Shykia Bell

Cancun vacation review: Dreams Riviera Resort & Spa

2010-05-26T23:36:00.000-07:00

The Resort

From the moment we arrived at our gorgeous destination, the bellhop put us at ease and made sure we checked our baggage and troubles at the entrance. During check-in we were greeted with ice-cold glasses of champagne and water before we were directed to our immaculate octagonal rooms. In addition to an amazing shower, our room also included a double vanity and a whirlpool bath large enough for two. Prior to booking our trip I read that the bathroom is not very private and this is certainly the case. The toilet is enclosed behind a frosted glass door with transparent borders as is the shower. But as a married couple, this posed no problem.

We also enjoyed a fully stocked mini bar which was regularly stocked with water, beer and a variety of soft drinks. Best of all, the resort is all-inclusive! Having stayed at two all-inclusive resorts prior to Dreams Riviera Resort & Spa, I can truly say that this resort lives up to its promise as top shelf drinks were prominently displayed and served. Even so, you always have the option of splurging on added extras like a bottle of wine or champagne.

Though the resort is much larger than we expected, it is very well organized. It is also family friendly with great activities and entertainment for children. In some reviews, I read complaints of the hotel being overrun with children. This was not the case when during our stay and the children we saw were very playful and well-behaved. My husband, in-laws and I traveled during the off-peak season (May 9th - May 16th) and found it well below capacity, which was beneficial for us since we're not a hard-partying bunch. Overall, the service was impeccable during our stay and the level of cleanliness was outstanding.

Our room entrance (1341) was facing the sports bar, so it was a little noisy in the evenings. It didn't bother my husband, but since I have hypersensitive hearing, I relied on my earplugs so I could sleep. Our balcony, complete with outdoor furniture, overlooked the gardens, pool and ocean. Soft music is piped throughout the resort's halls and walkways throughout the day. Since I don't mind this type of music I didn't mind, but I can see how some might grow tired of it after awhile.

Another thing I must note is the fact that a lot of weddings were held during our stay. Each day there were at least one or two weddings taking place, which made dining a bit more challenging since restaurants were closed for the private events. There was a definite transition from the time we first arrived to the day of our departure. By the end of the vacation we couldn't help but notice more guests arriving. The number of guests more than doubled. Furthermore, there were quite a few rowdy obnoxious people who seemed to relive their drunken college days despite the fact they were 35+ year-old parents. Nevertheless, we didn't allow this to put a damper on the nearly perfect days which preceded our final evening. Besides, there are bound to be a few noisy people no matter where one travels, particularly if alcohol is being served.

The entire staff at Dreams Riviera Cancun worked VERY hard to provide the best service possible and keep the hotel immaculate. Not once did we encounter a rude employee, even though some of them were visibly tired.

Restaurants

Every restaurant we tried was interesting and had tasty menu selections, but we preferred Oceana, Seaside Grill and El Patio. Porto Fino and Bordeaux were excellent as well. Himitsu was decent, but overrated. There were limited selections as far as breakfast dining, but the buffet breakfast at the World Cafe was good. We read that there was a casual elegance dress code for some of the restaurants, but noticed that while we adhered to the code, there was a notable inconsistency in its enforcement. There were some guests who dined in t-shirts and very casual clothing while others were turned away to change their attire. In addition, not all restaurants are open each day. However, the resort distributes a daily schedule so guests can plan their meals accordingly. Most, if not all, waiters work on rotation between restaurants, but we found the service impressive. Angel and Jimmy were exceptional!

During the week we were there, I tried a few interesting drinks. Purple Rain (gin, cranberry juice, Blue Curacao liqueur, sweet and sour mix and soda water) and the Watermelon Mojito were all pretty good. Everything I tried was pretty light for the most part, which worked well for me. However, I liked the Mojito the most. My husband enjoyed Coronas and Tequila. We only had the chance to visit the Barracuda bar once, but the atmosphere was unlike any of the few bars I've ever visited. Located right on the beach, guests can lounge on one of several swings suspended from the bar's roof. My husband and I made a very brief visit to this sports bar and we weren't very impressed with it. Possibly because it wasn't our scene. We're a laid-back couple that isn't too keen on excessively noisy places. The best lounge, in my opinion, was the Rendezvous Bar located in the main lobby. In the evening, the space comes alive with amazing live entertainment which add to the magical atmosphere. It's a wonderfully laid back place to relax after or prior to the fine dining Dreams Riviera has to offer. The shrimp tacos at Oceana were incredibly delicious!!!

Pools

I'm not much of a swimmer, so I'm nervous when it comes to venturing into deep water. However, I was comfortable in every pool at the resort. However, we spent most of our time in the infinity pool. It was gorgeous, clean and usually at just the right temperature.

Beach

We enjoyed a daily refreshing dip in the surf. Sand was very soft and clean. However, the churning ocean sweeps seaweed ashore. Though nothing can be done to tame the unpredictable tides of nature, the seaweed is cleaned every morning. In spite of it all, we were able to make the most of our time sunbathing and enjoying cold drinks while admiring the beautiful beach scenery. I read of difficulties getting a decent seat, but during our stay we never had a problem. Granted, we were staying there during the off-peak season. I can see how seating may be an issue when the hotel is at full capacity.

Amenities

The spa is the best I've ever visited! But it's not without a price. Even with the coupons applied, it costs a pretty penny for a full experience. My mother-in-law and I indulged in hydrotherapy (incredible!!!!), hot stone massages, facials, tropical oasis body wraps and paraffin foot and hand treatments. Gabriella, Yuribia and Norma were excellent. The staff were very courteous and did everything they could to ensure that our experience was as pleasant as possible.

The gift shop is small, but offers a lot of interesting items and trinkets as well as basic necessities you may have forgotten to pack. My favorite shop at the resort is definitely the jewelry store. The prices were reasonable enough for my husband and I to purchase some cool, unique gifts for several people.

Tours

Chichen Itza
I feel so lucky to have been able to tour the Mayan Ruins of Chichen Itza! Our guide, Oscar, was fun, charismatic and very informative. The magnificent structures were a remarkable sight to behold and are a true testament to the genius of the Mayan people. Most memorable is the demonstration of how the serpent God Kukulcan's temple was built to mimic the sound of a bird known as Quetzal. Furthermore, a strategic series of claps can be echoed from the pyramid to chirp the name of the Mayan God. It was at once chilling and amazing to hear the history of this newly declared world wonder. Our guide, Oscar, did a remarkable job transporting us back in time to where this landmark was a thriving society of remarkable individuals.

Unfortunately, I feel I must caution those looking to tour this incredible site--there are countless vendors throughout the property who WILL attempt to sell you items. It is very important that you not stop to talk to them or you will lose track of your tour guide. And believe me, it would really suck to get lost there, especially in such hot weather. Also, the tour was highly commercialized from the beginning. We were taken to three separate vendors selling things like jewelry, calendars and Mayan liquor. The tour guide offered to photograph us, but we declined. When we returned to the bus from the tour, there was yet another vendor selling custom bottles of tequila. To our amazement, one of the bottles bore the image of the couple seated across from us. Then it dawned on us that the photos the guide had taken earlier had been processed and placed on the bottles for sale to the respective visitors. I found it disconcerting and sneaky that this wasn't mentioned at the time the photos were taken. Other than these issues, it was an enjoyable experience. With each day the minuses fade, leaving positive memories that will last us a lifetime.

Before returning to the hotel, we paid a visit to the cenote. Though beautiful, it was intimidating due to the fact I can't swim worth a damn. Even so, I wasn't about to pass up the once in a lifetime chance to take a dip in such a gorgeous environment--with the aid of a life jacket, of course. As I descended the steps my apprehension escalated, but after some coaxing from my husband I slowly climbed in via the ladder. The water was very cold (about 60 degrees or so). Tiny catfish were swimming all around, but it wasn't enough to distract me from my fear. After a few moments of clinging to my husband for dear life (my life jacket was slipping) I decided to exit the water so he could enjoy the rest of his swim in peace. But hey, at least I went in.

The following day we booked a shopping trip through one of the tour companies at the resort. It was a great trip and we managed to pick up some really cool souvenirs for friends and family. After that, we spent the final day of our vacation just as we started it, relaxing at the resort and admiring the serene landscape.

To summarize: I can't say enough wonderful things about Dreams Riviera Cancun. I'd definitely recommend it those looking for a great vacation. And did I mention shrimp tacos? :-)

Feel free to check out my vacation photos.

Life

2010-03-22T09:31:00.000-07:00

Life. The mysterious phenomenon that engulfs us all. Many seek its true definition while others run through it with wild abandonment.
Life. That unclassifiable morphing structure which is limited only by our imagination and genuine desires. Deeper than any ocean, more vast than the endless depths of space, so large that despite humanity's collective efforts to capture and suspend it in time, it will inevitably manage to elude us all, maintaining its control. We expend much time and energy on looking for the answers in the star-encrusted universe. We search for new life on distant planets while we ignore and destroy our neighbors on the one we inhabit. Often, it is not until we witness the diminishing form of life, carrying them into the unknown horizon of existence that we finally voice appreciation for the people and things we once took for granted. But the acknowledgement that should have nurtured and cultivated these beings during the spring can do nothing more than mark the wintery grave of what once was. The swift evolution of life's phases waits for no one. Isn't that reason enough to shower one another with love while we still can as we go through the turbulent rotation of life's seasons? What is the sense of hoarding it until we fade into the sunset?

