David M. Brown's Blog, page 12

#RRBC: Choices Tour – J.L. McFadden

We’re pleased to welcome J.L. McFadden to the blog today as part of his Rave Reviews Book Club (#RRBC) blog tour (sponsored by 4WillsPublishing). J.L. McFadden is the author of Choices and #RRBC very kindly interviewed him about his title for our blog post today.

#RRBC Interview with J.L. McFadden

Please tell us a bit about Choices.

In the world of vampires that is hidden from humanity there has been a huge power shift: Adela a very attractive female vampire had finally had the power she needed to strike down the man that had tormented and tortured her, her entire life. For centuries one vampire ruled over the covens, but took special joy in taunting Adela due to her rejecting all of his advancements while she was still human. There is a love triangle in this book between Adela, her great grandniece and a human that has some supernatural strength to him. He is bonded to Gala – Adela’s Great grandniece – which is where he gets is strength from. A human that has a spiritual bond with a vampire is called a Guardian. The problem is Gala cannot deal with any sort of deep connection with anyone. The Guardian is torn between Adela and Gala, while Adela fights off her desires for him for her Gala’s sake.

So this book is part of a series or trilogy?

Yes, it is the 3rd in the series, but I have written it in the way that it can be read as a standalone.

Why do you think that people are so drawn to the paranormal world?

The evident clicking down of someone’s own mortality could be a good enough reason for someone to fantasize about vampires. I really believe there is some other reason, because there is a romance that we find with it, is there not? If not a vampire that could give you immortality and super human abilities – a werewolf that could give you supernatural powers – I think there is something deeper and more primal about this that lay somewhere deep in our natural born instincts, that I myself nor anyone else is ever going to completely understand.

Who are some of your heroes in the writing world?

Well, Terry Pratchett, Dan Brown, Stephanie Meyer, King, and Poe. Terry Pratchett is my favorite by all means, because of him flipping our world on its head and having fun with it. I love how Dan Brown can paint the canvas of your imagination – when his characters walk into a room – you can actually imagine the room in great detail in your mind. Stephanie Meyer has written my favorite book of all time – the Host – the emotional roller coaster she takes the reader on in this incredible epic I have never seen before. King who is also the King of horror – and scared the hell out of me as a child with his movies – has written a large volume of works that for the most part hold the same quality of work as his earlier. My mother was a member of his book club, so every time a new book was released she got a new book and had a month to decide if she wanted to keep it or not. I was about nine years old and thought, “Wow, he is an author and smart business man.” Poe he is and will be known as one of the best tragic authors of all time. Last year, I was truffled to bits when I found a fully illustrated complete works of Poe.

Do you have a favorite character out of the books you read?

Death from Terry Pratchett – he is always bending the rules trying to save a person or humanity from an ill fate. It is funny how he is always trying to understand people – he loves them and cares for them – but can’t get his head around them.

Do you have any hobbies?

Languages are a big thing for me since I live overseas. Martials arts have been a huge part of my life for years; I have been studying Jujitsu most of my life and now am studying Aikido. Skiing is also one of my favorite hobbies.

Do you have any advice for new authors?



Be yourself and never give up. You need to find people you are comfortable with working with. You also have to be careful of scammers that just want to take your money and not really deliver what they pitched to you. Best advice I can give you is befriend authors that have been in the business and ask them about who they use and who to stay away from.

Can you describe to us your work station?

You mean the man cave – I have two monitors running at all times – one is playing music videos or a movie and the other has MS opened up for me to work on. I always have my chinchilla nearby, because he likes to sit on my shoulder and watch me type. Sometimes I think he is being a critic of my work and other times he will be parkouring around my “man cave” while I am writing. In the warmer months I am out on my enclosed balcony that out looks a nice tree line. There is an old two shelf cabinet that is over head with glass doors that I use for my collection of spirits and I have two Japanese type lamps hanging below it to help light my working space. I have a Zen type of battery powered waterfall that I have in between the two monitors. There is also a painting of a European park in the autumn time that fits perfectly between my desk and cabinet.

After looking over your FB page I noticed that you are dating what the model for your last two books, am I right about this?

