The E-book version of my latest book (a historical novella) Mae’s Revenge, is now available on Amazon — https://www.amazon.com/dp/B071KDKT7V/
AND the countdown is on for the paperback!
(Watch this space!)
(Watch this space!)
I recently hit upon the idea that God (my god, your god, the force, whatever name you give universal truth) brings enlightenment through science…
Consider all of the changes in thinking that have occurred because of scientific discovery, and all the damage done through science denial.
We humans have the capacity to reason. This is a powerful gift which has continued to expand throughout the history of humankind. One brick of knowledge upon another, and then another, ad infinitum.
To my mind, to deny science is to deny “universal truth”/God.
Please return here at various intervals for updates on this human blogger’s progress with Mae’s Revenge. The target release date is early fall, 2017.
If you’d like to read more . . . https://www.amazon.com/Bosses-Blackjacks-Bloody-Fifth-Philadelphia/dp/1523349093
It’s a windy fall day . . .
The kind of day where the last of the dry, dead leaves are ripped from the trees and are tossed high in the air, and tumbled over and over before they come to rest on the brown, crisp, dying lawns of the suburbs.
Raking occupied the last three weekends. Too soon.
But—the current windy day (one of the last of its kind this autumn) has decided to conduct one more performance by rustling the uppermost leafy branches of its arboreal orchestra.
The sky provides a bright blue curtain behind the pine, maple, oak, and dogwood musicians.
I watch and listen again to the wind as it takes its last gasp of warmth before winter.
For some reason, I always hear a balalaika playing “Lara’s Theme” from Doctor Zhivago.
That is the magic of the wind.
I have a confession to make . . .
I’m freaking out a bit.
You see, I’ve agreed to be one of several authors at a local venue next week for a book signing! What the hell was I thinking?
I have personally witnessed book signings (by others) about four times in my entire life. Two of those times were for my indie author husband, where my participation involved ironing the table covers and making sure there were cookies for his “fans.” Not exactly activities I could include on my resume as “book signing experience.”
What I do know:
Bring 10,000 copies of my book, “Bosses and Blackjacks: A Tale of the ‘Bloody Fifth’ in Philadelphia” Wait a minute . . . did I say 10,000? . . . I meant 10.
Bring a pen (that works). On second thought —better bring two.
Bring a table cover (freshly ironed, of course)
Bring the clever(?) bookmarks I spent hours designing and re-designing to give away to anyone who gets within three miles of my table. (I do know how to make paper airplanes!)
Bring business cards — to make it easy for reps from those big publishing houses and movie moguls to contact me day or night! (Think positive…think positive…think positive)
Bring a stiff upper lip —so I don’t dissolve into a puddle of disappointment if no one shows up — or worse, if people show up, but no one buys my book…or, God forbid, doesn’t even talk to me.
Oh damn! I almost forgot —bring cookies!
Seriously folks . . . if any of you, Dear Readers, have helpful advice to get me through this horror show called “A Book Signing,” I will be checking back every day for the next week to read your comments.
It’s so weird — I keep hearing Madonna’s “Like A Virgin” in my head. Sorry to leave you with that ear-worm!
Sometimes when writing, you are required to go back to some point in time in your own past to recall a scent, a touch, an emotion, or perhaps a scene, in order to convey an experience your readers can relate to.
When you do that, it can be difficult to relive a moment that evokes the gut-wrenching pain of an emotionally draining event. There are also the memories of embarrassment or shame that somehow have to become a series of words forming sentences on a page, which draw your readers into another world.
In reality, it’s a black and white sketchbook of word-pictures drawn from the author’s most intimate life experiences.
This grueling process could explain the far-away stare emanating from that dreamer, whose morning beverage is getting cold next to their laptop perched upon the corner table, in the coffee shop where you stop every day on your way to work.
Don’t try to disturb them. You can’t. They won’t hear you. They are not in this world. They are creating new ones for you to enjoy.
(Featured image: Memory Extraction Spell – Harry Potter)
Excerpt from my book, “Bosses and Blackjacks: A Tale of the Bloody Fifth in Philadelphia.” http://tinyurl.com/zbtz6an
1907—A glimpse at some of the bosses…
The Vare brothers—George, Edwin, and William—were dominant figures in the city of Philadelphia. With their start as sons of a South Philadelphia pig farmer, they all got involved in contracting with the city and had their hands in local politics from a young age. George, a produce huckster, drew his brothers into rubbish, garbage, and street-cleaning contracts. Called “slopcart salesmen,” they dumped the collected garbage along the Delaware River.
George Vare got elected to the State Senate, where he played a considerable role in making Boise Penrose (“the big grizzly” as he was known by his admirers) an important figure by the time Thomas Smith arrived in Harrisburg.
William S. Vare was the current recorder of deeds, having been re-elected in 1904 and now again in 1907. In this position, he had influence in the surety business of the city. It was Bill who arranged this meeting for brother Ed with Tom Smith.
All strong Republicans, they had deep roots in the densely populated area of Philadelphia below South Street and all the way down to “the neck”—home of the Philadelphia Naval Yard.
The more things change…the more they stay the same. Sad, but true.