Poem: One Final Contribution

2010-03-15T08:01:00.000-07:00

An earth-bound celestial creature, born from another,
Initially helpless and in need of nurturing during my infantile stage.
But when strengthened, I venture deeper into the world;
fading in the day, shining brightly in the depth of night when I'm most needed.
At my prime, I use my light to guide others,
but there are days when I regress, needing illumination from others.
This symbiotic exchange endures years of tumultuous changes.
Then comes the day for me to leave it all behind.
Before I return home, I make one final contribution;
I reinforce the earth with my burdensome exterior,
it is not needed for the trip I am to take.
But the memories of my experiences are all my own.
That, and the emotions they trigger, are the only parcels I carry with me.

Some Exceptions May Apply

2010-03-08T09:09:00.000-08:00

New York City has some of the best restaurants in the world. Still, some exceptions may apply...

During my second year of college I received homework assignments that required me to visit areas of the city with which I was unfamiliar. My husband (boyfriend at the time) accompanied me on one such adventure. I figured since he was still relatively new in town it would be a good opportunity for him to see the sights. We made a day out of it and had a good time at a museum--the exact name of the museum escapes my memory due to the unfortunate experience that followed it.

Evening was rapidly approaching and the rumbling of our tummies signaled it was nearly suppertime. In retrospect, I now wonder if the gastro-internal turbulence was actually a desperate warning of things to come. After wandering the area in search of sustenance, we decided to visit a small pizzeria. The fact that we had bypassed the place twice before finally venturing inside should have been a warning, but we were both tired, young and naive. The first thing we noticed that was a bit odd was the smell, or lack thereof. Being a native New Yorker, I had never been to a pizza shop that lacked the fragrant aroma of garlic, herbs and freshly-baked dough. Then again, I was still recovering from a cold so I thought, perhaps, that was to blame. The food choices looked decent enough so we both ordered chicken slices. The man behind the counter, presumably the co-owner was very friendly and happily prepared our order. As we waited, we noticed how empty the place was, but we rationalized it by figuring it was either due to the location or the time of day.

After receiving our food--and I use the term loosely--we took a seat by the window and started our punishment. In the middle of the first bite I was hit with the fact that there was something unusual about what I was eating. It was the smell. As I mentioned earlier, I was getting over a cold, so I thought my sinuses were doing weird things to my olfactory senses. I locked eyes with Max. He seemed okay and we continued eating. All the while I figured I needed to make an urgent doctor's appointment to get some medicine for whatever the hell was going on with my nose. Each time I went to take a bite, my nose was bombarded by a smell reminiscent of moldy gym socks and stray wet puppies. It led me to question the true origin of the meat used to prepare this highly-disappointing meal.

My stomach got the signal and my nose waved the white flag as I surrendered eating and concentrated my attention on my soda. That's when Max dropped his slice on the tray and said: "I can't eat anymore. This shit stinks!" to which I replied: "Seriously? I thought my nose was playing tricks on me." That said, we decided to high-tail it out of there. However, Max, who was not yet fluent in English had a few parting words for the inept pizza maker. "Thank you for your services, but you need to do something about your pizza because it STINKS!!!" he proclaimed.

Clearly irritated, the thickly-accented man defended his stinky wares by retorting: "My pizza doesn't stink! YOU stink!" He was still yelling after as we made our exodus. If only he had put as much passion into his food as he did defending it, we would never have gotten into this altercation.

At least ten years have elapsed and Max and I still bear emotional scars. If we think about it long enough, which we try not to, we can still smell the horrifying stench of the attempted meal. Now, every time we go out to dine we make it a point to do a thorough scent check upon entering any restaurant. If it doesn't smell like food, we immediately reverse course and seek food elsewhere. We don't know what ever became of the shop, but we strongly doubt they're still in business. I can't help but think what a travesty it was for such an establishment to call themselves a pizza shop. Honestly, I feel if the Italian mafia ever got wind of that place it would have been on the news; the owners' skeletons found inside the burnt building with their kneecaps mysteriously broken, or something like that. One positive thing to be said about the experience, aside from our obvious survival, is that I gained a burning desire to prepare my own meals and to prepare them damn well so I don't have to rely solely on restaurants for my culinary pleasures.

Cat-snip

2010-03-01T08:00:00.000-08:00

Five years after my husband, Max, and I got our cat, Bazik (aka Bazilio), we finally came to the point when we could no longer put off having him neutered. The first four years were tolerable, but Bazik's temper was quickly becoming unmanageable--I have many a scar to prove it. He always preferred to hang out with my husband rather than me, which is probably why we disagreed over the procedure for some time--I was for it, he was against it.

Although I'm 5' 6" and... I won't say how many pounds, it was becoming abundantly clear I was outmatched by this nearly 2-foot, 16-pound feline beast. One day, after enduring a particularly maniacal attack, I vehemently decided that this 4-legged ankle biter had tasted my blood for the last time. After careful research, I found a vet and we headed off to the appointment.

The environment was clean and the staff was professional. Max and I took notice of the prominent sign which stated: 'PLEASE KEEP YOUR CATS IN THEIR CARRIERS'. We half-joked that its placement was the result of prior chaos in the waiting area. When we were called I couldn't help but feel concerned for the doctor and her assistant since they were both about a foot shorter than me and didn't have a whole lot of body mass to them. Then I noted there was a 2 to 1 ratio and figured it would even out since the two women had each other for backup.

I was surprised at how Bazik allowed the doctor and assistant to place him on the table, pet him and perform the superficial examination without any major fur flying through the air. 'Perhaps this isn't going to be as bad as I thought' I figured. Then they brought out the thermometer and proceeded to take his temperature from his second business end. That was the plan, anyway. In a split second, my cat went from the male version of Hello Kitty to the feline equivalent of Cujo. He made it abundantly clear he was not willing to become anyone's bitch. He lashed out, prompting the veterinary staff to resort to Matrix-style evasion tactics. And, just like that, Bazik quickly dispelled any suspicion I had of him being homosexual. From a safe distance, Max and I attempted to calm him down, but Bazik wasn't hearing any of that. Seeing that taking his temperature would be impossible without risking life and limb, the doctor decided to skip it. Bazik, however, was still pissed and voiced this fact with a barrage of hisses.

The next part of the checkup was to take a blood sample. I knew that would be an impossible task. I told the doctor: "I think he'll take your blood before you take his." She agreed. It was decided to take his blood once he had been knocked out for the procedure. Max and I were told to return in a few hours to pick him up--by then, we were told, the drugs will have mostly worn off.

During this time I felt guilty about the whole thing. Maybe it was the fact my husband and I were dining at an Italian pizza shop while our beloved cat was losing his meatballs. I really love Bazik and didn't want him to go through such stress, but we were left with no other choice. When we returned to the vet, we noticed the doctor was no longer wearing her hair out. It was tied in a high, messy bun and she looked as though she had been to the gym. The doctor who had performed the procedure was now wearing fresh bandages on his hand that weren't there when we had left. There were a couple of other pet owners who had come and gone, inquiring about their companion's behavior, to which the doctor gave answers such as: "She was a little nervous, but did well" and "Oh, he was very well behaved!" When it came time for us, the doctor's smile faded. In as polite a way as possible, she said Bazik "...was a challenge"

Finally, he was brought out. As we looked into his carrier we could see he was obviously still loopy as he swayed his head like Stevie Wonder and staggered around like Captain Jack Sparrow. Immediately after Bazik's recovery, Max and I noticed an immediate change in his behavior.

Two years later, he's still as active as ever--perhaps even more so--and he now naps on my lap frequently (something that was once unheard of). Every now and then he still eyes my fuzzy slippers, blankets and robes, no doubt reminiscing about the salacious times he used to spend with them. But he still seems puzzled as to why he no longer gets beyond second base.

Love

2010-02-14T10:13:00.000-08:00

The spirit of Valentine's Day is a noble one. However, such an outpouring of love and affection should not be reserved for one day alone. Every day presents the opportunity to take the love we have within and spread it just as easily as we would any other emotion. The magic and wonder of it extends beyond the designated day of ceremonious romance filled with the dazzling adornment of gems, flowers and candy. Love and romance, though associated with the aforementioned, does not depend on the physical.

Love and romance are not governed by a set of rules that say you must act in accordance to a specific ritual to express them. When the commercialization of the day has been peeled away, we are reminded of something timeless--the presence of love itself. Love holds no set time for dashing away on an adventure into the land of dreams. It does not dictate when or how you should dance on a moonbeam to your heart's content with the one you love, even if that person is yourself. Love operates on its own time, so it seems impractical to try to contain it within the confines of a single day. It is much too vast and powerful to remain restricted. And so, it is no wonder that we are sometimes inconvenienced when it spills out of the cell to which we've designated it, flooding weeks, months and years, interfering with our carefully laid out plans.

Love is not always convenient or easy. In fact, it can be downright scary when we find ourselves engulfed in the unpredictable grip of its tide. However, it is certainly always worth it since love has the remarkable ability to heal the spirit and unite the divided. To some, love seems elusive and unattainable. These illusions distract us from the truth--that everyone has the capacity to give and receive love. However, finding it seems challenging because it seamlessly camouflages itself within the unlikeliest of places in our lives.