Yes, Lenka and I started dating after she did the cover for Choices. I did the cover even before I wrote the book, because I knew I wanted the two covers to match up, so I asked her to do the cover for Choices while I was still writing Adela.

How do you two communicate?

She doesn’t speak any English, so we only speak to each other in Russian and Ukrainian. It is common in this country for people to actually use both languages together.

Out of curiosity, is there ever any communication issues? 



Not so much, we understand each other pretty well. More like cultural issues from time to time, but no not really.

What do you think about self-publishing?

It has its advantages and disadvantages I believe every author needs to way out publishing verses self-publishing for themselves. I believe that the most important thing is watching the small print on everything and beware of the scammers out there – that is in any industry.

It has been a pleasure interviewing you and I am looking forward to your next book…

Thank you and it was a pleasure as well.

About J.L. McFadden
 J.L McFadden was born in  Pennsylvania and spent his life bouncing around the States until beginning to travel the world. Starting out he was a well-known musician in upstate New York that had a heavy playing schedule. Later he went back to his home state to work in the Lumber mills of the mountains. In California working in sales, management and even directed a small moving company until deciding to see the world. His travels around the world have allotted him to not only join an International Aikikai Aikido Federation, but have trained with Sanseis from Belgium, Ukraine, Russia and other European countries. He accounts his journeys and meeting of new people to his broad character types in his books.
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About Choices

While still doubled over, picking up a book, Adela stated with a sultry voice, “One of these days, I am going to make you deliver on all of those promised ideas, running through your head when you watch me.” She had a playful sound to her voice with her smile, telling that fulfilling his dreams was not out of the question.
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This tour sponsored by 4WillsPublishing.wordpress.com.

The post #RRBC: Choices Tour – J.L. McFadden appeared first on B-Lines and Felines.

The Diary of Mr Kain: Week #25

Monday

Beard Face has been hard at work today preparing for his job interview tomorrow. He’s been pacing up and down predicting the sort of questions that might be asked. It’s clearly a long time since he has had an interview given that some of the questions he’s thought up include, “What bikini size are you, Mr Brown?” “Do you think Neil Armstrong really did walk on the moon?” “Is it the right season to be buying strawberries?” and “Do you think the size of your head will inhibit your performance in this role?” He’s screwed!

Tuesday

Well, the interview went well according to Beard Face. He’s such a liar. I took the liberty of contacting the company myself and they informed me of their shock at his arrival. They were expecting someone a little more…human. They also pointed out that for someone known as Beard Face his facial hair was far from convincing. This was the definitive proof I needed that they had indeed interviewed him. Beard Face reckons they’ll be in touch in 24 hours to confirm he has the job. I think he’s going to find that the company has mysteriously switched its operations overseas.

Beard Face has asked Frizzy Hair for some of these to help guide the other cats. She was too busy laughing at him to comply.

Wednesday

Beard Face and Frizzy Hair have been enjoying Masterchef, so much so that the old boy has taken it upon himself to try a spot of cooking. It hasn’t been going well. When you mix up sugar and salt, tar with soy sauce and apricots with chicken, you know that the meal is going to be utterly dreadful. Thankfully it’s only Frizzy Hair that has to partake of this chemical warfare. I still get my usual biscuits. That said, the talcum powder sauce on my food earlier was rather unusual.

Thursday

Well, Beard Face didn’t get the job but it’s hardly surprising really. Most people wait patiently to hear how they got on but the old boy rang the company within minutes of leaving. When they told him there were other candidates and that he’d have to wait he rang back within five minutes. After 78 phone calls asking if he’d got the job, the beard was informed that on this occasion he had been unsuccessful. Amazing that someone so persistent with a phone should fail to get a job in a call centre.

Friday

Poor Beard Face was hot under the collar today. He was watching a drama called Closer about two couples linked by the affair between two of them. He did get flustered more than once though strangely not when Natalie Portman was in a strip club, as many hot blooded males might well have. No, Beard Face began to sweat whenever Clive Owen or Jude Law were on the screen. I’m really not sure why but if I was Frizzy Hair I’d be starting to get worried.

