M.C. Frank's Blog, page 466

Conversations with an empty chair (4.5) - A Christmas Sto...

Conversations with an empty chair (4.5) - A Christmas Story

Christmas 1990: You help my sister and me decorate the Christmas tree, because we’re so...

Christmas 1996: You take us on a trip to the mountains to play with the snow. I fling snowballs at the back of your head when you’ve turned around, but you’re always quicker than me. You’ll learn, you tell me. It’s all a trick. See? I try to learn, but I’m not as good as you. And I don’t mind. I don’t expect ever to be as good as you.

Christmas 1998: I’m sad and moody, like all teenagers are. You take us shopping to the Christmas village, you buy me books. You buy me a pendant. You’re thinking, you’re becoming a woman now, that’s a gift for a woman. I’m thinking, I’ll always be your little girl.

Christmas 2002: I’m at university now, and you’re wondering if I’ll spend the holidays with my friends. But I spend every second at home with you and mom and my little brother. Drinking you in, all of you. I’m safe here, this is where I belong. I’ve missed you so much.

Christmas 2007: I come to your home (I’ve moved away now, and it sucks being away from you, but we’re all pretending it doesn’t) fifteen days before Christmas to help decorate the Christmas tree. It’s as lovely as ever, my childhood ornaments still alive (mostly). You climb on top of the kitchen island to hang fairy lights on the ceiling. You always were crazy. It was one of the things I love about you.

Christmas 2011: It’s snowing outside your hospital room. I usually love the snow, but not this year. I send a silent prayer that it will snow again next year. when we can all enjoy it together, and I can try to surprise you with a snowball you won’t see coming. But it will never happen.

Christmas 2012: My brother and I hung up the fairylights on the ceiling, because you can’t. On Christmas day they take you to the hospital, because you’ve got a fever, but by noon you’re home and we eat everything. You mostly watch us -your appetite is gone. In the evening we exchange gifts. You buy me the most expensive perfume you could find. I haven’t worn it still. I buy you a notebook, because that’s what writers love. Only the first page is written now. The rest will be forever blank.

Christmas 2013: Your photo is on the shelf, looking down at us. We change the place of the tree, we don’t hang up the fairylights on the ceiling. We can’t stand anything that will remind us of how it used to be. But we still celebrate Christmas. You’d hate it if we stopped living because you were gone. We wipe our tears in the bathroom and put on a brave smile for each other. We survive. Only just.

Christmas 2016: I have to pinch myself to stop crying. I have to inflict a greater pain than your absence, or I won’t be able to breathe. We sing carols, we have our traditional Christmas play. I burn a cd of Christmas songs, like I do every year, with Sarah McLahlan’s RIVER, and name the cd “Christmas without you”. It’s already been so long since you’ve gone. Will the pain every stop? Will your absence? You’d be so proud, I know, to see how well we’re surviving. We’re active, we even smile sometimes. At nights we cry our eyes out. I write about you - I write to you. But it doesn’t help ease the pain. 
I don’t want 2017 to come. I know it’s silly, but it will take me another year further away from the last time I saw you. I hate that. 
It will also take me closer to the moment I’ll see you again, in heaven. That’s all that keeps me going.

You’d be so proud of me, I know. Keeping on, in spite of the pain. Working, writing, living. But, deep down inside, I don’t want you to be proud. I want you to be here.

Deep down inside there’s a three-year-old’s voice, crying “I want my dad.”

A second chance.“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature;...