The Creative Ones

2009-10-02T09:00:00.000-07:00

The creative ones walk a lonely road only few dare to travel. It is not for the weak or faint of heart. Not everyone can survive the harsh climate of doubt and ridicule through which this passage runs. It is paved with the dust, cinder and bones of the shattered dreams of our ancestors. Over time, those broken, brittle remnants have solidified to a surface their descendants may not have otherwise been able to cross. The further along the road these dream seekers travel, they are met with challenges that stagger the mind. Like castaways in an unforgiving desert they are struck with the fear of demise and also suffer mirages of their rescue. This is the most critical time of their difficult journey. It is the midpoint which can easily become the breaking point. During this time, the creative traveler is usually faced with a difficult decision; surrender to their fears, thereby reversing course and admitting defeat, or take the chance of completing their pilgrimage against all odds.

Those who choose to continue eventually see faint glittering lights lining the hazy horizon. It fills them with a hope they aren't sure they can fully trust since they fear it may be just another illusion. However, it eventually becomes apparent that the lights are indeed very real, as is the inspiration they contain. Upon seeing the source of the illumination, the traveler weeps in awe. He realizes the lights were being held by people much like him--people who endured the long, demanding road of perseverance in order to achieve their goals. One of the many bearers explained that although they couldn't physically help him reach his destination, they shined their lights of hope to let him know he was on the right path.

Over time, what had started out as a faint flicker had grown into a shimmering beam as more people succeeded in their endeavors and joined the light bearers. It's not until the creative one sees the glow of his realized dream does the traveler discover that it is his turn to add to the beacon of inspiration.

Literacy

2009-09-08T14:16:00.000-07:00

Literacy and knowledge are valuable assets many of our ancestors died attempting to achieve, often times unable to grasp it. I am saddened to see the accumulation of evidence that our society--which currently has these advantages so readily available for the taking--continue to take it for granted. Too often I have come into contact with people who laughingly joke about not knowing how to read or the fact they simply don't feel like it. It is no wonder that such a mindset is accompanied by the basic inability to communicate clearly, thus resulting in unnecessary conflict and misunderstanding. This way of thinking is rapidly plunging our society into the thorny depths of ignorance in which many of our previous generations have met their demise. The increasing violence, intolerance and division are evident of this. But what, exactly, threatens to propel us back in time to repeat the fate of those who came before us? Is it the stress of challenging ourselves that we find intimidating? Are we just too lazy to think for ourselves, preferring someone else to do it for us? Maybe it's a fear of failure. Is that why many of us blame others for our stagnate way of living while we cower behind a sheer veil of lame excuses? Perhaps it's a combination of all the aforementioned.

Personally, I never saw the allure in allowing someone else to be the captain of my creativity or the pilot of my reasoning. Though, in the past, I have been guilty of falling into the trap of feeling that the objectives of others were superior to my own. Everyone, yes, everyone in our society is more than capable of stretching themselves beyond their comfort zone in order to increase their capacity. There are always new things to learn, new paths to take and new barriers to overcome. However, if we refuse to arm ourselves with the power of knowledge and literacy and apply it to our lives, we have basically surrendered ourselves to failure.

What ever happened to...

2009-08-19T14:34:00.000-07:00

...manners and decency? It may seem trivial, but basic manners and decency can go a long way. However, it's not something that's practiced as widely as it once was. I believe it all comes down to how parents raise their children. Luckily, my parents have instilled these qualities in me. These days, it seems that such parents are few and far between. These days, children are cursing and behaving obscenely before they even begin elementary school. Sadly, instead of finding this behavior reprehensible, adults are laughing and encouraging it. It's even celebrated on TV and in movies that preach intolerance, stupidity and disrespect. Bad behavior is revered and rewarded--just look at how many bad role models today's children are emulating. Instead of teaching kids the basic 'Please' and 'Thank You', children are learning 'Oh, please! F@%^ you!' Sad, but true. Now, this is not to say there aren't people out there who still practice the dying art of respectful manners, but they are rapidly becoming outnumbered. We no longer live in a society of patience. Everything must be done right away and apparently that leaves no time for manners. People don't care whom they disturb with loud conversations, blasting music and offensive language. They have forgotten that we share a world with other people who have just as much right to be here as we do. They don't realize that bad behavior accumulates and the things we do can be the last straw on someone's back. There are a lot of people with dangerously short fuses and sadly we never know whom we're liable to tick off. We see it every day with mass shootings and seemingly spontaneous acts of violence. Truth be told, if everyone lived their lives with just a little more patience, respect and consideration, these things would happen less often. If we stop ignoring each other and actually take a little time to pay attention to one another, maybe the world won't seem as hopeless. This is not to say everyone should go out, bend over backwards and kiss everyone's ass, but we shouldn't go out of our way to be rude either. Everything we dish out comes back around eventually.

Dreams

2009-07-28T11:12:00.000-07:00

Dreams are children of the mind. Far too often, they are abandoned at the doorstep of the world. We are sometimes given the impression that we have no other choice but to wrap them up in a blanket of doubt and leave them behind, hoping we'll see them again someday. Fulfilling what we believe to be our purpose, we soon find ourselves wondering if, perhaps, one day we'll see our dream in passing as we go through our daily routines.

As the days melt like wax, forming months, years and decades, we gradually lose hope on ever seeing the dream child again. After awhile, we begin to wonder about what became of it. Did it survive beyond the day we left it or did it die just beyond the cold entrance of reality--never having a chance to experience the light of manifestation? We cloak our guilt in denial as we convince ourselves that we had no choice but to surrender our dream. However, when we finally see it buried in the crowded forgotten grave, created by our dutiful obligations, there is no denying the result of our actions. No matter how hard we try to rationalize it by whatever the reason may have been--whether heading off to war, pursuing a new career, or trying to please family, friends or lovers--the result remains unchangeable. Our dream has died and a part of ourselves has died with it.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that some things are just too precious to sacrifice if you can help it. That's why I refused to abandon my brainchild. I chose to avoid a lifetime of regret in exchange for many days of hard work, happiness, growth and wondrous amazement. I came to realize that, chances are, no one will ever care and nurture a dream in quite the same way as its creator. It is up to the creator, the dreamer, to ensure that their dream has the best chance of survival. I am often puzzled by the fact dreamers are so frequently ignored, rejected or misunderstood. Sometimes, it seems there is very little room for such people in a world obsessed with answers, logic and control. This may be due, in part, to the fact that dreams have a tendency to be abstract and incomprehensible--qualities many people find frightening. However, if one were to look around and observe the universe, it will become blatantly obvious that it in itself is filled with elements just as inexplicable as dreams. Like the universe, our dreams have infinite potential--we only need to explore them to the best of our ability.

Accountability

2009-07-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Like many, I have witnessed the increasing spewing of ignorance and hatred on the web. It prompted me to ask one question: Is there any sense of accountability anymore? Unfortunately, some people feel that just because their words travel through a series of wires and circuits that it doesn't affect the person on the other side of the internet, but it does. They feel that the person they become on the web is imaginary--an extra in a vast land of make believe. In actuality, it's often a very real mask they wear in order to obscure who they really are, not knowing that the facade they present is closer to the real them then they care to admit. Aren't we all a little more like ourselves when nobody's watching--or when we think they aren't? We need to wake up and remember that just because we have the freedom of speech, it doesn't mean it should be abused or used for the sole purpose of harming others. To do so is an insult to the many people who died to grant us this privilege and detrimental to the goal they had in mind for the future. People feel they can say anything without consequences and blind themselves to the potential damage they're causing. It's so easy to forget that there are human beings on the receiving end of our words. For us not to respect that and act accordingly is an injustice not only to them, but to ourselves since what we do often comes back to us.

Abandonment

2009-07-23T10:00:00.000-07:00

I've suffered the pain and disappointment of abandonment of friendship at a time when I thought I needed it most. It really hurt and aggravated me since I'd been there for these people during their darkest hours of need. I never expected them to repay me for it, but I didn't expect them to neglect me in the manner in which they did. I initially thought I had done something wrong. I later discovered that was not the case after I broached the issue. Instead of addressing the issue head on, they brushed me aside--promising to get back to me, but never doing so for months and in some cases, over a year! I've heard that everything happens for a reason and for the longest time I struggled to find the reason for these occurrences. It finally dawned on me that by them dropping me by the wayside, I was forced to go through many of my obstacles alone. As a result, I was able to find my own strength and rely on my own two feet to carry me wherever I wanted or needed to go. Though I can't forget what they've done, I have forgiven them. I know that carrying a grudge will only put more weight on my back. I also realize that I can't focus on where I'm going if I keep staring at the path behind me. However, I take a short glance every now and then as a reminder of what could happen if I'm not careful. That way, I know what signs to look out for to prevent history from repeating itself. In retrospect, I realize that although certain people turned their backs on me I wasn't completely alone the whole time--although it occasionally seemed that way. I was fortunate enough to have people in my circle who have stuck by me when times were really tough. For that, I will be forever grateful. Such people are hard to come by and shouldn't be taken for granted.

Tolerance and Acceptance

2009-07-03T21:49:00.000-07:00

I have recently come across a rather heated debate on religion, those who don't tolerate it and those who mock it. One person posted a response that basically stated that a person who mocks a religion is pretty much guaranteed a seat in hell (I'm paraphrasing here). I normally avoid discussing such topics, but felt compelled to voice my opinion this go 'round. The following is something I posted on a forum about a day ago:

I usually steer clear of religious debates since it rarely ends well, but I must admit that if it were left to us to decide who goes to hell or not, the entire earth would be a massive fireball.

