Livia Ellis's Blog, page 5

Welcome Martin Gibbs - Author of Following Yonder Star

Kings, Wise Men, or Magi?Who were these mysterious men? Were they rulers, astronomers, philosophers, or something else?Though fictional, Following Yonder Star is based on the Bible and ancient texts. It paints a vivid picture of the three kings as friends setting off into the desert to follow a star, and walking humbly into the spotlight of history.This is an adventure, a spiritual trek, and an extended prayer. The story inspires us to find deeper meaning in the search for Truth.Travel with the three kings as they journey across deserts, through a suffocating moor, over a towering mountain range, and into the chamber of Herod. Throughout, they are tested by the devil and themselves.The three kings gave away everything to follow a star. Did they make the ultimate sacrifice?Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00A2XQ9AU
Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/following-yonder-star-martin-gibbs/1113751261?ean=2940015908657

Book you could have written so much better
The first book of the fantasy series, The Spaces Between. While it’s gotten some great reviews and has been through many rounds of editing, polishing, fixing, it’s the one where I look back and realize I may have pulled the trigger too early. Ah, the perils of self-publishing: It’s become too easy to hit “publish.” I feel that the more I read, and the more I write, the better the craft gets; but if I repackage the trilogy, the first book will get another treatment to make it shine.

Was there a scene that you didn’t add or you removed?
Prologues and epilogues. There was a scene that featured the so-called Hill of Vaws, where the three kings later built a chapel (according to the ancient text Historia Trium Regum.) While interesting, beta readers were confused by both of these scenes, and so I cut them. However, this hill will appear in the follow up to the story.
As a reader, I’m not always a big fan of prologues, but for some reason I’m tempted to write them into my books. If they are short enough (not the 100-page prologues of Robert Jordan!) and set up the book well, I think they can be effective. Although, as a writer, it is important to answer any questions from the epilogue, or provide details to whatever teaser you left there.

Do you already know what to write next?
The next projects include stories about Zacchaeus, perhaps tales from the shepherds’ point of view during the Nativity. I also have a series of silly fiction that revolve around the French philosopher Voltaire. There will be at least one more book planned in this world. However, I have so many ideas for short stories and poetry, that I am constantly working on something, and sending out to various online/print magazines.

What was the hardest part for you when working on your book?
It was hard to keep the book within a certain length. There is so much that could have been told about the wise men, so much more detail on the landscape (think of Zane Grey’s multiple-page narrative descriptions of terrain), and even more details about Jerusalem and Herod. However, I wanted to create a work that could be read during the Christmas/Advent season and not consume half a year.
Another “feature” was the text of the printed version. It is larger type face, which as has received the praises of many readers, and the disdain of others. For those who prefer smaller font, I understand the frustration, but this book is targeted to such a large general audience that I wanted to be fair to everyone.

Movie you would like to see remade?
I thoroughly enjoyed Gerard Depardieu in The Count of Monte Cristo (all 7 hours!), and it is by far the best adaptation. That said, I did not like the ending, since it did not match the book. Turning a 1300-page book into a movie is a monstrous task, if you want to be remotely true to the original story. However, I would to see the attempt made. I’d sit through 14 hours if the story could be thoughtfully retold on the screen. Since it is by far my favorite book of all time, it would be a thrill to see it fully fleshed out.

Are you an island unto yourself in your writing, or does the input of critique partners push you along?
I used to write in a vacuum and produced stuff that wasn’t that good, to be honest. Before it went to my editor, The Spaces Between was one of many stories that never saw another set of eyes. As much as I’d like to think that I can create masterpieces without critique or feedback, that isn’t reality. Now, especially with Following Yonder Starand its follow-up, The Legacy of the Fourth King, I share the first drafts with others; otherwise, there are so many little things (or major plot holes!) that are missed. And, as mentioned before, it’s too easy to hit “publish” these days, and send garbage out into the ether.