Saturday

Awful day for Beard Face. He insisted Frizzy Hair have a lie in which she did but that left the old boy with a bit of a problem. Bilbo headed downstairs, found Beard Face watching the news while having breakfast and exclaimed, “I’s been painting the house beardy with lots of brown shades from my bottom.” This translated as Bilbo had poo on his tail and decided to try out his best Jackson Pollack routine by smearing the unholy stuff on the walls, carpets, beds and even on Beard Face’s laptop. I would like to offer some sympathy but I’m still too busy laughing.

Sunday

Beard Face and Frizzy Hair have been enjoying marathons of House starring the wonderful Hugh Laurie. I love the show too but can’t stand watching it with Beard Face. He and Frizzy Hair always try to diagnose the patients. While Frizzy Hair offers up reasonable suggestions, the old boy goes for the more outrageous. I’ve heard him say “this one was abducted by aliens,” “this one has a carrot stuck up his nose” and “this one has a combination of pneumonia and Biebertitis, an unhealthy fixation with Justin Bieber.” Thank goodness Beard Face didn’t enter the medical profession.

The post The Diary of Mr Kain: Week #25 appeared first on B-Lines and Felines.

In the Brown Kitchen: Cheese Sticks

I’ve always enjoyed cooking but for the first few years we lived together our kitchen was so small it diminished my enthusiasm a little. When we moved to Barnsley and my kitchen was suddenly dramatically bigger – not huge, but you could put a pan down without losing half your counter space – I found my cooking enthusiasm renewed. I’m not the world’s best cook and I’m certainly not the tidiest or best at presentation, but I enjoy it. With a personal benchmark of ‘Dave ate it and he did not die’, I’m never going to be a Masterchef but I can at least share my culinary fun along the way!

Cheese Sticks

These are not twists, not by any stretch of the imagination…

These week’s recipe was for cheese sticks, courtesy of Eat In magazine. Technically they were supposed to be cheese twists but we’ll get to that. Based on a straightforward shortcrust pastry recipe but with sugar removed, this was effectively a dough enhanced with a huge amount of cheddar and parmesan before being re-rolled and cut into strips (to then be twisted).

What went wrong?

The twists. I suspect I hadn’t rolled vigorously enough because as soon as I started to try twisting all of the cheese fell out of the strip. After a couple of attempts I decided to make cheese sticks the target goal, as cheese twists were never going to happen on this first attempt.

What would I do differently next time?

More rolling! Never be lazy on the rolling.

End result?

I’d probably be booted off the opening round of Masterchef, Bake Off, Iron Chef or any other cookery show you could name with this strange attempt but actually they were pretty yummy. They lacked a little crunch – maybe they’d have crunched more as twists – but they were quickly being set upon by Mr B and he has given them the seal of approval.

Success or failure?

Success! As long as I’m never required to make them look pretty…

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I suspect the main reason Mrs B took on this recipe was due to my miserable Christmas last year when I purchased some cheese sticks from Morrisons only to find they tasted of very little. There was certainly a distinct absence of cheese. Despite Mrs B’s concerns I found these cheese sticks to be delicious. Okay, the twist didn’t quite work out this time but every cheese stick was devoured within 12 hours. Verdict? Top notch and they actually tasted of cheese unlike those frauds from last year!

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Entertainment Favourites of February 2015: Twitter for Writers and The Book of Unwritten Tales

Two very different favourites from February: Twitter for Writers by Rayne Hall and The Book of Unwritten Tales. I started The Book of Unwritten Tales 2 first before realising that that was a bit of a daft move. You could play it as a standalone but there are mentions of previous events etc, so it seemed worthwhile to go back. I’m glad I did, it was a great game! Twitter for Writers was also a great choice. Though a lot of it wasn’t new to me (I’ve been using Twitter for a fair while now) there were nonetheless snippets that were very handy and I can see that for a Twitter newbie (writer or not) this would be an excellent read.

About Twitter for Writers Use Twitter to improve your writing, network with other authors, meet fans, build a platform, gain exposure, find reviewers and sell books.

Rayne Hall has one of the best platforms any writer has on Twitter – with over 50,000 genuine, engaged followers who enjoy her tweets and buy her books. Here she shares practical advice, fun ideas, step-by-strategies for success – and even the embarrassing mistakes she made.