I think it's unfortunate for anyone to be ridiculed for their personal beliefs--religious or otherwise. I like humor as much as the next person, but I also believe some things are sacred and shouldn't be made fun of--especially since such mocking can fuel violent actions and lead to intolerant behavior. Whether we like it or not, we all share one planet even though we don't share the same beliefs.

We get so wrapped up with trying to label each other instead of viewing each other as human beings. Not everyone chooses the same path in their lives and that's fine. What's important is what we do with our own. If we spend our entire lives trying to govern another person and dictate how they should live or the choices they should make, we often lose sight of our own lives. It's like being on the road and trying to drive someone else's car and your own at the same time--someone's liable to get hurt. Just because we all have different beliefs and views doesn't mean it's impossible to get along.

Loneliness

2009-06-22T18:57:00.000-07:00

In my opinion, loneliness is a state when we can no longer distract ourselves with the details of the lives of others. It is a time when we are given no choice but to look at ourselves, our strengths, weaknesses, vulnerabilities and imperfections. It is a time when we often analyze and compare our fragmented lives to the people who seem to have it together. Over-analysis often leads to self-rejection, self-loathing and the desire to be anything other than who we are. When we grow to accept loneliness for what it really is, we finally see that we're not necessarily who we want to be, but who we need to be... ourselves.

Pressure

2009-06-16T13:49:00.000-07:00

As the times get increasingly challenging it can be difficult to travel the path to our dreams. I've recently hit a few bumps in the road of my own, once again coming face-to-face with the reality that no one is exempt from a bad day. Instead of wallowing in the potholes of my despair, as I often did, I was compelled to contemplate the situation and figure out a way to use it to somehow build my strength and integrity.

In life, pressure inevitably facilitates change. Someone once highlighted the fact that pressure is responsible for the formation of the diamond, one of the world's strongest, most precious gems. It takes strength to endure life's changes, but it's always worth it when we successfully weather the storms of adversity. We must not forget that laughter, like time, can eventually heal--if we allow it--and that it's okay to do so. Too often we surrender to the suffocating grip of sadness and depression, fearing we're unable to overcome it.

Everyone who falls into the depths of melancholy has the ability to come out of it. Sometimes we simply forget and need a little boost--a reminder. When we keep our heads down too long, it's easy to lose sight of our goals and dreams. The best way to deal with our challenges is to accept them for what they are and motivate ourselves to overcome them to the best of our ability. Sure, it's always easier said than done--as I mentioned earlier, I, too, have my challenges--but success is possible. Chasing one's dream isn't easy, but the biggest restriction in our paths are our own limitations.

Camileon Book Signing - Barnes & Noble

2009-06-15T21:26:00.000-07:00

After several weeks of painstaking preparation, the big day finally arrived ─ the day of my very first book signing! I spent most of it packing up last minute items after getting a facial, manicure and makeup application. Max's brother and father presented me with beautiful flowers before driving me to Barnes & Noble. During the entire ride, I had brief, repeated panic sessions, wondering: Did I forget the pens? Oh, they're right here. Did I forget my brochures? No, they're in the trunk. Before I knew it, it was nearly 6:30 PM ─ the time I had hoped to begin my setup ─ and we were over ten blocks away from the venue. The anxiety continued to build a bit, but slowly subsided when we finally arrived. Upon entering Barnes & Noble, I saw the large poster-sized copy of my book cover in the window. I was taken aback when I saw it. It was like one of those moments one would have when seeing a long lost friend or relative. I was totally amazed to see multiple displays with Camileon at the registers as well as signs with my photo posted throughout the store, announcing the event. Peaches, the Community Relations Manager, was kind enough to give me a few as keepsakes.

Upon entering the event area, I was instantly blown away with how well the event space was set up. I hardly had to do anything at all! I didn't even use the candy dish or table cloth I had brought. Since my event was scheduled to begin at 7:00 PM, I had about fifteen minutes to setup. I was surprised to see three people already seated for the event. They immediately began asking questions after I introduced myself. I guess I may have overindulged a bit, because Peaches politely pulled me aside and said not to do excessive Q & A before the event started. She had a valid point.

Shortly after 7:00 PM, I immediately began to wonder... Where's my family? Where's Max?! Slowly but surely, the seats began to fill and the rest of my loved ones finally arrived. Jenya ─ the great photographer who worked with me to produce the cover ─ also arrived. As I sat there before the growing audience of family, friends and readers, I was filled with an incredible feeling that almost defies description. I realized, at that moment, I was in a place between who I was and who I am becoming. I also realized that although my path seemed incredibly lonely, I wasn't always alone. My biggest surprise came when my high school principal, Ms. Duncan, arrived with my high school teacher, Ms. Kaplan. The former was totally unexpected, but very welcome. I hadn't seen her in twelve years and I am touched to know that I left a positive memorable impression.

After Peaches introduced me, I approached the microphone and addressed the audience. I was slightly jittery on the inside and it probably resonated in my voice at times in the beginning, but it was more from excitement than nerves. I was truly elated and I instantly knew that moment would be one of the defining moments and a highlight, not only in my career, but in my life. I briefly explained how Camileon came to be and some of the emotions that motivated me to write the story. I then read the first two pages of Camileon before segueing into a Q & A session. The audience had some excellent questions! I was asked about my writing process, if my life experiences directly inspired some of the scenes in Camileon, how long did it take me to write the story, etc. Also, readers of Camileon voiced their praise for my work, all the while trying to pin me down on a release date for the sequel. Don't worry. I'm working hard to make that happen soon! I was rendered speechless when my family, former colleagues, teacher and principal expressed how proud they are of me and my accomplishments.

Soon after that, came the signing. I was touched that the first two books I signed that evening were those of Ms. Duncan and Ms. Kaplan. I met some really interesting people, some of whom are fellow alumni of my college. I truly regret not putting out a guest book for the attendees to sign. I guess that's a lesson learned for my next event. Funny thing is, I had a guest book, but got so caught up in signing copies of Camileon, taking photographs and talking to readers that it totally slipped my mind. All in all it was a fantastic event! Peaches, the Community Relations Manager, mentioned that she set up 40 chairs for the event. All of them were filled and people were standing in the back of the event space by the time I started reading from Camileon. She estimated the attendee count at around 45 people. Peaches commended me on a job well done. I truly am honored and grateful that she gave me the opportunity to present at the store. The day of my first book signing is a day I won't forget for as long as I live. To everyone who attended to show their support ─ and to those who wanted to attend, but couldn't ─ I extend my heartfelt thanks and appreciation!

Warmest regards,
Shykia

My Advice to Aspiring Authors

2009-06-15T21:07:00.000-07:00

Over the past several months I have received messages from aspiring authors seeking my advice as they embark on their journeys into the world of publishing. My schedule doesn't always allow me to respond to such inquiries at length, but I'd still like to help. Therefore, I am writing this blog to answer some of the questions I've been asked so far. I am by no means an expert in the publishing industry and I am still learning each day while attempting to make myself known. At times it's a daunting task since the road is a lonely one to travel, but I am determined to meet my goal.

Attention to detail is extremely important if you want your craft to be taken seriously. In the literary world, many authors have become entangled in situations that could have easily been avoided if they had taken the extra time to check their spelling and grammar. It's often the simplest words that get us into trouble--for example, using 'they're' when 'their' should have been utilized. It happens to the best of us--especially when we're really flowing with the creative rhythm of our tales. Another common mistake is using words out of context. As authors, our vocabulary is constantly expanding. It's the tool of our trade and we have to make sure it's in the best condition possible, so it's worth it to become best friends with the thesaurus and dictionary. Also, it's always good to have an extra pair of trusted eyes to help you proofread your work. You'd figure the more you look at your own work, the more likely you are to catch those sneaky errors. In fact, the contrary is true.

There's a common misconception that becoming an author will instantly earn you fame and fortune. On the contrary, it entails a lot of hard work with little financial gain--especially for those whom are self-published--at least in the beginning. However, if you truly love what you do, it will all be worth it. Setbacks will likely occur during your journey and it's understandable to become frustrated, upset and impatient. But it's crucial that you remain professional in your correspondence to the agents and literary representatives you come into contact with. People talk and word will likely spread to others in the publishing industry if you are rude or belligerent. Keep in mind, this is a business and rejection needn't be taken personally. Seeking an agent is in many ways like seeking a job--you submit your resume and if you're the right person for the position, they select you, if not, you move on to the next possible employer. If at some point you realize you're receiving nothing but unfavorable feedback, at some point you may need to reevaluate and rework your query letter, manuscript or both. However, there are cases where the author's work is fine, but the agent just isn't comfortable or enthused enough to offer representation.

I am most often asked how I got started. After a lengthy uphill battle submitting my query letters to various agents (all of whom rejected my novel) I decided to look into other options--in this case, self-publishing. I just want to emphasize the 'self' in self-publishing since the author does pretty much everything on their own--especially if they're working with a limited budget. The first thing I did after deciding to self-publish was copyright my work. It sounds a bit intimidating, but it can be done online through the U.S. Copyright Office website ( http://www.copyright.gov/ ) for a low fee of about $45. I consider it a worthy investment. The process takes several months, but it won't hinder you from proceeding with your self-publishing endeavors while the application is pending.

