The Blended Lives Chronicles Book III Chambers Between the Minds First Portion and Beta Readers Wanted

Good afternoon, everyone. I hope you’re well.

This afternoon, I’ve a treat for you who are awaiting information on the third book in The Blended Lives Chronicles a Lady MoonWalker Series book.

Here at this moment, I am giving you the first portion of Book III Chambers Between the Minds.

Read onward after the main story to learn how you can join in on the creative process.

For now, let’s head to Casimia where all the hells of war have broken loose, Laya is readying to embark on a dangerous and at times heartbreaking mission and the worlds as you knew them are being recreated in the images of hate, greed, and ruthlessness.

If you’ve not read books I and II I warn you, there are spoilers in this writing.

Nothing you will read will ruin the first two, but I hope you’ll go back and read them.

The Blended Lives Chronicles

A Lady MoonWalker Series

Book III

Chambers Between the Minds

The History of Casimian: True Prophecies

The darkness closes in; we know it’s wrong from within, too afraid to listen. With the fake energy of power, soon that will sour. The people will come to their senses; you will be locked behind fences. Just like before, only worse. The weapons are different—colder, violent, anger-driven, fear-driven. Soon, if we allow it, we will be wiped away. How many millions can they kill in just one day? Hear me, hear me, I beg! I’m not messing around. If you Fuck around,” you’ll find out, only it won’t be just you who pays. In the end, I suppose that’s great. In the meantime, there’s more risk every day when we could, if we’d only try—if we’d only band together—it could be wiped from all time.

Part One: Around the Virtual Oak Table

Normally, Randall, Derrick, Laya, Wolverine, Marcus, and John sat around the large virtual oak table Laya created for them by the art of illusion. Laya’s continued honing of this skill was one of her most important assignments. The many long hours Marcus spent entertaining her while in training, with stories of his travels and all he saw along his way during nights when her manic state was too bad for sleep, provided her with vivid descriptions. As a result, the illusion of the room was always decorated with wall hangings featuring lovely drawings of the various cities and small townships throughout the planets of the Blended Lives Planetary Federation, the planets they’d sworn to protect, even to the point of endangering their souls. When linked to one another during this illusion, they could see one another and communicate verbally or mind to mind. The appearance of sitting together fostered companionship.

These six beings came together through harrowing circumstances. The bond that exists between them is unique. No other beings are known to have ever bonded in such a way as this group has done. Their fierce love creates a protective bond that supports the group and each member during their mission, whether together or apart. Now they sat apart, yet in council. Not one word uttered from their lips. They were linked mind to mind. They must discuss in complete secrecy all which took place, and all yet to come. Each member present would create their own illusion: a space in which they would feel safe or where they could hide their true location if needed. There they would remain throughout the communication.

Randall sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he sent:

“Thank you all for finding time within your busy schedules to sit in council. During such unrest, it is more appreciated than ever. Laya and Wolverine are not currently present. Laya is not doing well, which is to be expected, and Wolverine is, of course, seeing to her needs personally. Laya sent a communiqué which we’ll all receive together after Marcus sends his thoughts. Wolverine has simply stated, ‘At the present time, my place is with my High Priestess.’ And so, let us begin. Derrick, would you like to start? I know you must get underway soon.”

Derrick’s Tale of Battle and Escape

Derrick sat in the darkened room, preparing to send, listening to a harsh wind scouring sand across the outside of the protective glass of the grimy window. Though he hid his true location, they were able to see his room as he came into focus, and then from his mind, they received…

“It was January 16th. I left on patrol while the children were in the garden and Laya and Wolverine were in the art room. I could hear their laughter, as I shifted away. Considering the strain they’ve been dealing with, seeing them using those places of relaxation and recreation was a joy. Since I didn’t plan to be gone long due to the scheduled events of the evening, which would have put our original plan into place, I didn’t disturb them.