This book is a great help to any writer who wants to use Twitter as a professional tool without wasting precious writing time. Suitable for newbies as well as Twitter veterans, it shows you how to spot fake followers, guides you past the dreaded 2,000-follower hurdle, helps you throw a Twitter party and reveals the most powerful ways to promote a book.

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About The Book of Unwritten Tales

In a world torn by war, the aged gremlin archaeologist Mortimer MacGuffin harbors the dark secret of a powerful artifact. Whoever calls this artifact his own, will determine the fate of the world.

While the Army of the Shadows sends out its best and most devious agents to discover the secret, the Alliance’s four heroes find themselves involuntarily drawn into the crisis…

Key features:

Humorous Point & Click homage to the RPG and fantasy genre.
About 20 hours of gameplay in a massive game world with detailed graphics.
Multi-character gameplay: Play as Wilbur, Nate, Ivo, and the Critter – in turn or simultaneously – and use the skills of your heroes wisely.
Meet numerous crazy characters – from two-headed ogres and vegetarian dragons to good-natured zombies.
Solve over 150 mind-boggling puzzles and discover more than 300 items that can be used and combined.

Steam Website

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The Bleaklisted Movies: The Deer Hunter

About The Bleaklisted Movies

Many moons ago a despotic cat named Charlie decided that he wanted to be a book critic. It would fit so nicely with his existing roles as food critic, dog critic and owner critic. Thus The Bleaklisted Books was born.

After fifty books Charlie ran out of the limited ideas and inspiration he had and turned his attention to the world of films. We apologise but this dictatorial little beast will not be contained.

Read at your risk… (And beware… SPOILERS!)

The Deer Hunter (1978)

What happens?

A trio of friends suffer the horrors of Vietnam, hunt deer and dance at a wedding, just not in that order. I love Christopher Walken.

Reason for bleaklisting?

There’s effectively three parts to this one and only the middle bit has any war in it. I love Christopher Walken.

What should have happened?

Spike, Slick and Sleaze are close friends who get together often with their other buddies to hunt down alcohol. This involves driving out of town to the middle of nowhere because Slick likes the trees which, when he’s pissed, remind him of women with hairy armpits. This analogy is lost on everyone but Slick. One day Spike, Slick and Sleaze head overseas to Germany to take part in Munich’s Oktoberfest. After a lot of drinking, they end up being separated. Sleaze breaks his leg, Spike takes him to the hospital then goes home without him, while Slick stays on in Germany and becomes a prize winning drinker in prestigious contests. Back home, Spike has to try and unite friends and family who are embarrassed by all these drinking shenanigans. Spike finds Sleaze at a trailer park and discovers he has been claiming benefits for a bad leg even though there’s nothing wrong with him. He then returns to Germany to find Slick. The two men face off in a drinking contest but it ends in tragedy when Slick picks up a shot of coffee, downs it, and immediately sobers up. Spike is in a dreadful state after too much beer so Slick takes him home and the ending is a happy one compared to the rubbish movie. I love Christopher Walken.

Working title?

The Beer Hunter. I love Christopher Walken.

Tagline?

One of the most ridiculous and pointless movies of all time. I love Christopher Walken.

Who should direct?

Kevin Smith. I love Christopher Walken.

Who should star?

Brian O’Halloran, Jeff Anderson and Jason Mewes. I love Christopher Walken.

Mr B compares the stories

The Deer Hunter is one of the finest war movies of all time, focusing primarily on the devastating impact of Vietnam on three friends and delivers fabulous performances from Robert DeNiro and Christopher Walken. Charlie has eradicated all trace of war and turned the story into an alcohol fuelled narrative that is about as plausible as Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I’m also a tad perplexed about Charlie’s need to express his love for Christopher Walken at the end of each section. Don’t get me wrong, I love Walken as much as the next movie fan but are these declarations really necessary, Charlie? Do yourselves a favour folks and stick with Michael Cimino’s powerful drama and pretend Charlie’s version was just a bad dream. I love Christopher Walken.

 

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Six Cats and a Black Dog: To Tell or Not to Tell

This year I’m blogging about mental health as part of my Blog For Mental Health pledge. Find out more about Blog for Mental Health here.