A second chance.
“Mr. Darcy, I am a very selfish creature; and, for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, care not how much I may be wounding yours. I can no longer help thanking you for your unexampled kindness to...
“I am sorry, exceedingly sorry,” replied Darcy, in a tone of surprise and emotion, “that you have ever been informed of what may, in a mistaken light, have given you uneasiness. I did not think Mrs. Gardiner was so little to be trusted.”
“You must not blame my aunt. Lydia’s thoughtlessness first betrayed to me that you had been concerned in the matter; and, of course, I could not rest till I knew the particulars. Let me thank you again and again, in the name of all my family, for that generous compassion which induced you to take so much trouble, and bear so many mortifications, for the sake of discovering them.”
“If you will thank me,” he replied, “let it be for yourself alone. That the wish of giving happiness to you might add force to the other inducements which led me on, I shall not attempt to deny. But your family owe me nothing. Much as I respect them, I believe I thought only of you.”
Elizabeth was too much embarrassed to say a word. After a short pause, her companion added, “You are too generous to trifle with me. If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever.”
Elizabeth, feeling all the more than common awkwardness and anxiety of his situation, now forced herself to speak; and immediately, though not very fluently, gave him to understand that her sentiments had undergone so material a change, since the period to which he alluded, as to make her receive with gratitude and pleasure his present assurances. The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to do. Had Elizabeth been able to encounter his eye, she might have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight, diffused over his face, became him; but, though she could not look, she could listen, and he told her of feelings, which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.
They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other objects. She soon learnt that they were indebted for their present good understanding to the efforts of his aunt, who did call on him in her return through London, and there relate her journey to Longbourn, its motive, and the substance of her conversation with Elizabeth; dwelling emphatically on every expression of the latter which, in her ladyship’s apprehension, peculiarly denoted her perverseness and assurance; in the belief that such a relation must assist her endeavours to obtain that promise from her nephew which she had refused to give. But, unluckily for her ladyship, its effect had been exactly contrariwise.
“It taught me to hope,” said he, “as I had scarcely ever allowed myself to hope before. I knew enough of your disposition to be certain that, had you been absolutely, irrevocably decided against me, you would have acknowledged it to Lady Catherine, frankly and openly.”
Elizabeth coloured and laughed as she replied, “Yes, you know enough of my frankness to believe me capable of that. After abusing you so abominably to your face, I could have no scruple in abusing you to all your relations.”
“What did you say of me, that I did not deserve? For, though your accusations were ill-founded, formed on mistaken premises, my behaviour to you at the time had merited the severest reproof. It was unpardonable. I cannot think of it without abhorrence.”
“We will not quarrel for the greater share of blame annexed to that evening,” said Elizabeth. “The conduct of neither, if strictly examined, will be irreproachable; but since then, we have both, I hope, improved in civility.”
“I cannot be so easily reconciled to myself. The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.”
“I was certainly very far from expecting them to make so strong an impression. I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way.”
“I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did. The turn of your countenance I shall never forget, as you said that I could not have addressed you in any possible way that would induce you to accept me.”
“Oh! do not repeat what I then said. These recollections will not do at all. I assure you that I have long been most heartily ashamed of it.”
Darcy mentioned his letter. “Did it,” said he, “did it soon make you think better of me? Did you, on reading it, give any credit to its contents?”
She explained what its effect on her had been, and how gradually all her former prejudices had been removed.
“I knew,” said he, “that what I wrote must give you pain, but it was necessary. I hope you have destroyed the letter. There was one part especially, the opening of it, which I should dread your having the power of reading again. I can remember some expressions which might justly make you hate me.”
“The letter shall certainly be burnt, if you believe it essential to the preservation of my regard; but, though we have both reason to think my opinions not entirely unalterable, they are not, I hope, quite so easily changed as that implies.”
“When I wrote that letter,” replied Darcy, “I believed myself perfectly calm and cool, but I am since convinced that it was written in a dreadful bitterness of spirit.”
“The letter, perhaps, began in bitterness, but it did not end so. The adieu is charity itself. But think no more of the letter. The feelings of the person who wrote, and the person who received it, are now so widely different from what they were then, that every unpleasant circumstance attending it ought to be forgotten. You must learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”
“I cannot give you credit for any philosophy of the kind. Your retrospections must be so totally void of reproach, that the contentment arising from them is not of philosophy, but, what is much better, of innocence. But with me, it is not so. Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.”
“Had you then persuaded yourself that I should?”
“Indeed I had. What will you think of my vanity? I believed you to be wishing, expecting my addresses.”
“My manners must have been in fault, but not intentionally, I assure you. I never meant to deceive you, but my spirits might often lead me wrong. How you must have hated me after that evening?”
“Hate you! I was angry perhaps at first, but my anger soon began to take a proper direction.”
“I am almost afraid of asking what you thought of me, when we met at Pemberley. You blamed me for coming?”
“No indeed; I felt nothing but surprise.”“Your surprise could not be greater than mine in being noticed by you. My conscience told me that I deserved no extraordinary politeness, and I confess that I did not expect to receive more than my due.”
“My object then,” replied Darcy, “was to show you, by every civility in my power, that I was not so mean as to resent the past; and I hoped to obtain your forgiveness, to lessen your ill opinion, by letting you see that your reproofs had been attended to. How soon any other wishes introduced themselves I can hardly tell, but I believe in about half an hour after I had seen you.”