The best advice I can offer is to maintain your focus and harness your skills while learning as much as you possibly can. Before you decide to self-publish, really consider how much commitment it will take since you will most likely have to act as your own publicist, manager, secretary, agent, graphic designer (in some instances), etc. It's a demanding challenge that requires sacrifice--mainly money, time and sleep--as well as dedication. I believe the best thing for a new author to do is try their very best to find an agent before diving into the abyss of self-publishing. If you still decide to self-publish, make sure you thoroughly research the different companies that are out there. What may work for one author may not necessarily work for another--not to mention there are a lot of scam artists out there. When researching these companies, check their reputation with the Better Business Bureau and do an online search for independent reviews of the companies you're considering. Also, look at some of the titles they have already published and check their availability. Are their books only available through the self-publishing company, or are they also available through Barnes & Noble and/or Amazon? In addition, check how their books are priced. Even the most avid readers will not want to pay obscene amounts of money for books--especially in this tough economy.

Be sure to ask all your questions upfront and find out exactly what is--and is not--included in the price before signing with the company. This will be an optimal time to see how their customer service operates. If they are pushy from the get go, chances are they will be for the duration of the relationship. Most importantly, take time to really think about everything before making your decision. You've worked long and hard on your story, so give it the consideration it deserves since you'll be entrusting your work to someone other than yourself.

I still hold out hope in getting an agent to represent me--hopefully for my second book, which is currently underway. Try not to get discouraged. Some--if not most--authors work for years before they finally get their big break if ever. I've barely begun to make a dent, but I know if I keep trying, I'll get my big break too.

Here are a some resources you may find helpful:

http://www.copyright.gov

http://www.poewar.com/how-to-write-a-query-letter/

http://nathanbransford.blogspot.com/

Best of luck!

Shykia Bell
Author of Camileon
www.camileon-thebook.com

Camileon Trailer

2009-06-15T08:52:00.000-07:00

Camileon - Chapter Three

2009-06-15T08:36:00.000-07:00

DISAPPEARING ACTS

Seven years later...

Camile's struggle to belong continued into her twenty-third year. Up to that point, she threw herself into her studies and worked hard to achieve a Bachelors Degree in Interior Design. During her college years, she managed to make a few friends. However, each friendship failed, fading almost as quickly as they began. The same was true for Camile's romantic relationships. In nearly all her interpersonal encounters—whether social or professional—she was often ignored. On many occasions, people wouldn't even notice whether or not she was present until she was practically in their face. The fact that she had a diminutive voice didn't help matters much since people were prone to speak over her.

She also faced adversity in many of the jobs she held, none of which made her happy or quenched her desire to make a significant contribution to society. Camile was also bitter that she had spent four years in college to obtain a degree for a career that seemed unattainable. She worked insane hours as a sales clerk in a department store, a job she worked full time since her early college years. At times, it was an extremely demanding job carrying with it, unwarranted stress levels. She contemplated quitting, but she needed the job in order to pay her rent and to keep up with her student loans.

Deep in her heart, she felt that there was more to life than stressing over things that in her opinion—other than financially—would make little or no difference in the end. As she witnessed people younger than her advancing in their lives and careers, she couldn't help but feel envious. Especially since she felt that her own life was being squandered. She often worried about the path on which her life was headed. What did it all mean? What was the point to her existence if no one knew she was even there? Was she more than the sum of her rare, fleeting friendships and failed relationships? Was there anything more for her than unresolved questions about her family and the endless string of unfulfilling, unsuccessful jobs? Her life's purpose was something she always looked for and yet it constantly eluded her. Camile hungered for stability and thirsted to belong. She desired that someday the overwhelming emptiness she felt inside would finally be filled.

Camile lived in a small Brooklyn apartment, approximately seven miles away from her mother. It was located in a relatively boisterous neighborhood. Everything from small bodegas to public transportation was easily accessible. For the most part, the area was fairly tame, but in recent months there had been a rise in crime. The most recent offenses included a couple of robberies and vandalism inspired by racial intolerance.

Her apartment was modest in size, but she used her interior design skills to make it a home. The style of her furniture was functional and elegant. Since her salary was meager, she purchased most of the furnishings at bargain prices from warehouse-type stores. The entire apartment—excluding the kitchen—was painted in a flat shade of pale green. She found the color soothing and relaxing. In the short corridor just inside the entrance there was an oval pewter mirror hanging on the wall. It was about a foot and a half in size and was framed with intricate floral scrollwork. There was a matching shelf just below it on which she usually tossed her keys and mail.

To the right of the corridor was one of her favorite rooms, the kitchen. She loved to cook, whenever she had the time and energy. Her culinary skills contributed to the few extra pounds recently added to her frame. The kitchen housed refurbished stainless steel appliances, which contrasted with the white Formica tiled floor. The cabinets were off-white with stainless steel handles.

The living room was to the left of the corridor and had slightly more personality than the kitchen. Medium plush grey carpet complimented the jade-colored walls. In one of the corners was a black, four panel screen that separated Camile's computer workstation from the rest of the room. She enjoyed the freedom of having a lot of space in her living quarters. It eliminated the feeling of disorderliness and chaos—at least at home.

The seating arrangement consisted of a comfortable black sofa and matching loveseat, both of which had simple contours. A rectangular coffee table added a modern accent to the room. It had a clear glass surface with a beveled edge that glistened when it caught the light. The table's glass base had a smoky grey color which almost matched the carpet perfectly. It gave the table's surface the illusion of floating at knee level. There were also two small matching side tables that were located on each side of the loveseat. Each side table supported an eccentric lamp. A medium flat screen TV was mounted to the wall at a point where it was visible from nearly every angle of the room.

Camile didn't find it necessary to decorate her place with many elaborate accessories since she spent most of her time alone or working. However, prior to moving into her own place, she made herself a copy of the photo Kylie kept of her and her father, Zephyr. It was framed and prominently displayed on the coffee table. She often looked at the photo during times of despair or when she contemplated her life. It seemed a form of meditation for her. She felt strangely at peace whenever she looked at the unusual tree in the photo's backdrop. She had seen many trees with pretty flowers and leaves, but not to that extreme. The petals were deep red in color and glistened with a lively iridescence.

Seven years had elapsed since the strange situation occurred with Barry. Throughout those years, her mother continually dodged Camile's many questions regarding Zephyr and her childhood. It was an evasion that angered and frightened Camile. She wondered why her mother was so determined to keep things so secret. As she prepared herself for her next visit with Kylie, she realized that she'd been too passive about the situation over the years. That day Camile decided not to relent until she finally got some answers.

The late afternoon train was overcrowded as usual. A slightly nauseating and pungent smell wafted through the air. A group of rowdy teenagers pushed their way up and down the packed cars. A few of them were using some of the foulest language Camile had ever heard. It was clear that most of the passengers were annoyed with being subjected to such verbal pollution. However, they kept their opinions to themselves since they'd likely run the risk of getting knifed if they did otherwise. Camile's heart sank when she realized that she had eight remaining stops before she would reach her mother's neighborhood. When the train pulled into the next station, a group of holiday shoppers bustled onto the train, overstuffed bags in tow.

There was a sudden rush of commotion after a woman screamed. An elderly woman sitting across from Camile was being mugged by two large teen thugs. They each held a gun and demanded that the woman give them her money and jewelry. All the other passengers fled except for Camile and a businessman in his late forties. He took a shaky step toward the assailants, but ran off after one of the gangsters growled while waving the gun at him. Fearfully, Camile watched as the terrified woman tried to remove her necklace. However, the woman's hands trembled, hindering her attempt to undo the clasp.

"Come on! You're takin' too long, you ol' fart!" One of the muggers shouted as he ripped the necklace from the woman's neck.

At that moment, Camile had a sudden, inexplicable impulse to rise from her seat. Both thugs nearly jumped out of their skin, evidently surprised at the abrupt movement.

"Where the hell did she come from?!" One thug yelled to the other. His face contorted with intense fear and confusion.

"I dunno!" The other replied. "All the other punks ran away except for this ol' prune!"

He quickly pointed the gun at Camile and before she could react, he repeatedly pulled the trigger. Her heart skipped a beat before she realized that the gun hadn't gone off. The other thug also tried to shoot, but with the same result. Terrified, Camile could barely breathe as she stared at the thugs with wide eyes. Suddenly, their guns shifted to take aim at their own faces. Stricken with immense horror, they dropped their weapons to the ground.

"Yo, son! How da hell did she do that? This is some freaky shit! Let's roll up outta here!" one of them yelled.

The thugs ran out the car and directly into the path of two police officers who were called to the scene. Camile retrieved the necklace one of the hoodlums had dropped while fleeing. She proceeded to hand it to the old woman, but paused when she felt something brush against her right shoulder. Still agitated from all the excitement, she flinched before whipping her head around to see who was there. However, she saw no one else in the subway car other than the elderly woman. Camile stared at the empty space beside her and thought she was hallucinating, but couldn't shake the feeling of how real the sensation was.

"Miss, here's your necklace." Camile said tremulously while returning the item to its owner.

The old woman's eyes widened with immense fear as she sank deeper into her seat.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" The woman asked faintly as she trained her teary gaze on Camile.

"I'm Camile. I was here the whole time. Didn't you see me sitting across from you?"

The old woman shook her head vigorously while regarding Camile with a fearful expression.