I arrived onto the Casimian Destroyer shapeshifting into my full vampire state as I went hitting the deck at a dead sprint, boots echoing across scorched steel. Smoke hung low, thick, and bitter, stinking of blood and ozone. My ship. My crew. Under siege.

The blast doors to the bridge shuddered and cracked—already breached.

I didn’t wait for permission.

The moment I crossed the threshold; the battle roared into life.

Flames leapt across the floor, twisting serpents of fire summoned by enemy hands. Water exploded from shattered coolant lines, instantly flash-frozen into shards by gusts of conjured wind. Earth burst through the tiles, jagged stone spears impaling the bodies of my fallen crew. Their screams still echoed.

Raymond’s soldier stood at the center of the carnage, elemental sigils glowing on his armor, his eyes bright with bloodlust. Around him, his soldiers unleashed hell.

They had powers like mine—but they lacked discipline.

I called the air to me first. The wind howled as it wrapped around my frame, cloaking me in invisibility and speed. I moved through the chaos like a shadow—silent, unseen—until I was directly behind the soldier.

He turned too late.

My claws raked across his back, tearing metal and flesh. He bellowed and retaliated, launching a torrent of flame toward my face. I raised both arms, summoning water from the broken pipes beneath the floor. It surged upward, a tidal shield that hissed as it smothered the blaze.

He tried to follow with stone—jagged rock spires shooting from the earth. I leapt, twisting midair, landing in a crouch beside a smoldering corpse.

“Is this what Raymond sends against me?” I spat.

I reached deep—into blood, into rage—and called fire of my own. It erupted from my hands in twin spirals, sweeping across the bridge. His soldiers screamed as it consumed them, their flesh cracking like burnt parchment.

The soldier roared and called lightning from the ceiling panels—but I was already there.

My hand pierced his chest.

Not with claw, but with earth.

A jagged stone spike shot through him from beneath, summoned by my will. His mouth opened, eyes wide in disbelief as blood poured from his lips.

“You should have stayed dead,” I growled.

I let the fire finish him.

Silence fell. Only the low crackle of fire and the hiss of coolant lines breaking into steam filled the space.

Bodies—my crew—lay strewn across the deck. Good souls. Brave warriors. Slaughtered before I could reach them.

I dropped to my knees in the blood-spattered center of the bridge.

Closing my eyes, tears of rage and loss streaming down my face, I spread my hands and pressed them to the warm metal floor. It pulsed faintly beneath me, as if remembering their footsteps.

I drew in a breath and spoke the old tongue.

“Morrígan, dark mother, guardian of the fallen—hear me.

Take their spirits into your wings. Shield them from torment.

Guide them across the veil where battle ends,

Where their courage will be known, their pain forgotten.

Let their names be etched upon your blade, and may their enemies never rest.”

A chilled wind swept the bridge. The fire dimmed. The steam settled into mist.

I felt Her presence—cold, fierce, divine.

And I knew… they were not alone.

Rising, I looked to the stars beyond the shattered viewport. Vengeance would come. Blood would answer blood.

But first—I would honor the dead.

The sandstorm struck just as the battle was ending—blinding, howling, and furious—its winds swallowing what little was left of the field. I barely made it out alive. Moments before the craft landed, I hurled myself into the chaos, unsure if I would survive the next breath.

Two days ago, weakened by hunger and parched from thirst, I stumbled across a ragtag band of fleeing soldiers while searching for shelter—any cave or jagged outcropping I could crawl beneath to escape the blistering heat and wind. My strength was fading fast, and I knew I could be captured at any moment. Worse still, I could be executed on sight.

They nearly shot me. An actual firearm—one that fired metal bullets—was aimed straight at my chest. Goddess only knows where they found such a relic, but I had no time to think. I raised my hands high above my head and shouted hoarsely over the wind, “No! I’m Derrick Gibbous, second-in-command of the Order of the Night. Please, don’t shoot! I’m on your side—I’m on the run!”

They hesitated. Clad in tattered Order of the Night Army uniforms, they murmured among themselves, suspicion etched into every line of their dirt-smeared faces. Then, finally, one of them stepped forward, his hand raised in cautious acceptance.