from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, illustrated edition[image error]

Maybe that's why we keep coming back to Pride and Prejudice, because it offers us the hope that second chances exist. And we want to believe that they might bring happiness, like they did for Lizzie and Mr. Darcy.

Get the perfect gift for Christmas for yourself or for someone you love:
an illustrated copy of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austenwith this new, gorgeous cover
kindle[image error]paperback[image error]free shipping

Discover the rest of the eye-stoppingly beautiful Book Candy Classics today.

Conversations with an Empty Chair (4) - Forget youI don’t...

Conversations with an Empty Chair (4) - Forget you
I don’t want to forget you.I don’t want it to stop hurting.
I don’t want to start feeling your absence less and less.
It defines me.
I want it to define me.
I am someone who lost you. That’s who I am.

New giveaway is up.Which book is it? You won't believe yo...

New giveaway is up.Which book is it? You won't believe your eyes!

.goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; background: white; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink { display: inline-block; color: #181818; background-color: #F6F6EE; border: 1px solid #9D8A78; border-radius: 3px; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; outline: none; font-size: 13px; padding: 8px 12px; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover { color: #181818; background-color: #F7F2ED; border: 1px solid #AFAFAF; text-decoration: none; }
Goodreads Book Giveaway Lose Me. by M.C. Frank Giveaway ends March 12, 2017.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter Giveaway

Counting down my absolute favorite reads of 2016, Un...

Counting down my absolute favorite reads of 2016, Untamed by A.G. Howard[image error] was sure to be at the top of the list. 

Untamed is a re-imagining of Alice in Wonderland, and it's a...
) collection of three stories—available in both print and e-versions.

Alyssa Gardner went down the rabbit hole and took control of her destiny. She survived the battle for Wonderland and the battle for her heart. In this collection of three novellas, join Alyssa and her family as they look back at their memories of Wonderland. 

In Six Impossible Things , Alyssa recalls the most precious moments of her life after Ensnared, and the role magic plays in preserving the happiness of those she loves. Alyssa’s mother reminisces about her own time in Wonderland and rescuing the man who would become her husband in The Boy in the Web . And Morpheus delves into Jeb’s memories of the events of Splintered in The Moth in the Mirror , available in print for the first time.



Images credit.

This book...it was everything I imagined it to be and more. The Splintered series had be at the edge of my seat, constantly wondering if the characters, Alyssa, Jem and Morpheus would even survive, let alone be happy.
But all along, I was rooting for them all to find what they were looking for, although it didn't seem possible for one second (until the end of Ensared).

And now, with Untamed, I got all my happy endings. Words can't describe how good, wholesome and emotion-invoking this book was. It gave me everything I was hoping for and much, much more. There is so much Morpheus awesomeness, that it's almost unbearable.

All these things we usually imagine the characters getting after the end of the story, the happily ever after, the dream, the works (which we never get to read about, except in fanfics), this book has them all! And there's suspense and plot, too, so don't imagine it's just a bunch of people sitting around drinking tea.