"No. You… you just came out of nowhere, right after they snatched my necklace! Are you an angel or something? Is it… my time to go?" The woman asked nervously.

All sound seemed to fade as Camile tried her best to make sense of what had just occurred. She figured she was very lucky the guns had malfunctioned, but couldn't understand why the assailants suddenly turned the guns on themselves. Even more bizarre was the fact that they thought she had something to do with it. By the time she arrived at her mother's house, she convinced herself that the woman was senile and that the brutes were on some serious drugs. It was the only rational explanation she could devise for all of them thinking that she had materialized out of thin air.

This is the final sample chapter I will post online. I hope you've enjoyed them. Please feel free to spread the word to anyone you feel might be interested.

Camileon can be purchased through Barnes & Noble, Amazon and other online retailers.

Be sure to visit www.camileon-thebook.com

Camileon - Chapter Two

2009-06-15T08:04:00.000-07:00

BORDERLINE ACCUSATORY

Camile dreaded the prospect of attending classes on Monday. Not because of the tough lessons and endless note taking, but due to the constant ridicule and torment she knew she would endure from her classmates. After she showered and dressed, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She almost seemed hypnotized by her own gloomy eyes. They possessed the ominous intensity of a storm cloud, threatening torrential precipitation at any moment. Camile rubbed her hands over her face, which was flawless—much to the vexation of her female peers who were often plagued with pimples. As usual, she wore her thick, but semi-tamed shoulder-length hair back in a ponytail.

"Camile! Come get your breakfast, you don't want to be late for school!" Kylie called from the kitchen.

"Yes I do. If it were up to me, I wouldn't have to go at all!" Camile glumly muttered to herself.

She grabbed her school books and stuffed them into her bag as she headed off to join her mother in the kitchen. As she ate her breakfast, Camile noticed that Kylie looked much better than she did over the weekend. Her silky hair flowed freely and caught the morning sunlight. The silver streak in the front gleamed.

"Mom, you make the best pancakes in the world!" Camile said between bites.

"I guess the old lady's still got it!" Kylie joked as she flipped her hair.

"Mom, you're not old! You'll never be old!"

"Well, I wouldn't go that far, Camile. Anyway, getting old sure beats the alternative." Kylie chuckled.

"Alright, enough stalling. Off you go! You're already running late."

"Do I really have to—?"

"Yes, you really have to go. Don't let a few bullies get in the way of your education. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, so stop being your own worse enemy. You can handle anything that comes your way. You just have to believe it in here and here." Kylie said as she pointed to Camile's head and heart respectively.

"Alright, alright." Camile sighed. "Love you, Mom."

"Love you too, baby." Kylie kissed her on the cheek and saw her out the door.

When Camile arrived at school, she noticed something seemed different, but wasn't exactly sure what. Usually when she went to her homeroom class the other students would point, laugh and even throw paper at her. That day was the complete opposite of the norm. There wasn't a peep out of anyone in the room once she entered. Camile received terrified glances from some of her classmates as she walked to her seat. Others avoided eye contact altogether as they nervously gazed into their books, out the window or at the empty blackboard in front of the room.

Camile grew increasingly curious about the strange behavior they were exhibiting. After getting settled at her desk she noticed that her teacher, Ms. Hawkins, was not yet in class. It was very unusual since Ms. Hawkins always had perfect attendance. Even more unusual was the fact that Barry Collins—who also had perfect attendance—was also absent. Although it was highly unusual, Camile was not concerned. In fact, she looked forward to a day without having to deal with Barry's antics.

Ms. Hawkins suddenly entered the room. She was accompanied by the principal, a police chief and a police officer. The quartet looked comically mismatched. Ms. Hawkins was a short, dark-skinned, petite woman. Her looks were average, but she was often mistaken for a student. She appeared to be quite young and had a trendy sense of style. Many of the students would often tell her that she was much too cool to be a teacher. Some of the girls even tried to duplicate her layered, shoulder-length haircut—without much success—and in many cases, the results were downright dreadful.

Principal Turner—who stood next to Ms. Hawkins—was a well-dressed, short, stocky fellow with classic male pattern baldness. The students often joked that the only thing shinier than his shoes was the top of his head. His eyes and cheeks had a permanent droopy appearance, which caused him to bear an uncanny resemblance to a bulldog. He always wore a grim, serious expression which never seemed to change—not even when he laughed! It really freaked the students out since it was impossible to gauge his mood.

After Ms. Hawkins placed her bag on the desk, Principal Turner nodded, prompting her to begin. She adjusted her glasses and cleared her throat before she spoke.

"Good morning." She greeted in a harried voice. "As you may already know there's an urgent matter at hand. Therefore, your full cooperation will be appreciated. For those of you who are unaware of the situation, Barry Collins never made it home on Friday. He's been reported missing. Chief Roberts and Officer Harris are here to interview all of his classmates, friends…" Her glance shifted to Camile before saying the words: "…and acquaintances."

Something in the way Ms. Hawkins looked at Camile seemed to cast an air of suspicion. This made Camile extremely uncomfortable. The fleeting look was borderline accusatory, but no one else took notice. Instead, the entire class stared at the chief as he stepped forward. He was a burly man—apparently in his early-forties—who stood 6' 2". His weight was approximately two-hundred sixty pounds. He wore a crisp white shirt, which was a stark contrast to his deep pink complexion. His hair and thick mustache were red as flame which intensified his vibrant blue eyes. The color alone made it seem as if they were capable of burning a hole into one's thoughts. Chief Robert's overall appearance was very intimidating to say the least.

"I am confident that the participation of everyone in the school will help the investigators find Barry as soon as possible." Ms. Hawkins continued as she turned to the chief. "Mr. Roberts, how would you like to proceed?"

"Well, we can simply talk to the students in the same order as they're listed on your roster." His deep voice boomed. His voice startled some of the students and caused them to sit up at attention. Under alternative circumstances, Camile might have found it amusing.

As the names were announced in alphabetical order, the students were individually summoned for inquiry. Ms. Hawkins routed the students to the office to be interviewed. Camile's heart pounded, but she didn't understand why she felt so nervous. She knew she had nothing to do with Barry's disappearance. However, her awareness of that fact couldn't tame the uneasy feeling that gripped her. She felt the eyes of her fellow classmates burning into her back, which didn't help matters much. It wasn't long before over half the students were done with questioning. However, they didn't return to the classroom. In order to maintain the integrity of the investigation, they were separated until all students had been examined.

In the meantime, Officer Harris was left to supervise the students. He was a tall, handsome lean man with a chiseled jaw line, dazzling bright green eyes and strong features. His dark hair was smoothed back and his fair skin contrasted against his crisp blue-black uniform. The boys in the classroom were annoyed to see the girls all but swoon over the officer, who told funny stories in an attempt to lighten the serious mood.

"…so that's when I said 'I think you fellas need to pick a new spot to hang out.'" He joked.

The girls broke out in hysterical laughter. The boys groaned and sucked their teeth, clearly expressing their jealousy.

"Oh please! That's so corny!" One boy disgustedly muttered under his breath.

When Ms. Hawkins reentered the room, everything grew silent.

"Camile, you're up next." She announced.

Camile stood up and realized that her legs felt about as stable as rubber bands. She met Ms. Hawkins at the door and was escorted out of the classroom. As they stepped out into the hall, Camile heard voices coming from inside the classroom.

"She's a witch! She made him disappear!" Someone shouted.

"Shh!" Another voice hissed. "Do you want that freak to get you next?"

Other voices joined in and immediately built up to an unintelligible rumble.

"Alright, that's quite enough!" Officer Harris scolded.

The voices grew faint as Camile and Ms. Hawkins made their way down the hall. However, the painful words resonated in Camile's head as she sighed. The stinging sensation in her eyes felt all too familiar.

No! She thought angrily to herself. Stop it! Stop being so weak all the time!

Much to Camile's amazement, she successfully fought back the tears.

"Camile, I need to ask you something." Ms. Hawkins said as she suddenly came to a halt.

"Yeah?" Camile asked nervously as she stopped and turned to face her.

"I know that you and Barry weren't on the best of terms. In fact, I know that he was downright cruel to you—"

"That's putting it mildly!" Camile interrupted before she realized how rude it was. "Sorry."

"I just need to know, when you told him to disappear on Friday, what exactly did you—?"

"Camile you don't have to answer that!" A voice urgently called from the main staircase.

Camile and Ms. Hawkins turned around to see Kylie approaching them.

"Mom?!" Camile asked in horror. "What are you doing here?!"

Kylie walked over and put an arm around her shoulders.

"I found out about Barry. It was on the news. I just knew that you would be subject to questioning, which will be fine in the presence of our lawyer." Kylie said as she looked at Ms. Hawkins.

"Ms. Leon," Ms. Hawkins said quietly with an easy smile. "I think you're overreacting. No one in this school is being formally accused of anything at this point. This process is just to gather information that may lead to Barry's whereabouts. My duty is to—"

"Think what you must Ms. Hawkins." Kylie sternly interrupted. "With all due respect, I understand that your duty is to the school and I know you'll do what you must. But I'm sure you'll understand that my duty is to my daughter and I'll do everything in my power to protect her. I won't stand by while you prepare her to go before a lynch mob." She said as she stared Ms. Hawkins in the eye.

