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alone_large.JPGSherrilyn Kenyon wrote a post a couple of days ago that has just stuck with me. And stuck and stuck and stuck. I can’t get it out of my head.

Please take the time to go read her post, “Laughter through tears.” It’s longer than her normal posts, and it’s profound, heartbreaking, and uplifting all at the same time.  The reading of it goes very quickly. It proves to me that you never truly know someone until you walk a mile in their shoes – or read a blog post.  It’s posts like hers that makes me grateful for the Internet – we’re able get glimpses into each other’s lives.  It makes the world a bit smaller and a lot more profound.

Here’s a snippet:

I received an email earlier today that struck me vividly. It was a question from a fan asking me what it was like to live my life. To have good family and everything I have ever wanted and it made me want to cry on so many levels that it drove me here to the keyboard. She asked me how I was able to see my characters so vividly and the answer is simple. I’ve been there.

I know what it’s like to live and love with fear, to be mocked with cruelty and to have to try and find shelter through the most vicious of storms. If there is one scene in all the books I relate to most, it’s the one of Zarek walking barefoot through the blizzard, seeking comfort. Of him standing outside, looking inside the cheerful house and wishing with all his heart that he was one of the happy, warm people inside.

If my life was perfect, I wouldn’t have gotten up today with only three hours of sleep to work. I would sleep until noon and have my hubby wake me with roses and my children would be perfectly healthy and happy. My oldest son wouldn’t be autistic. My middle son wouldn’t have health problems and my baby wouldn’t be ADHD. My oldest sister wouldn’t have Cerebral Palsy. My older brother and my mother would still be alive and when something good happened to me, I wouldn’t feel the fear that has made a permanent hole in my heart.

You see, I am Acheron. And I know that the strongest steel is truly forged out of the flames of hell. The kindest thing I can say about my childhood is that I survived it. I know what it’s like to be so poor that you have to swallow air so that you can fool your stomach into thinking it’s got something in it. I was that child who went to school in boy hand-me-downs, who stared at the pretty dresses the other girls wore and wished I had one too.

Go here to read the rest.  Have some tissues handy.  And be ready to hug someone when you’re done.faye.jpg