“Mister Derrick… bless you, man. We damn near killed you. Come quick—we’ve spotted a patrol up ahead. We have to move.”

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. My body screamed with exhaustion, and my heart pounded with a fear which wouldn’t let go. I followed. Every step driven by desperation. Capture meant death. If Raymond got his hands on me, it wouldn’t end quickly. Torture, then execution—slow, precise, and public. That’s how he worked.

I must not let it happen. I know too much.

Underestimating Raymond Noel is as good as carving your own tombstone. He’s always been dangerous—cunning, ruthless, and relentless. And now… now he’s worse than ever.

Here we are, all these weeks later—and I must go onward.

I, Derrick Gibbous, am the most-wanted man of the Purified. Raymond Noel has issued a “kill on sight” order if I attempt to run. But if I surrender and he drinks from me, we are all doomed. I cannot allow them to take me alive.

It is widely reported that Raymond Noel himself has joined his men in the search, especially when it’s believed I’m nearby. So far, I’ve managed to slip through their fingers. If that crash is reported with no survivors—so much .

My heart aches every time I think of Laya. How she cried when I explained how I must go on the run. I snuck into the compound as an invisible. I had to see her before I disappeared. Now, to add insult to the injury of her broken heart, I must mute my bond. I hate it. The memory of Laya’s tear-streaked face breaks my heart. Her beautiful deep-brown eyes were puffy from crying as well as from no sleep. We’d stayed up all night, Laya begging me to take her with me, me holding her in my arms explaining repeatedly why I must leave her again. ‘Derrick, please. We don’t have to follow the Histories,’ she pleaded, her desperation echoing in my mind. She held onto me tightly, terror emanating from her in black waves tinged with a gray, foamy despair.

Laya, you know better. You know the wheel is readying to turn. You know your place. Hell, Laya, you cast portions of this yourself. We’ve no other choice. If we follow the path we helped to create, we will have a choice about how we proceed. If, however, we fight, we will travel by the will of the Goddess, and our choices will not apply. I for one don’t want to be on a path 100 percent dictated by another, even, dare I say it, by the Goddess. Free will has always been one of our four cornerstones. This must continue to stand.’

So, even though Laya hated it and she’d be looking for any opportunity around all this, she burrowed into my chest, the twins kicking furiously inside her, and with great strength she submitted to my commanding authority. Then, realizing her commitment in a hysterical fit of desperate terror, she stood, threw her robe to the floor and, kneeling at my feet, with King leaping up and taking his place beside her, she pleaded, ‘Derrick! King and I must not bring these younglings into the world alone! You must leave a companion for me. As my mate, it is your job to see I’m protected and cared for in all ways!’

Though I’d already been warned this would happen, and I knew she was right, still today, my pride, jealousy, hurt, and rage are huge and hungry, but I know I must keep them at bay. Nothing, not even Laya and the twins, can stand in the way of this mission. If things are not set right for the last time with no more delay, there will be no reason to try. We’ll be rounded up like cattle. Transported to some asteroid belt encampment and held prisoners, forced to work in slave labor for our lives, and nothing would be done until some army turned the tide. Then, there is the chance our rescuers might be worse.

Since the Friedman regime has taken charge again, there are little groups forming everywhere. It doesn’t matter that President Horn is dead and that President Friedman has taken his place. Horn lives on as their beloved martyr. Eventually one of them will take the lead, declare war, and they will start fighting each other and the Purified for the lands on Casimian, then Korponious, and after that… Who knows? None of us want old-time guerrilla warfare.

For now, I must make my next checkpoint. It is time for me to leave the planet. Randall and I will continue to maintain our elite group, and though Laya is hurt and angry, she agreed she is a part of us and has her assignments. This time must be for real. Whatever takes place will stand for 1,000 years, and we must get it right. One thing out of place, and everything for all beings will change. Histories rewritten, men killed for their beliefs, and the women—the women would be enslaved. They’ll be used as sex toys. They will be beaten simply as an object lesson to the new ones coming into the camps. They’ll be used as decoys, bombers, and entrapments. This cannot stand. We must succeed.