When my latest bout of depression occurred, I was just working part time. Despite some difficult times – my black dog didn’t always like me working – my work proved a tonic, something to give me structure and purpose. I was thankful that I worked as a virtual assistant with hours that were fairly flexible. A normal 9-5 wasn’t a possibility – there were many many nights when I couldn’t average more than 3-4 hours of sleep – but working from home was ideal. Over time, my hours increased, but I had a problem. I was still struggling tremendously with my condition and my insomnia. My medication was increased and Dave and I worked hard every day to keep taking one step forward. It was working but it was slow. We reached a plateau. I knew I needed more support, couldn’t handle full time work, housework, shopping, visits, all the day to day minutiae of life. People do it every day – I’d been one of them for a long time, working full time for most of my adult life – but it was time to wise up.

We faced a difficult decision. I wasn’t someone ill who could manage to work. Work was actually an essential part of my day to day coping strategy and, over time, my recovery. I could also earn more than Dave. We finally made the difficult decision of a role reversal: I would work full time and Dave would take some time out and eventually go part time. He took on every chore, all the shopping, anything that he could take off my shoulders he did. And it worked. Gradually I began to incorporate other things back into my day-to-day routine, visits with friends and family became enjoyable rather than overwhelming, I started to sleep, to eat properly, to feel that little bit better and brighter every day.

There was a reason we made the decisions we did, but it’s not always easy to explain. Now I am as well as I have been in over four years and Dave has been looking for full time work. We face a new difficult question/decision: to tell or not to tell.

People are divided. Some think we should think of other reasons for Dave’s time out (he’s also a writer, he was focused on his books). Some think honesty is the best policy. We’ve decided to go the honesty route. In an interview today Dave was asked candidly and frankly – which was very much appreciated – ‘Is your wife really ready?’ It’s an important question.

I’m not ashamed of my condition and I know my husband isn’t. We know, in our heart of hearts, that if he’d taken time off to care for me after an accident or if I’d suffered with another condition, there would probably be no question of ‘To Tell or Not to Tell’. My circumstances would be lamentable, his sacrifice admirable. In these current circumstances, both of those things are still true, but there’s still stigma.

We’ve decided to tell. I’m off medication now for the first time in years and have been for months. I’m sleeping solidly pretty much every night, bar some pretty crappy dreams. I’m eating, exercising, enjoying things, loving our home. I can’t promise there won’t be a relapse, any more than Dave can, but if I did relapse, would I want to have lied about my condition? To then really have something to hide because Dave would never be able to talk about a difficult night or take a day off work during the really dark times? It’s a difficult choice but I have to believe that honesty is the best policy. I have to believe that others will feel the same.

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Infographic: The Sims 4 – The Statistics

Mrs B has always been an avid Simmer but is a little behind looking at these stats! She hasn’t even bought a copy of The Sims 4 yet, let alone killed a Sim by laughter, married and divorced or amassed a fortune in Simoleons. Tsk!

The Sims 4 (EA Games)

 

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#RRBC: The Place We Went to Yesterday (Excerpt) – Lisa Mauro

We’re delighted to once again be hosting a stop on a 4WillsPublishing blog tour for #RRBC member Lisa Mauro! Lisa is the author of The Place We Went to Yesterday and is sharing an excerpt today.

Excerpt: The Place We Went to Yesterday

I’d like to thank today’s host and 4Wills Publishing for organizing this amazing opportunity. I hope you all enjoy the tour!

Today I’d like to share an excerpt of The Place We Went to Yesterday.

Chapter 2

It always starts out the same. I stand on the landing of the stairs and look down. I don’t see it coming, but feel a hard shove behind me. Then, in slow motion, I am falling. It never feels slow, but when I stand outside myself, it seems like it takes forever before I can feel the ground beneath me again. Where I had been on my feet, I am now on my side. I can barely breathe, but I know it’s best if I just lay there—playing dead—the way my neighbor’s dog used to do.

I don’t bother to look up, and keep my eyes closed as the heavy footsteps make their way toward me. He rolls me over and I can feel his hot breath on my face. It smells of stale beer and unfiltered cigarettes. Sometimes, he strokes my hair in a loving manner, but we both know it’s just because it’s what fathers are supposed to do when their children are hurt. He never asks if I am okay. I never offer the words.

