he shouldn’t have found cover from the shockwave. Maybe he should have done like everybody else and stayed above ground. Now alone, he thought that he should just end it all.

Who would he tell of what he’d witnessed? So far it was evident that there was no one left. A moan crawled up his throat and burst forth in a flood of more tears. He bit the back of his hand and let the speedometer climb higher and higher and higher until–

His wheels screamed to a halt and with the agility of a NASCAR driver, he managed to bring the car to a safe stop only several yards from the young woman standing at the side of the road.


*I love the way freewriting goes in whatever direction it pleases. This story kind of made me nervous in a what’s-about-to-happen kind of way. Other writer’s know what I mean by this. These are my results for Monday’s Muse Writing Prompt May 16th, 2016. If you are interested in seeing the original prompt and rules, and maybe even give it a writing try yourself, you can do so by following this LINK.

~Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

What They Say: Flash Fiction #Blogbattler Week 50


What They Say: Flash Fiction

“The only time I want to see a whole lot of red inky letters on paper is when Jesus is talking in my Bible, not when I have to hand you back your manuscript!” Mr. Hopeheld drummed his fingers on his desk, the frustration in his eyes melting in to compassion.

“Don’t look so chewed up. You and I both know you can do better than this. This,” He stabbed his pointer finger into the tome upon his shiny desktop. “This was a distracted effort of lifeless words and that just isn’t who you are.”

The tempered rebuke from Lloyd’s publisher  a week ago had nearly given him an ulcer. The sad thing was Mr. Hopeheld was right in all he said. The only problem was that him being right had not helped Lloyd one iota. He’d only told him what he’d already known.

Lloyd didn’t believe in writer’s block. The truth was he always had something to say, always had some character whispering in his ears, flashing pictures of their questionable misadventures before his eyes.

But the sudden fearful indifference that had wrapped tight hold of him like sodden leather was what made him shrink back from his laptop. Even now he felt his pulse thrumming in his ears as he stood looking at it from across the room.

Last thing he wanted to do-again-was write thousands of words of garbage fit for nothing more than the lining of a chicken coup. But the moment his love for storytelling had turned into something akin to tree kicking he just couldn’t bring himself to do it…not like he should.

Problem was he had signed on to write what he was told by others; by his critics and naysayers, by blog reviewers who did nothing but spew acid upon the written attempts of those who’d actually stuck their necks out to accomplish their dreams. Those hacks could only trash others while building themselves up on platforms of how they would have done it better. And the readers were eating it up.

Lloyd had even eaten it to his own demise.

Rolling his shirt up over his head he turned from the desk again and screamed. He’d done this to himself. Even Mr. Hopeheld had said so.

“Lloyd, who cares what your critiques say. It’s your fans who matter. When they start ripping you apart on their blogs then you know you have a problem. But these guys, these soul-suckers who always know how to ‘do it better’ never ‘do it.’ They are irrelevant.” He picked up Lloyd’s manuscript, all 350 pages worth, and tipped it in the wastebasket.

Lloyd felt the color drain from his face. Hopeheld took hold of his shoulders. “You get your behind back to that condo of yours and you write again, but this time you write from your heart, you write it for you first, with your audience in mind second. And when you write your story, let your words be pure, true, engaging. If you don’t like it. If you’re not moved, we won’t be either.” He clapped him on the back for good measure as if he were his coach. “Go move us, son. Do what you were created to do. Move us!”

Pulling his shirt back down over his chest, Lloyd put on his game face. He’d written a great story before. He was going to do it again. No matter what his critics had to say. Who were ‘they’ anyway?


I hope you enjoyed this weeks entry of the blogbattle! The Keyword: PURE and my Genre: CONTEMPORARY...I think. To read more stories from other battlers, please click HERE and head on over the the fab blog of Rachael Ritchey!

Dream. Imagine. Believe. Do. CONQUER!

What She Said: Flash Fiction Results For Monday’s Muse Jan 11th 2016

Results for Monday's Muse Writing Prompt are in! To see the original post you can do so by following this LINK.


What She Said


Slurping, he sucked in his lips cooling them with his tongue, dropping the spoon back into the bowl with an unintended but dramatic splash. Looking forward, his heart all but stood still. The soup had burned his lips almost as badly as her words just had.