According to Mother Crone, and what she’s learned from the few others who have given birth to witch vampire children, we have about two more months. Then, Laya will be in the last stages of pregnancy and can give birth anytime. The gestation is different, and things will move rapidly once they begin. Laya must be done with her part and back in Casimian Proper before those babies are born. If they’re born anywhere else, they will be considered citizens of that planet, and whomever is in charge will take them and kill Laya.

Though it hurts to admit it, it’s well that Marcus will bond with Laya and care for all of them. His name will lend her much protection. His gentle guidance, caring, firm discipline, companionship, and yes, his love will sustain her and will help her endure during these troubled times. Laya must tell you the parts of her past which are relevant to today. You must all see and understand her point of view. It takes nerves of steel for Marcus to allow those things he and Laya did together to be shared here. Laya, too, must be commended. There are many things she and I haven’t discussed. I understand why she’s not here, and it will not be held against her or written up in her service record as anything but a note stating she was not here and why. It suffices.”

Marcus, John, and Randall watched as Derrick resisted the urge to lift the veil for a moment to check on Laya. He knew he couldn’t. If she got even a tiny blip of him, she would break that shield and attach. Drawing a ragged breath, Derrick straightened his torn and filthy uniform. Knowing he looked just like the fugitive he was, he ran his fingers through his thick but close-cropped chestnut brown hair, now flecked with gray. Then, drawing himself up to his full height, he stated, “Marcus Weathers, being in agreement with my blood father and Commander-in-Chief of the Order, Randall Jennings, in the fact that the Planetary Federation is at war with the Purified and Clear Blood clans, and my being on the run and unable to fulfill my duties as bonded husband, I, Derrick Gibbous, second in command of The Order and Blood Son of Randall Jennings, give you leave to bond with and care for my wife, High Priestess Laya MoonWalker Gibbous. Please try always to balance your roles as they’re needed. As you know, she can be difficult, but as you also know, she is sweet, loving, and during episodes of extreme stress, fragile. Most times, a firm tone followed by affectionate reward works best.”

Smiling crookedly despite the situation, Derrick added, “Iced Mocha coffee is also effective when she starts tiring and needs a goal to work toward. Just don’t let her have more than three shots of espresso, or else the fact that you don’t need much rest will go out the window.” Taking another deep breath, Derrick continued, “Unfortunately, there are rare times when a firm hand is necessary. As you appear to know, she can be quite willful. When these times rear their ugly head, it is best to set a firm boundary concerning how long you allow unacceptable behaviors to go on. Showing her from the outset what you will and won’t tolerate as a handler is necessary. Having spoken with you before and after you’ve returned from a visit, I think you’re already aware of this. But please don’t forget, communication is key, as well as compromise. You must not dictate unless absolutely necessary. That’s always been my downfall with her. I simply cannot always tell her or anyone what I’m working on or where I will be. When this happens—and due to our status of war, that’s often—I simply need her to do as asked and not question. For Laya, not knowing can be dangerous. If left with no information, her overactive mind creates things which aren’t necessarily so. During those times, if she is not kept under a tight rein, she can lose control of the art of illusion and cause things to happen. Most times, it’s the weather which is affected. She views emotions as elements of air, fire, water, and even earth. She has created ice squalls, pop-up snowstorms, and thunderstorms. So far, she’s not created anything too dangerous. But she must be made to control her emotions. This entire situation seems quite unfair for Laya because she was making great progress and was happy most of the time. We were working on things together, and I fear what this situation may do to all her hard work. Please, just take care of her, Marcus. She truly is precious.