At that moment, Kylie was joined by a middle-aged man, carrying a small black briefcase. He wore a sharply pressed, navy blue pinstriped suit that flattered his medium-built frame. His hair was somewhat spiky and silver in color. It enhanced the intensity of his electric blue eyes, which sparkled like Topaz gems.

"This is my lawyer, Travis D'Arby." Kylie introduced. A note of defiance was present in her voice.

"Mom, you already have a lawyer?! Won't this make me look guilty?" Camile whispered in Kylie's ear, but the question went ignored.

Ms. Hawkins' face wore an odd expression that gave the impression that she already knew the lawyer. However, her words contradicted the possibility of that theory.

"Uh, pleased to meet you sir." Ms. Hawkins said as she nervously shook his hand. "Well, I guess we should get started. The chief is waiting in the principal's office."

Once the questioning was over, Camile and her mother were told to contact the chief's office if they heard, saw or remembered anything that might be helpful to the case. Kylie then offered to take Camile straight home but she declined.

"Mom, if I leave school early there'll just be rumors that I got arrested or that I felt guilty or something. It's tempting for me to go home right now, but if staying means I'll have a chance to get through this with at least a little dignity, I'm going to try." Camile said. Her mother regarded her with pride and amazement before tightly embracing her.

"I hope someday you'll see just how truly special and powerful you really are. Camile, I love you so much. No matter what happens, always remember that I love you." Kylie softly whispered.

"Mom, you're starting to scare me." Camile replied with concern. Ignoring the comment, Kylie continued hugging her.

During the entire week of school, the other students continued to ostracize Camile even more than usual. No one dared look in her direction much less speak to her. However, some were brazen enough to call her names like 'murderer' and 'witch' behind her back. Oddly enough, the thing that bothered Camile the most wasn't the behavior of her fellow students, but the behavior of her teachers, especially that of Ms. Hawkins. Ever since Barry's disappearance, Ms. Hawkins would stare at Camile in the most peculiar way. It was almost hauntingly disturbing.

The case of Barry's disappearance progressed with very few developments and several students—including Camile—were contacted for second and third rounds of questioning. By the end of the week, Camile was exhausted and sick of being called dastardly names by her peers. As much as she couldn't stand him, she wanted Barry to be found more than anything. She could cope with another two years of being bullied, but not a lifetime of being called a murderer when she knew she wasn't one.

Camile was in the middle of a boring chapter about the industrial revolution in her history book when she heard a series of gasps throughout the classroom. She raised her head to see none other than Barry standing in the doorway.

"Barry! Oh my God! Are you alright?" Ms. Hawkins asked as she ran over to him.

Looking dazed as he staggered into the room, Barry nodded in response to the question. He was wearing the same sweater and jeans he wore a week earlier. However, they were torn, tattered and scorched in some areas. His hair was disheveled and dirty. A crowd instantly gathered around him, erupting with jubilant cheers. Once they caught a whiff of the stench that wafted from his body, they immediately backed away.

"Phew! He smells like dog shit!" One girl exclaimed.

"Everyone, quiet!" Ms. Hawkins ordered. "Barry, where have you been? Were you kidnapped? What happened to you?"

As if on cue, everyone looked at Camile, who remained at her desk.

"It was… it was—" Barry said slowly, clearly disoriented.

"Rebecca, get the nurse! Tell her we need an ambulance!" Ms. Hawkins urgently instructed one of the girls.

"It was beautiful! That's all I can remember!" Barry said before he fainted. Everyone in the classroom looked at one another with puzzlement.

It was later discovered that Barry had apparently been struck by lightning during the rainstorm a week earlier. He recalled cutting across the school's football field on his way home. He also remembered playing with his ball, repeatedly tossing it in the air and catching it. According to Barry, he had nearly cleared the field when an intense flash of light streamed down upon him from the sky. The next thing he knew, he was back in class with no recollection of any events that had taken place after he'd been struck. After a thorough series of tests, he was granted a clean bill of health and released from the hospital within days. Although everyone was happy about his return, many questions remained. Where had he been for a whole week and how did he survive? Investigators desperately tried to find answers, but without Barry's memory or sufficient clues, the investigation reached an impasse.

Camileon can be purchased through Barnes & Noble, Amazon and other online retailers.

Be sure to visit www.camileon-thebook.com

Camileon - Chapter One

2009-06-14T18:25:00.001-07:00

QUESTIONS

Searing, unbearable pain ripped through Camile Leon's skull as she sat in her homeroom class. The sensation was so intense, all sense of perception seemed to fade into the recesses of her consciousness. All that remained was a high-pitched shriek which penetrated her eardrums and radiated throughout her brain. Relief was brief and fleeting, allowing her only a moment to inquire about the sound before it returned. However, no one else could hear it. She was ridiculed with sneers and snickers as her peers doubted her sanity. Ms. Hawkins, her teacher, even seemed uncertain of Camile's mental faculties. Before long, Camile identified the source of her torment, a dog whistle being blown by her rambunctious classmate, Barry Collins. Once he realized he'd been found out, he and his goons laughed mercilessly in the face of their victim. They even called her 'Teen Wolf' in hushed chants, inaudible to the teacher. At first, she said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene, but by the time class had been dismissed she could no longer hold her tongue. Her anger had reached its peak. Rising from her seat, she intercepted Barry just as he approached her desk on his way to the exit. He was nearly a full head taller than Camile, who shook in the shadow of his intimidating frame.

"Get out of my way!" He sneered.

"One of these days you're gonna mess with the wrong person." Camile said through gritted teeth, glaring into his eyes.

"Really?" Barry asked rhetorically. "And I guess you're the wrong person, huh? So whatcha gonna do, Teen Wolf? Howl at me?" He snickered.

"Just leave me alone! I'm sick of you! Just do the world a favor and disappear!" Camile lashed out before grabbing her bag and storming out of the classroom. As she made her way towards the exit, Ms. Hawkins fixed her with a curious gaze and opened her mouth to say something. However, Camile left before her teacher could address her.

The ominous clouds in the dark afternoon sky seemed to rupture, unleashing a torrential downpour. It didn't take long for the gusting wind to snap the canopy of Camile's umbrella, causing it to collapse into an inverted fold. She tried in vain to fix it, but like her ego, it seemed beyond repair. Nevertheless, she clung to the broken apparatus as she jogged home, her feet sloshing in the water that had collected in her sneakers. Vibrant ribbons of lightning streamed across the sky followed by a violent clap of thunder just as Camile reached the building. She stormed into the apartment, throwing her broken umbrella onto the floor as she entered. Her hair was plastered to her face, which was drenched with a mixture of fresh rain and salty tears. Her grey eyes flashed with intense anger as she kicked off her shoes. Although she was only sixteen, she already matched her mother's 5' 7" stature. Another trait she shared with her mother was her beautiful golden caramel complexion.

Although Camile was reeling from the latest round of insults from her classmates, it didn't compare to the devastation she felt when they made derogatory remarks about her mixed race. She'd been called such names as 'Oreo', 'Half-breed' and 'Ethnically confused'. As painful as those comments were, Camile didn't speak to her mother about them since she feared it would only exacerbate the situation. At one time, Camile had an ally, Rhonda Jones, but sadly she had gotten caught in a cross-fire between rival gangs on her way home from school one day. Until her death, Rhonda had been Camile's only friend and often kept bullies at bay. With Rhonda gone, it seemed Camile's intimidators were making up for lost time.

Her mother, Kylie, met her in the corridor upon hearing the commotion. Camile noticed she seemed a bit somber, but was too engrossed in her own distress to pay full attention. She wasted no time in voicing her grievances of the day's torment to her mother.

"Camile, I know it's been really tough for you lately." Kylie replied tenderly as she embraced her. "Your teen years will be some of the most challenging years of your life. Believe me I know. I also know you have the strength to push through them. Like life, kids can be so cruel, but you have to remember that all people aren't the same and that hate isn't the answer. It only begets more hate and will only do you damage in the long run."

"Right now, I only care about the short run! Why do I always have to go through all this pain? Why am I always so weak? I'm constantly being picked on. I'm never able to defend myself and I'm sick of it! I just want them to know what it feels like to hurt this much! I hope Barry takes my advice and disappears so he can just leave me alone!" Camile sobbed.

"Baby, is that what you told him? You didn't threaten to make him disappear did you?" Kylie asked gingerly, an uneasy look crossing her face.

"No. I didn't threaten him. I should've!"

"Camile, just be careful about what you say to people. Saying the wrong things can get you in a whole lot of trouble. Even thinking the wrong things can cause a lot of damage, not necessarily to others, but to ourselves. Look, I know how unfairly you're being treated. Karma will make sure your bullies will get theirs, but you can't let anger get the best of you. I know you don't want to hear this right now, but don't take revenge into your own hands. It's a slippery slope to devastation. As I've told you many times before, I would be fine with going up to your school so I can talk to—"

"No!" Camile interrupted.

Her already large eyes grew even wider as she calculated the potential horrors that would follow such a visit.

"Mom, please don't do that. It would only feed the jerks more ammunition. It's my junior year in high school and all I have to do is get through this year … and the next." She said with a hopeless sigh.