“I-I’m sorry. What did you just say?” He reached for his napkin and methodically dabbed his mouth, his eyes fixed on a nondescript spot on the table as he perked his ears to listen.

“I said I know who you are.”

That’s what he’d thought he’d heard her say. His eyes stared coldly at her back, the white hot glare of the sun from the window made her look as nothing more than a dark silhouette, a demon come calling for payment.

She turned around and faced him, her arms drawn tightly around her middle. Washed in black or not, he could still see the tension in her shoulders. She was afraid…of him. That was good at least.

She said, “Generally what happens when a liar is found out, I have them removed from the premises. There’s a lot of paper work and legal dribble involved. Its usually not pleasant for those who find themselves in your position. The liars that is.” He could feel her eyes staring hard into his.

Odd, for a frightened woman she was very forward. He kept her gaze but allowed himself to take in the sounds from around his office and out side the doors. It would stand to reason that if she truly knew who he was then she would have a small army waiting just outside the door. Odder still, none of the sounds outward were any different from any other day.

“Your name isn’t Wallace Dayworthy. I know of another name but I don’t want to be too presumptuous. What is your name exactly? ” She tilted her head.

He leaned back. If this was a stalling tactic, which he doubted, or a game of cat an mouse, he was definitely drawn in. Fear, questions, knowledge, but her standing right there in the room, not moving, not leaving, knowing or at least believing she knew who he was was extremely attractive to his condition.

“Why?” Was his simple response.

The tension in her shoulders shifted as she pulled her arms from her chest and gripped the window sill until her knuckles were nearly white. “If you are who I know you are, then,”

“Then what?” He had a bit of growl to his voice. It wasn’t intended, but the scent of fear drew him out. She either needed to show her hand or let him leave without any scene being made. It would be bad for everyone if there was a scene. Bloody bad.

“Then I need your help…Tribecca.”

His name, his hidden name, shivered from her lips, laden with desperation. He all but flinched but not just from her calling out his name.

His attention perked with what she’d said. This was a first. Someone needed his help.

The End…I suppose…maybe

The Right Time: A Song And Word On Seizing Our Moments

There is indeed a time and a season to all things, but how many times have we used this “truth” out of context, and as a means to hide behind our fear, allowing great opportunities to pass us by?

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven…(Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

God does indeed have a plan for all of us. He has the perfect times set up for each and every one of us. I am not a believer in “coincidences” but “God-incidences,” however even with a beautifully orchestrated God-incidence if we are insistent upon finding every reason for why we shouldn’t make a move, we will miss our moment.

Some moments  don’t come around twice. They are truly once-in-a-lifetime events.

So I encourage you to, yes, pray without ceasing. Seek the face of God and allow the wisdom of Yeshua Jesus to guide you in His perfect way and will in all that you do, but don’t let fear of waiting for the “perfect moment” to rob you of the moment at hand.

If you’re waiting for the right time The right time will fly right by you Always planning, never moving Always praying, never doing It ain’t living if you’re just spending your life Waiting for the right time” ~Warren Barfield The right time

There is no such thing as a perfect moment, only the right time and most of the time the right time happens when it looks impossible.

Many of us  like to say we are waiting on God…but have you ever considered that maybe God is waiting on you?

The time is now! Step out on faith, and don’t let your “moment” pass you by.

~Poiema, Poetry in Motion

The Drop: Part 2 of The Sickle #Blogbattle Week 17

Tis Tuesday and another grand day for a Blogbattle! This week's word is "Drop." To read more blog battle entries, click HERE. To read Part 1 of The Sickle, click HERE.

The Drop

Clovis felt like he had been running for days. He might as well had been. The way his tongue had glued to the roof of his mouth from the strain of unrelenting thirst was a sure sign that he would be a dead man…and soon.

He had been a moving target for several hours, running into the face of the sun towards the rocky cliffs ahead of him, hoping to find some kind of shelter. But with each determined stride, with each kick of the living dust that swirled around his feet, the farther away the mountain seemed to be.

Its promise of temporary shelter snaked through him pressing him forward, battling against the relentless distance that taunted him. It was almost as if the mountain was moving away from him.