I’m hopeful of having things back in our favor by the time of the twins’ birth, but if they’re not, you must raise them as if they’re your own while remembering what they’re to be raised for. Mother Crone’s decree must stand. One thing you must work toward improving for your good as well as for the good of the mission to restore leadership back to its intended form is your lack of ability to forgive and move forward. Anger is a waste of energy. I can say to you with great certainty that the issue troubles Laya deeply. She’s consistently worrying about when you will not be able to forgive her. She is so frightened of screwing things up, she is her own worst enemy. She knows this. A large part of Laya feels I am deserting her. She feels I could’ve taken her with me or found another way. Though Laya knows in her head these things aren’t true, her heart is broken, she is hurting, and since this is the second time I’ve been forced to choose my work over her, she may never trust me again. As badly as I hate this, it must be done. You, Marcus, as before, must help her see that. I pray the highest blessings be bestowed upon you, Marcus Weathers. To undertake such a responsibility as is being thrust upon you is a huge thing indeed. I’ve the utmost respect for you. I also recognize the bond between you and Laya. There has never been an inappropriate moment between you. Even when Laya started down her previous paths, you didn’t waver from what you knew to be right. Laya learned much from that experience, and thanks to your disciplinary action, the episode only lasted a few weeks. I won’t lie. The experience was painful for her. She suffered when you cut off conversation. Seeing you engage with others openly while scrolling past her reactions and remarks with no regard was harsh, but in the end, effective. She was not sure of what she’d done or your thoughts and feelings. She managed to stumble on Lady Laughs A Lot, Mistress of Mindfulness, who is of the Fairy Folk, and her caring yet disciplined demeanor has been quite helpful over the years. During her first sessions Laya was able to think about her actions just before and during your silence and together they planned to see Laya didn’t behave inappropriately again. This time, Laya has worked hard in Lily’s program to raise herself to a higher consciousness. She is much more aware than she was in previous years. Her ability to read you is 95 percent accurate, and trying to mask your feelings causes more problems than protection. When I read the reports, I’m blown away by what she’s accomplished. I’ve spoken with Lilly many times, and I believe her when she says Laya is doing well. I also believe her warning that Laya is not yet stable without a support system and may never be fully capable of being so. Lilly does, however, believe that Laya is capable, with good friends and staff, to accomplish anything she sets her mind to as long as she’s realistic. That, she has said, includes you.

Marcus, you’re being given a chance at true unconditional love. Laya means it with her very soul when she says, ‘Love unbidden, if handled correctly, comes back ’round on its own.’ She continues holding that space for you. Allow the love, Marcus. Don’t think too much about that. It breaks my heart to say these things, yet both of you deserve that joy. I’m in agreement with Laya when she speaks of finding nuggets of treasure amongst the ruin. Take her hand and manifest your happiness, whatever that looks like to you. Yes, one day I will return, Marcus, but all that you set forth from this day forward will stand. So, it is written. So, it shall be. For it says…

‘There is one who will step forth from the shadows who carries himself with certainty and vigor and with a voice which is often heard ringing throughout the lands in which he travels. He can be boisterous at times, but inside he is a young boy still learning his way. It is only with the tender touch of his lover who gives her all to him and asks nothing in return but to be allowed to do it, that he may truly become the man he was meant to be. In all things, there are tools for the greater good, and in this coupling, I have such a tool. Go forth, ye mighty soldier, and claim the Lady who will stand with you in battle. Take her hand and accept the blessing from the “Best clan in the land.” ‘

The History of Casimian: True Prophecies

‘Take my blessing, Marcus Weathers. Take it, go forth, and be prosperous in your own right.’

Derrick Gibbous, blood son of Randall Jennings and second in command of the Order.”

