Hope Martin
Bio
Find my fantasy book "Memoirs of the In-Between" on Amazon in paperback, eBook, and hardback, in the Apple Store, or on the Campfire Reading app.
Follow the Memoirs Facebook age here!
I am a mother, a homesteader, and an abuse survivor.
Stories (330)
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Memoirs Of The In-Between - A Snow Day (8.5)
A Snow Day - Hidden Bonus Chapter One morning a few weeks after my argument with Leon, I opened the door to my dwelling and was blinded by light reflecting off the surface of a layer of untouched snow. I was taken by surprise as cold hit my face and I froze for a moment.
By Hope MartinExclusive • 12 months ago
My Disabled/ Partially Immobile Mother's Mental Health Is One Of My Top Priorities.. Content Warning.
The feeling of powerlessness. It's a feeling I am growing accustomed to when it comes to caretaking for my sick family. Between a sister struggling with her first round of chemo, a brother who can't eat solid food anymore, and an almost completely bedridden mother with Multiple Sclerosis, being powerless is a feeling that I have been forced to acknowledge a lot lately. And that is a feeling that can destroy someone like me. Or my poor mama.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Psyche
Memoirs Of The In-Between: Chapter 8
Chapter 8 I awoke with Kora kneeling over me, Shion opened and colored wind swirling about me in hues of pink and blue. The girl was gritting her teeth, her eyes closed in concentration. I felt heavy, and for several minutes I couldn’t even muster the energy to open my mouth to speak to her. It would take several moments to get the strength to groan out her name. The wind stopped and her brown eyes opened and looked down at me in what I assumed to be relief.
By Hope MartinExclusive • about a year ago
Memoirs Of The In-Between: Chapter 7
Chapter 7 “Leon? What is it?” I heard myself asking, confused. His expression was drawn tight, his dark eyes piercing through the room from the doorway he had burst through. I got up, making sure to secure Estrakulius to me quickly.
By Hope MartinExclusive • about a year ago
Dear Disrespectful Racist. Content Warning.
Dear Narcissistic POS, It all started when you came out of training at a job. I had offered a hand to help set up your desk, so you didn’t have to get onto the floor. I did it for all the older people who were in your training class. I’m not sure how we became friends by only having small talk back and forth when I was helping around the call center when there weren't enough supervisors.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Confessions
When The Devil Comes To Collect Your Debt. Content Warning.
I have written articles about recognizing abusive situations. I have talked in various articles about my past relationships while I was a traumatized, co-dependent, trauma-bonded youngling. I haven't in a while, because sometimes when your abuser lives nearby it sometimes creates a fear that keeps you from talking and sharing your full story. Especially when your abuser has a pretty well-off family who could and WOULD hurt you in various ways if they truly wanted to.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Confessions
Things You Will Need To Start Raising Chickens
Raising chickens for eggs is one way to make your home a little more self-sustaining. In an effort to reduce food costs and perhaps even help contribute financially, I started a little homestead. It was a slow project, and is still ongoing since the things you need for homesteading require a pretty penny.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Petlife
Dear Staff and Cast Of Critical Role
To Critical Role - Staff and Cast I wanted to handwrite this letter so it was more personal, but frankly, my handwriting is… terrible. It’s atrocious. Really. And what I have to say means a lot to me, so I really want you to be able to read it. So first and foremost, thank you for taking the time to read this stupid typed letter.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Humans
Goodness Is Weakness. Content Warning.
While I Slept Last Night, The Real Me Held The Waking Me Hostage I wasn't bound or gagged. I was sitting in a dark room that was lit by dim bulbs, and viscera dripped from the ceiling to the floor. It wasn't the intestines and seared and ragged flesh that lined the walls as curtains or the exsanguination of random limbs littered on the floor that told me it was a nightmare. It wasn't the blood and guts that oozed from the walls endlessly that told me that it was all a very bad dream. Those things are in every dream. I am unbothered by the gore of my mind.
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Confessions