After that, everything changes. Sometimes I stay on the floor, waiting in silence. When this is the trajectory of the dream, my sister Maria typically shows up and prods me with her shoe. I feel it dig into my ribs and my nose, and feel the pressure on my hair. I hear her cruel laugh, and know how much she despises me, and it’s never worse here than in real life.

At other times, I wait until he’s gone, and then I run out the door. Even though I know my way through the neighborhood, it’s always a maze and the streets shift around me, leaving me confused. I look for familiarity, though I never find it. Signs have changed. Lights have moved. Even the fire hydrants make no logical sense.

My mother never makes an appearance at times like these, but I wouldn’t expect her to. This is just as well, because her eyes resemble a possum’s. I’ve never seen one in real life, but I once watched a documentary in science class and their beady red eyes looked harsh as they moved through their environment. I was surprised that they were ever alive. I had, up to that point, only heard them referred to as ‘road kill’. I related to them, because I felt exactly the same.

I’d wake up from these nightmares and stand in front of the mirror examining my face. I expected gouged out eyes—hollowed out eye sockets—and marks from the soles of Maria’s shoe on my cheeks. Instead, I found tears. That stopped by the time I was nine, because I realized that it changed nothing.

“Get out of the bathroom, Ella!” Maria never spoke. Everything that came from her mouth was yelled and more often than not, her fists controlled the situation.

“I’m not finished. Just wait.”

“You’ve been in there for ten minutes. You’re not the only one that lives here, you selfish bitch.” I turned on the faucets while she continued to bang on the door, and made noises that sounded like I was washing my face or brushing my teeth, or rinsing my hands, but in reality, I just continued staring into the mirror.

I was greeted with a face full of spit as soon as I emerged, and this happened every single time, without fail. I was convinced she just stood there the entire time, waiting to hear my fingers on the lock, while she sucked the saliva into her mouth. It didn’t matter what time I got up to get ready for school, because this had become a daily routine.

When it first began, years ago, I ran to my mother and cried.

“Toughen up,” she said, with an indifferent look on her caramel face. “There are worse things to get in your eye than spit.” She turned her back to me and continued doing whatever it was I had interrupted. That’s how I felt for the entirety of my life . . . like an interruption.

Throughout my childhood, school was my respite. My teachers, hardened by years of handling rooms full of uncontrollable kids, appreciated the fact that I was never late and actually participated in class. To pass the time, I continuously copied my homework until the penmanship was perfect. I was always able to respond to: “What are you doing, Ella?” with “Homework.”

I was bullied mercilessly, both at home and at school, because of my grades, and viewed as the favorite, which couldn’t be further from the truth. Homework was demanded by my classmates so they could re-write my answers in their own way. When there were tests, kids fought to sit next to me so they could strain their necks to see my paper. I always felt surprised the teachers didn’t rotate the tests so we didn’t all receive the same one. When I suggested it, they scoffed at the notion and said they had enough work to do. I never wanted to be a teacher.

My mother didn’t care about things like attendance or report cards. I don’t remember her ever coming to an open house or making an appearance for parent-teacher conferences. “They’re a waste of time,” she would say, “I dunno who you think you are, but you’re not gonna get anywhere anyway, so you might as well stay humble.” Her proud Puerto Rican accent had slightly diminished over the years, but her lack of grammar had not.

When Maria wanted help with something, she would be kind. Well, truthfully, her demeanor would be kind, but I could still see the hate in her eyes:

“Can you help me with this?” she asked sweetly, as she held out a homework assignment. As always, when I tried to help her with it, she raised an exasperated hand in the air and said, “Yeah, I don’t care. Just let me know when it’s done.” In the beginning, I did it in the hopes it would make her realize we were in the same situation, and that there was strength in numbers. When I finally accepted that she was incapable of such reasoning, I gave her the wrong answers.

One day, she came home in a fury and threw open the door to the bedroom we shared. She waved a piece of paper in my front of my face. “What the hell is this?” she screamed, only inches from my face. I tried to contain the smile spreading across my lips. “Oh, you think this is funny? Que una puta!” Her fists tightened and there was no use in fighting back. Despite her being eighteen months my junior, she learned how to win physical fights by the time she was a toddler. All of this was because ‘she’ failed an essay. She.