For the most part, the weekend was average and uneventful. On Saturday, Camile spent most of her time doing homework. Camile was an average student but would often find math to be the most challenging. Therefore, she usually dreaded math homework, but her interest piqued when it came to Geometry. As a result, she was able to solve most problems with ease. After storing her books in her backpack, she helped her mother with chores. Camile began clearing the wall unit shelves before wiping them down. Stashed in the rear of the top shelf, she spotted a leather bound book. Upon inspection, she noticed an old photo attached to its cover. In the photo, Camile and her father, Zephyr, were posed in front of a very large tree. Its bark was pure white and its bountiful branches bloomed with unusual red petals. Zephyr, a handsome man in his late 20's, was shown crouching beside Camile, who was then a chubby cheeked toddler.

Camile's auburn, shoulder-length hair was in curls. Her large piercing grey eyes were a trait she shared with her father—a tall, fair-skinned, medium built man with a megawatt smile. His glossy hair appeared to be jet-black and was neatly combed, except for a small, loose tuft that dangled above his brow. Camile wore a white dress which complimented her rich skin tone. Her outfit was accessorized with a blue satin sash and a silver necklace. Hanging from the chain was a beautiful stone, about the diameter of a silver dollar—which had various shades of blue. The stone was framed with intricate, leaf-like accents. Camile removed the photo from the book and regarded it for a moment before approaching her mother.

"I thought you said there were no pictures of Dad." Camile remarked with great curiosity.

Kylie seemed genuinely surprised at Camile's discovery and stared at the photo with great perplexity.

"I didn't realize it was there." She answered softly. "All these years and it's been here all along."

With a heavy heart, Camile watched as her mother stared at the photo with tearful eyes.

"I thought this was lost in the move along with all the other pictures." Kylie sighed. "I'm sorry it took all these years before you could finally see what your father looks like. If I knew that picture was there, I would've shown it to you a long time ago."

"It's weird. Even though I don't remember him, I still miss him." Camile said quietly after gawking at the photo a few moments longer.

"You don't remember him because you were very little when … Well, when he …"

"Died?" Camile interrupted. "Mom, why can't you just say it?"

"Camile, don't start. There's no proof that he's dead!" Kylie snapped angrily before calming her voice. "I—I'm sorry. I just miss him too."

"I know, but there's no proof that he's alive either. He's been out of our lives for thirteen years now. If he's still alive, he would've had some kind of contact with us by now. I just can't standby and watch you hurt yourself by holding on to false hope."

Kylie took the photo from Camile and sank into the tan sofa. As she gazed at the picture, tears trickled down her cheeks. Camile, feeling terribly about causing her mother grief, sat beside her.

"Please don't cry." Camile said as she wrapped an arm around her mother's shoulders.

"Camile, I have to tell you …" Her mother's voice trailed off as she drifted into a trance-like state.

"Tell me what? Mom?"

Kylie was non-responsive as she continued to stare at the photo with her dark eyes. Camile panicked.

"Mom!" She exclaimed.

"Oh!" Kylie gasped and she placed one hand over her chest as she forced out a nervous chuckle. "I was in my own little world there, huh?"

"What were you thinking about?"

"I forgot." Kylie answered abruptly as she made a motion to stand, but Camile gently took hold of her arm.

"Wait. You said you had to tell me something."

Kylie nodded with a soft smile as she placed her hand on Camile's shoulder.

"Camile, I just want you to know that right now—aside from you—hope is all I have left. It helps keep me going. I understand that you've given up on ever seeing your father again, but I believe he's out there somewhere. He loves us both so very much and I truly believe that we'll see him again someday."

"But Mom, if he's still alive … how come he didn't come back to us by now? Why didn't he at least try to contact us? So many years have gone by without a word from him. If he's not dead, then maybe he forgot all about us. Maybe he already moved on and—"

"Camile, that's enough!" Kylie said sternly before reducing her voice to a bitter whisper. "You're really testing my patience today aren't you? All I ask is that you let me hold on to my 'false hope'. Let me have at least that much."

Camile felt uneasy about her mother's volatile reaction to her questions. Nevertheless, she wanted answers.

"Mom, I didn't mean to make you mad. I just have so many questions. I just think it's weird that as much as we both miss Dad, we never talk about him. After all these years, I barely know anything about him. I don't know how or why he disappeared, what kind of job he had or how you met him. There's a lot I don't remember about my childhood. There are so many gaps in my life. Every time I try to ask questions about any of these things you always change the subject. Why?" Camile asked softly.

Kylie sighed as she wiped the tears from her eyes. She leaned back against the sofa and smiled faintly before responding.

"Camile, it might not have been right for me to do it, but I thought it would've made things easier for you if I didn't talk about him. I thought I was protecting you and that the less you knew about him, the less you would suffer. Evidently, I was wrong about that. I'm sorry if it made things worse for you, but please believe me when I tell you that I had your best interest at heart."

"I know." Camile said as she rested her head on Kylie's shoulder. "But there are so many things I want to know about him. It's not too late."

Camile looked into Kylie's eyes and smiled tenderly before pointing to the necklace she was wearing in the photo.

"Let's start with this. It's very unusual."

"Yes … it was custom made just for you." Kylie answered slowly as she stared at the photograph.

"Where's it now?" Camile asked.

Kylie frowned. There was a brief pause before she answered the question.

"You lost it at the swimming pool when you were very little. The clasp must've broken while you were swimming. The pool workers tried to help us look for it, but it was too late. Someone must've found it and taken it. It's such a shame. It was such a beautiful necklace."

"Why was I swimming with it in the first place?"

"You loved that necklace so much you refused to ever take it off. I tried to get you to give it to me but you made a big scene and eventually got your way. You thought it was your only connection to your father and you were afraid that it would disappear just like he did."

"It looks like I was right about that." Camile replied glumly as she hung her head. "Dad would've been devastated if he knew that I lost it. I bet it meant a lot to him."

"Oh baby, don't worry about it." Kylie said while hugging Camile gently. "It really wasn't your fault. You were only a child and I know you didn't lose it on purpose. Material things aren't the most important things in the world. They're just symbols that represent much greater things. Losing that necklace doesn't change the fact that your father loves you very, very much."

Camile took a moment to regain her composure before asking her next question.

"Where'd you meet him?" She asked.

"Before you and I moved to New York, I used to work at Arizona General Hospital."

"Yeah, I remember that. You told me you worked there for a while before we moved here when I was three."

"Well, that's where I met your father."

"Really? Did he work at the hospital too?"

"Nah, he was a patient. He was in a terrible crash. It was a miracle he survived! The stubborn man didn't take the necessary precautions when he was traveling. Amazingly, he walked thirty miles to get to the hospital! It took him two days just to get to there. The poor man was a mess! He suffered dehydration, cuts, bruises, a mild concussion, and a dislocated shoulder that he managed to pop back into place on his own."

"Ugh! Sounds like he was a pretty tough guy." Camile replied. Kylie nodded with a slight chortle.

"He recovered nicely, but he insisted he still wasn't feeling quite right and requested additional care. I later realized it was just an excuse to get me to spend more time with him. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to ask me out."

Camile smiled as she continued to listen with rapt attention.

"Some of the other nurses would've killed to trade places with me. But I didn't accept his invitation. At least not right away." Kylie added.

"Why not?"

"I was getting over a pretty bad breakup at the time and wasn't ready to jump into a new relationship. What kind of girl do you think I was anyway?"

Camile and Kylie shared a hearty laugh.

"But your father wouldn't take no for an answer." Kylie continued. "Eventually, he wore me down and we started dating. He was very charming, kind and loving. He seemed too good to be true and I was always secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Did it?" Camile asked.

Her mother chuckled uncomfortably and avoided the question.

As Camile continued her discussion with her mother, she learned that Zephyr was an officer. Her mother finally seemed ready to reveal everything to Camile. However, she clammed up when it came to the particulars surrounding Zephyr's mysterious disappearance. Kylie also refused to discuss the reason she decided to move to New York.

"That, my dear, is a very long story. I'll have to explain that another time. I'm just so tired all of a sudden." Kylie said.

"Aw, can't you just tell me now?"

"Patience, Camile. I'll tell you in due time, but right now I'm very tired and really need to take a nap. Don't forget, you still have to mop the kitchen floor."

Little did Camile know, the answers to her many questions would elude her for years to come. Kylie stood up and proceeded to walk to her room. Camile noticed that subtle signs of her mother's age were beginning to emerge, particularly around the eyes. She also noticed that lately, Kylie seemed to grow tired more easily than usual. Camile felt uneasy about the realization that her mother was getting older. Camile's sudden recognition of this particular metamorphosis weighed on her mind as she began to contemplate time and mortality.

Camileon can be purchased through Barnes & Noble, Amazon and other online retailers.

Be sure to visit www.camileon-thebook.com

Camileon - Synopsis

2009-06-14T17:58:00.001-07:00

Camile Leon is a young woman searching for the hidden truth about her absentee father, a mysterious lost necklace, and the details of her early childhood — none of which she can remember. fears she will lose her mother forever. She also fears that the details regarding her past will remain unknown.

Just as Camile loses hope on learning the particulars about her past, she makes a shocking discovery which reveals her entire life has been a carefully constructed web of deceit. Almost simultaneously, she experiences strange occurrences that shred the fabric of her reality. She blames these incidents on her extreme stress and hyperactive imagination. As the lies continue to unravel, startling facts emerge — bringing terrible heartache, confusion, and despair. Facing a powerful nemesis, Camile must find the strength within herself to discover the truth. Failing could bring deadly consequences.

You can order Camileon through Bn.com, Amazon.com and other online retailers.