For a moment there was silence, then giving a sad sigh, a tear in the corner of his eye, in a softer, more confidential wave, Derrick added, “What she really responds to, Marcus, is to be held when you’re available. She likes very much to snuggle up in the evenings with a beer or glass of wine, along with a pipe of Casimian Red, and a book with her headphones while you watch videos and write reports. Unbelievably, if you set her up in a recliner or bed next to you so she can reach out and touch you from time to time, she will get into her own thing and be more settled than you could ever wish for. She just needs to know someone is there. If you’re comfortable doing so at times, holding her while she reads and you watch TV or you do some activity together is also something she responds to, and when she is sick, she does not do well completely on her own. That’s not to say she’s incapable of being on her own. In fact, this would be quite the contrary. Laya is efficient to the point that it makes some of my top officials look like slackers. I’m just letting you know of things that will make for a happier time for you all. I know she can be difficult to handle in person. Social cues are confusing for her. She at times needs very firm boundaries. Although my observation says you have this mostly in hand, there is once again something lacking. You must speak directly with her. If she is behaving in a way which makes you want to uncouple, you must—hard though it is—speak that truth to her. You must offer her an option for repair. Nothing should come to the point of no repair before you let someone, especially Laya, in on the fact there’s a problem. As I’ve previously stated, when things go silent from others for Laya, it thrusts her active imagination into overdrive. Because she’s experienced such rejection and abuse in her life, she expects to receive similar behaviors from you. When you leave her with nothing, all she can imagine is the dreadful possibility of what could be coming. Simply talking openly with her from the beginning of a problem and helping her find and work on a solution creates a much more successful environment. I chose you amongst all the elite members from Company One of the Order because I feel you are up to this challenge. You may very well be the best man to bond Laya. Please don’t get me wrong, Marcus. I have loved this woman from the very moment I saw her all those years ago. She has gotten under my skin, and there’s no way I’ll ever be free of her. Now she carries my children. But at this time around on the wheel, it must be this way. Sometimes the harsh reality is, the man who creates the child is not always the one who should father. Laya still refuses to see that. Please care for her with all you can possibly give.”

When Derrick had finished, he picked up his pack, disengaged, and shifted away.

Somewhere in the depths of the night, a portal opened and closed. Its passing brushed the world like a cold breath, leaving behind something unseen.

Laya felt it the moment it happened. She woke screaming.

Wolverine held her until the shaking eased, but her voice was still sharp with fear.

“I must not do this alone. Derrick left a handler for me. Bring him to me. Randall? Please—Randall—where are you? The emptiness… Goddess, please?”

Her cry rang through the silence like a gong in the stillness of midnight.

Hearing it, Randall left the meeting without a word. As he shifted, a faint awareness followed—something not entirely his own.

He entered Laya’s chambers, senses on high alert. She stood without the bond of her mate, carrying Vampire–Witch twins, her power more dangerous than ever.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“Marcus is meant to care for me,” Laya said. “But with Derrick gone, I feel abandoned. Please bring him.”

Randall knelt. “Marcus is in the Chambers and has accepted the task.”

Her voice cracked. “So, I’m just a mission now?”

“No. He truly cares. You know this, Laya. It may even be the best thing for you.”

Her grief flared into rage.

“How can you say that? After all Derrick and I went through? Randall—Derrick Gibbous is prophesied to father the twins who will one day rule the Federation! How is it best for them to be taken from him?”

The air thickened. Winds tore through the room—books and wall hangings ripped down, curtains shredded, the bathroom door slamming until, after the third blow, it crashed to the ground with a thunderous roar.

“Laya!” Randall demanded, pulling the power from her in one sharp grasp. “Stand down! That’s an order!”

The wind fell away. Silence pressed in.

“Randall! Father! I can’t be alone!” she cried, voice more wolf than woman. “Marcus! Marcus Weathers! Send him to me!”

Randall rose to his full height. “By Order decree, I approve this bonding. You may bond three times with a male and three times with a female. This will be your second with a male. Are you certain?”

“Yes, Randall. I believe the prophecy from The History of Casimian: True Prophecies speaks of Marcus. King and I cannot raise these children alone.”

“Then, by the powers of the Goddess, I—Randall Jennings, Commander and Chief of the Order—decree: ‘As it is cast, so shall it be delivered. As it is delivered, so shall it be done. As it is done, so shall it be forever. Let no being cast asunder what we have begun.”