When Maria slammed the door behind her, I didn’t cry. I’d developed an immunity to such things. Instead, I sat on the floor and laughed. With each passing moment, my laughter became louder. Finally, my mother walked into the room. “What the hell is wrong with you? You crazy?” Like always, she didn’t actually sound concerned. “I’m in the kitchen watching mi telenovella and I can’t even think. Your mouth is like a siren. Shut up.”

At home, there were no such things as silence or privacy. There never had been, and as far as I could tell, there never would be. My mother didn’t call us to dinner—we knew when it would be ready by the smells filling our small apartment. If you didn’t get there on time it was likely to be completely gone. My sisters shoveled the food into their mouths as quickly as they could. As usual, they didn’t even bother to leave the kitchen, preferring instead to stand over the sink to eat.

My mother fixed a plate, put it on a rickety wooden table, and ate slowly while she continued to watch her soap opera. In an attempt to find some sort of peace, I took my plate to my room. There I sat, book in one hand, fork in the other, while my plate rested on my thighs. I always forgot to bring my plate back to the kitchen, and for that my sisters nicknamed me puerca. Pig.

“Puerca,” Yvette said to me one evening, “I’m tired of having to clean up after you. It’s no wonder you’re such a fat bitch. You eat on the floor and can’t even be bothered to bring your plate back to the sink. You make all of us live in filth. It’s disgusting. I’m the youngest and I’m doing all the work. What the fuck do you do?” Her cherubic face always became a deep shade of red throughout her tirades.

I picked up my plate and walked out of the room. My sisters spoke like that from the time they could string words together. We’d all been influenced by our parents, cousins, and neighbors, but I didn’t absorb it the way they did. Words like that weren’t contained in the pages of my books, so I ignored them. Besides, when you hear something so often, it’s easy to tune out. This is a skill I had perfected, and for that, it was always assumed I was stupid, despite my grades.

“You’re probably blowing Mr. Rivera,” Maria accused. “Blowing him under his desk so he’ll give you those grades.” A simple shrug would only make her angrier, but sometimes I just didn’t care. My life with them had taught me to be passive-aggressive. This was our ‘normal’.

About Lisa Mauro Lisa Mauro is a novelist, blogger and pharmaceutical consultant.  She is the Secretary of the Board of The Women Fiction Writers Association.  The Place We Went to Yesterday is her first novel, published by Heartless Press.  She lives in Boston, MA with her better half, Brian, and an obnoxiously cute kitten, Harper.
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The Diary of Mr Kain: Week #24

Monday

Proper OMG stuff today. Like totally out there bizarre and all that shit. Beard Face has decided to apply for teacher training. He has next to no chance of being accepted but the idea of him being responsible for teaching young people is completely horrifying. What’s he going to teach them? How to sit around the house all day in their underpants, twiddling their moobs, farting along to Eastenders and eating chocolate cake with a straw? Future generations at the mercy of the beard? Please no!

Tuesday

Beard Face has had his hair cut today by Frizzy Hair. He’s gone from looking like a rejected member of William Wallace’s rebel army to a complete toss pot with very short hair. The transformation isn’t really extraordinary, just disturbing. Beard Face has spent the last few hours running his fingers through his hair and saying “Feels so smooth, like silk or some kind of anal cream.” Disturbing doesn’t even do justice.

Our display may not have been this extravagant but we still got Frizzy Hair one very awesome gift.

Wednesday

Frizzy Hair has been preparing Beard Face for his job interview next week. She bought him some new clothes and ditched his old attire. Not only did the previous stuff smell like him, it was covered in less than flattering slogans, certainly not the sort of things you want to show off at an interview. Imagine a panel faced with a shirt saying, “I’m gonna cause a shit storm,” “My balls are on fire cos I can’t barbecue, baby” and “If you see me coming at ya then it’s time you got the fuck out of my house, cos you is trespassing bitch.” Subtle.

Thursday

Beard Face was out of the house all day today. He headed out of town to meet up with his best friend and drink alcohol. Anyone reading this will be in shock. Beard Face has friends. It is remarkable. I can only assume whoever these people are that they are drunk before the old boy arrives. I’m actually wondering whether he just goes into a pub, finds the most inebriated person there, sits with them and pretends that they’re friends. They don’t realise what’s happening until the following day when they wake up to find a hairy ogre watching breakfast TV in their house. It’s scary stuff.