He knew better. The soaring heat of Hydra Colony, and the glare of its suns were baking away his reasoning. He still had not gotten the chance to register what was happening or why Empire had disconnected him. He could only focus his mind on shelter, and the thirst that was quickly drawing moisture from his pressed lips.

Better dehydration killed him than them to get their hands on him.

The XX, what Empire had dubbed the denizens farmed in Hydra Colony, were too basic, too far gone from human or true terre to be considered female.

They were devoid of reason and even lacked the necessary organs to reproduce. They were all but maddened clay forms, incomplete, lacking the finishing touch from the hand of God.

Shrill cries and hoots similar to that of aggravated baboons echoed against the rock face of the  mountains causing Clovis’ jaw to clench. The sound was beyond threatening and he had yet to formulate a plan for survival beyond running.

Foolishly, he chanced a look behind him, squinting past the blisters that were lingering just beneath his burning skin. At least six XX’s had emerged from the living dust just after he had collected the viable sample, and were now in hot pursuit.

Hot. How long would it be before the colony was completely cleansed by the fire that came after every Sickle trial? By the sudden rise of ferocity of the suns, Clovis reckoned he would survive a week at best before he was roasted alive.

That was at least a full five days before the fires ignited, putting Hydra Colony back at zero.

Another shrill cry, followed by a cacophony of others distinct from those that had previously assaulted his ears broke out behind him. Again Clovis looked back, just as his palm touched the rough surface of the mountain, and a prayer for a clear path to safety parted his lips.

Horror clawed up his spine with a chill that knocked the heat from his skin. Something large, larger than the XX’s had come upon them with neck break speed. Roaring like a lion, it tore down Clovis’ pursuers with blurring movements, dropping their lifeless forms to the dust.

Clovis choked down a terrible cry of his own. Six dead meant at least 36 would rise in their places, never mind the others who probably crawled upon the mountain, hiding in the darkness.

Tearing  his eyes away from the beast he could only assume was born of his blood and the living dust, Clovis took to the mountain, gripping the Sickle with an unyielding hold.

Sharp rock threatened to break his skin, forcing Clovis to change his position several times, costing him precious time. The panting of the beast behind him bounced around him.

It was drawing close, too close. Clovis needed a plan. It was that, or die at the age of 40.

He finally pulled himself to a flat surface dropping his head to his chest, taking in deep breathes through his nostrils, anything to quiet his movements and mask his position.

A shadow sliced across his path causing him to startle. He slowly drew upward from his seated position, shifting the Sickle in his hand, praying no dust lingered upon the mountain. Blood would be shed before it was all said and done, Clovis just intended for it not to be his.

Again the shadow zipped past him, dancing to the music of bare feet against stone, and breaths shallowly and carefully drawn. With each pass, Clovis moved backward, slid behind a rock, climbed over a low over hang that kissed a narrow cave opening just at his feet, until he finally realized what he had done.

“You idiot,” He chastised himself. He had allowed his fear to surrender him to the hand of his appointment, allowing them to push him directly in to the position they wanted him in, and all with the movement of their shadow.

Before he could process, before he could undo the damage he had done, the roar of the beast cracked against his eardrums. Stunned by the closeness  of the sound, Clovis blocked his ears, losing the focus he so needed to keep himself alive.

By the time he righted his swimming equilibrium, it was too late. The shadow of the beast began to fill the area around him. Clovis  swallowed down the dryness of fear.

“I will not die this day!” He hissed, readying himself for the creature’s arrival, unprepared for the hooking hold that had grabbed him by the ankles dragging him down to the ground from behind.

Clovis hit the ground hard, chest first and winded, careful not to lose the Sickle, but unable to stop the rough hands as they jerked him backward, forcing him through the darkness. Down, down, down, he tumbled, unable to gain purchase with control, until all he felt was rushing air around him just before he hit bottom.

Stunned, he struggled to open his eyes. The drop should have killed him.  But it may have saved his life…


To read Part 3 “Awake” Click HERE

Less than 30 words shy of 1000. I actually tried to write a bit less BUT that clearly didn’t happen. I also wanted to try a different story line all together BUT that didn’t happen either. The Sickle just stuck with me, as did Clovis. I had to give him another week or else I am certain I would have gone mad. 

I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave feedback and be sure to check out other entries of this blog battle.