He kissed each of her cheeks. “Go, Daughter, and make yourself ready. The day of his arrival draws near. My son Derrick has left his blessing. Though it is painful, these things must stand. You are a warrior. Be ready to receive your chosen soldier.”

With tears in his eyes, Randall opened the portal and sent her through.

Turning to Wolverine, he said, “Go with her. Do not leave her for a moment. She could harm herself or someone else without knowing it’s coming. I must return to the Chamber. Call me if I’m needed.”

When he was gone, Wolverine stood in the quiet, letting the power he’d left behind settle.

Poor Uncle. He would never admit it, but this hurt him deeply. He had hoped Laya’s presence—and the babies—would lead Derrick to pass some of his duties to Terrance Clevenger, the Order’s third in command. Terrance was precise, effective—two hundred enemy kills in his last mission—but Derrick was Derrick. Change was unlikely.

She allowed herself a small smile. Just who is Marcus Weathers to think he can step into Derrick’s place and handle the High Priestess? She knew the two had a history, and that the prophecy had its hand in this.

But there was no time to dwell. Laya must not be left alone. Wolverine called the power, set her intention, and shifted away.

To continue along with me, see how to enter the portal below.

If you’d like to join a small beta reader group, write to patty.volunteer1@gmail.com for an interview.

You will need to have,

Read the first two books in the series and have a good memory of that.
You will be required to keep what you read confidential, understanding the work that is copywritten in belongs exclusively to the author, me, Patty L. Fletcher.
You will need to be willing to read large portions of the book in process which will always be in correct order and give feedback as to content style and things which take you from the story.
If you’re serious and you’ve not read the books in the series, if you’ll purchase the first, I’ll provide the second.

I will create an email group once I have all the people I need.

I look forward to hearing from you.

About Patty L. Fletcher

Updated November 2024

Patty L. Fletcher is a woman of passion and exploration.

She studies the art of manifestation and is a seeker of knowledge and the wisdom to know what to do with it when it’s learned.

From April 2011 through September 2020, she owned and handled a black Labrador from The Seeing Eye® named King Campbell Lee Fletcher A.K.A. Bubba. Sadly, after a long battle with illness on September 24, 2020, King Campbell went to the Rainbow Bridge where all is peace and love. In July 2021, she returned to The Seeing Eye® and was paired with a Black Labrador Golden Retriever cross named Blue.

PATTY’S BLINDNESS…

Patty was born one and a half months premature. Her blindness was caused by her being given too much oxygen in the incubator. She was partially sighted until 1991, at which time she lost her sight due to an infection after cataract surgery and high eye pressure. She used a cane for 31 years before making the change to a guide dog.

WHERE SHE LIVES AND WORKS…

Currently, Patty lives and works in Bristol Virginia

Patty is quite involved with The American Council of the Blind – ACB and its community.

She’s a member of Guide Dog Users Incorporated where she serves on the GDUI Election Candidacy Task Force, and the membership Committee.

She works with the Audio Description Project by serving on the ADP Performing Arts Committee.

She has also recently joined Blind Information Technology Specialists (BITS). Another special affiliate of ACB.

She is currently a student of the BITS Office 365 classes with instructor David Kingsberry.

She’s the creator and owner of Tell-It-To-The-World Marketing (Author, Blogger, Business Assist), The Writer’s Grapevine Online Magazine and the creator and host of the Talk to Tell-It-To-The-World Marketing Podcast, which have recently been reconstructed and can all be found in Patty’s Worlds.

WRITING GOAL…

Patty writes with the goal of bridging the great chasm which separates the disabled from the non-disabled.

Patty is also a published author.

Learn more at the links below.

All full length published works…

https://www.amazon.com/stores/Patty-L.-Fletcher/author/B00Q9I7RWG?

https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/PattyFletcher

Anthologies…

Midnight Roost: https://books2read.com/MidnightRoost

Visions: https://books2read.com/VisionsAnthology

Poetry Treasures 3: Passions: https://books2read.com/VisionsAnthology

Strange Weather Anthology