Friday

A day of sadness in the Brown household. Beloved fantasy author Terry Pratchett passed away yesterday. Frizzy Hair and Beard Face were really down about this loss and I shared in their sorrow. Mr Pratchett was one cool writer, one of those rare types of humans that I actually like. It will be a different world without the great man but he leaves behind a very special legacy with many dozens of truly wonderful books. I have no more words today. It is too sad to go on.

Saturday

Trying to take it easy today but somewhat difficult with Beard Face frantically cleaning the house and gearing up for not one but two interviews next week. It’s one hell of a shock that he has landed these gigs but I will wish him well if it means I don’t have to deal with him as much. I’d like to say he’s applying for positions as a makeshift inanimate object but sadly the jobs he has in mind are proper ones that normal people do.

Sunday

Mother’s Day today and what a day it was. We all chipped in to get Frizzy Hair an android. It was a bit like a Terminator in that it looked human but was really just a machine. We made it so the android looked like Beard Face but the difference here was that our alternative was considerate, intelligent and obeyed commands. Well, in theory that’s what should have happened. The problem was Buggles who had the one job of procuring batteries for the new Beard Face came back with light bulbs instead. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

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Farewell Terry Pratchett: May Your Ripples Ripple Long

“It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It’s called living.”

-Terry Pratchett

I was buried deep deep in a project on Thursday and didn’t see Twitter, the news, my email or indeed any of the things that would have alerted me to the news that Terry Pratchett had died until I chanced upon Google+ in the evening. There were a lot of Terry Pratchett quotes.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no,” I breathed, knowing – but not wanting to know – what I was going to find on Twitter. Terry Pratchett was trending and for all the wrong reasons. The genius with words, beloved to so many, had died.

The final tweets on Terry Pratchett’s timeline

As I write this in the early hours of Friday morning, I know sleep will not come easy. Judging by the stream of Tweets, I am not alone. Every few seconds it seems dozens more are generated. The world is mourning and it’s mourning the man, the writer, the friend. As tributes pour forth, it is becoming more and more apparent how many people this incredible man touched.

I wrote to Terry Pratchett once. I never in a million years expected a reply. I told him how – in some of my darkest times – his books had been a safe haven. Terry Pratchett – this man with a million things to do, a million more important tasks on his to-do list – did me the immense courtesy of responding with kind understanding. I have always appreciated that.

My grandmother met him once and had her picture taken with him at a bookstore. I was simultaneously thrilled and green with envy. Imagine my surprise when she told me she hadn’t even realised who he was until after. I, on the other hand, was an avid reader and heavily into Discworld. Oh gran! We did have to laugh – perhaps later, I don’t think I laughed much until my sulk was done! I don’t have a copy of that picture, sadly, except in my mind, where I see two people who gave me immense joy and much happiness.

“There are times in life when people must know when not to let go. Balloons are designed to teach small children this.”

-Terry Pratchett

The Discworld books have been a big part of my reading life for over two decades now. I’ve read many, some multiple times. They are deliciously re-readable. I was only saying to Mr B the other day that the reason for that is that every time you read one again your own new knowledge of the world enhances it. You suddenly realise that ‘Aha! That sounds like it might have been inspired by xyz historical event… ooh he’s a clever one – I missed that before’. Or you find a new gem of a quote. Or you just let the world fold over you, page by page, taking you away from this one for a time.

If the world is too sad too sleep, we are also too grateful to mourn silently. Twitter is abuzz but the sadness is full of a gratitude and warmth and appreciation that can only come when someone has given so much of themselves for so long and we are now, in chorus, coming together to say ‘Bloody hell, Terry, you did that well!’

Mr B is away tonight but we will write more about Terry Pratchett’s books when he is home. In the meantime, my wine glass and my Kleenex box are both emptying but my heart is filling as I realise that the world – that so many of us have longed to escape to the Discworld in place of, if only for a few hours – is swimming in love and admiration.

‘No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away…’

-Terry Pratchett

Ripple on, Sir Terry, ripple on…

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