There's getting married, and dying, and fighting, and bringing out the truth from past secrets and... a HUGE spoiler.
This book is the best thing that happened to me since I started reading Splintered. It kind of put back together all the pieces of my heart that Unhinged and Ensnared had broken.

And then it gave me the biggest book hangover of my life. 


Just so that I don't have to suffer alone:

Goodreads
amazon[image error]

When it comes to writing, music isn't a luxury. It's a ne...

When it comes to writing, music isn't a luxury. It's a necessity, for me at least.As I am in the process of doing the final edits for LOSE ME. I keep...
Here is the official soundtrack of my new novel,  LOSE ME.

In the playlist below, you will find songs that are well-known classics, as well as newly-discovered indie gems. You'll hear songs that will make you sing along, dream of summer, or tear up.To me, this playlist is the essence of my book and, even though you haven't read it yet, I hope that you will get to experience a glimpse of the love, heartbreak and growth my characters go through in it.
Please let me know of any songs that you love in the comments. Who knows, maybe they'll fit and I'll add them too! Soon enough, you'll be able to hold LOSE ME. in your hands, and see for yourselves why I chose these particular songs. I hope you'll agree with my choices.

 (Don't forget to add LOSE ME. here, so that you'll be the first to know when its release date is announced, or to request a review copy here.)
Enjoy!

Want some context? Start reading LOSE ME. now. 

Conversations with an Empty Chair (3) - TallI discovered ...

Conversations with an Empty Chair (3) - Tall

I discovered it only yesterday: I’m taller.
I know, I know, I’m way past the age when I could be getting taller -especially this tall. 
Ever since you’ve left, I’ve been… changing. And I don’t just mean the dry, dark change grief brings. The kind of shriveling, shrinking feeling that I get at nights, when I just lie there missing you and trying to make myself smaller so that the pain will shrink too (actually that’s a myth, by the way, the pain gets bigger, no matter what I do. Always bigger. Anyway. You’ll never feel that kind of pain, at least, not where you are now. I’m thankful for that.)
I’m getting taller.
I’m seeing things from so much more higher than before. I can’t explain it exactly… It’s like I’ve grown up. Matured. In the years that you’ve been gone, I’ve had to grow up abruptly, before my time.
Start seeing things from another perspective. And, oh, how unimportant do things look now, things that used to look important before: striving for success, for money, for happiness. I used to strive for these, too (although I never had any ambition to speak of, except to be like you). But they look smaller now. Not as important. Well, as for hapiness. You took that with you when you left. All hope of it.
Being fatherless forced me to grow up.
Being fatherless forced me to look at things the way you would have looked at them (and then you’d tell me to stop stressing over silly, small stuff. Ha). Now you’re not here, and I have to become you. I have to ‘father’ myself. Not to mention ‘father’ others: there’s so many people you left behind, mom, sister, daughter, son, niece, brothers, wife… people who needed you. Need you. I’ll have to be twice as wise, for them. Three times. A million times.
The thing is, I didn’t realize until now, but I used to like stressing over the small stuff: my job, my relationship, my mood. My health. (Yes, those are small stuff, compared to your absence). It meant I was normal, like everyone else.
It meant I could afford to care about them. 
Now, I still care about them, but I’m taller. I see them from a higher perspective, and they look tiny, like child’s play. I see them from your perspective. 
From heaven.
I see them and all I can do is fight down here so that one day I’ll get there, to be with you, victorious, when the time is right.

Loading...

Loading...

Many lovely readers have asked me how I take my instagram...

Many lovely readers have asked me how I take my instagram pictures.
Here is how:

Birthday Promo for all my books!Put code DS87NSP5&nb...

Birthday Promo for all my books!Put code DS87NSP5 for 20% off all my books at bit.ly/2f5u50U


Image by my lovely friend maskmakerproject. I didn't forget that we share a birthday, lovely, so all my best wishes for the new year in your life! I hope it's full of creativity and books :)