What was the best advice you were given...
“Don’t quit your day job!”

Sunday Poem: Thomas Edward Brown - My Garden

Thomas Edward Brown. 1830–1897  My Garden  A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot!  Rose plot,  Fringed pool,Fern'd grot—  The veriest school

Welcome Genevieve Scholl - Author of Love Claus

The holiday theme continues this Tuesday with guest Genevieve Scholl author of Love Claus. First some questions for Genevieve and then an excerpt.


Did you always want to be an author? If not, what else would you have done?- Actually, no. I’ve gone through a lot of different ideas when it comes to my career- photography, law enforcement, etc- and up until last year I never felt particularly… right, I guess. I was never comfortable where I was, but then I switched my major (current student) to Paralegal. Now, I do three things that I absolutely love to do and will never stop doing; writing, photography, and will soon be a paralegal! I still do other things, like art, crafts, etc, but those are just for fun.What is the most difficult for you to write: Characters, conflict, emotions?-Well, characters are always difficult, because like us in the real world they come with layers. However, I believe that my greatest weakness is conflict. I never know how to convey conflict, because I haven’t really experienced much in my life.How likely are people you meet to end up in your next book?- As my readers, fans, and friends know I will likely write you into one of my books if you make a big influence in my life. However, if you anger me enough I might also write you in as the victim of a crime. There isn’t much that makes me THAT angry, but it has happened in the recent past.What would be the last genre you’d ever consider writing in? – That’s easy… Science Fiction.Tell us a little about your WIP- My current WIP, release date May 22nd, is called Catching a Cardinal (Birds of Paradise series). BLURB:The Birds of Paradise are an elite group of operatives who specialize in rescues. They are widely known and are even the go-to group for the FBI, but most importantly they are a family.

Elliot Brown is the Youngest in the group, but he's also the brains of the operations. With a master's degree in Science, he knows how to analyze anything.

Morgan Percy was set to marry the man her father had picked her for-even if he was thirty years her senior- but when she catches him using dark magic, she sends out an S.O.S for help and gets lifted into Elliot's strong arms. Little does she know, Elliot has a strong connection with the man she was supposed to call husband.What is on the horizon for you? Any interesting news or books we should know about?- In addition to Catching a Cardinal, I have two Christmas books coming out in November and December. They’re sequels to Love Claus and part of the Naughty North Pole Novels.How do you feel about self-publishing?- Love it! Indie Authors Unite!Where can we find more information about you and your books?-          Blog: http://csicreativesceneinvestigation.wordpress.com/ -          Facebook Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Genevieve-Scholl-The-Author-Fanpage/363728479105 -          Amazon links: 1.       http://www.amazon.com/Claus-Naughty-North-Novels-ebook/dp/B00APKJM5Y/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1355799060&sr=8-2&keywords=genevieve+scholl 2.       http://www.amazon.com/Fairan--A-Short-Story-ebook/dp/B00BA4XD0O/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1359902942&sr=1-2&keywords=genevieve+scholl 3.       https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/268577 4.       http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/love-claus-genevieve-scholl/1114302425?ean=2940044260344
-          Also, please feel free to follow me on Twitter: @SapphirePen
Do you have any last words?- Thank you so much for having me. I’d just like to take a moment to mention the fact that all of my books, along with In the Shadows by H.R Hyacinth (link below) and the upcoming novel Hunted by Meredith Pratwell, are part of my mission to donate as much as possible to The Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research. 10% of all book proceeds, along with proceeds from our product store (http://www.cafepress.com/genevievescholldesigns ), will be donated to the foundation.-          In the Shadows by H.R Hyacinth (cover design by me)- http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BS34YQY/ref=cm_sw_r_fa_dp_kSFprb0NX19F0


 Excerpt from Love Claus:


The sound of the doorbell woke her from a fantastic dream. Cindy grumbled as she stretched out her muscles and stood. The fire had died down and, even though the remnants of warmth still remained in the air, she grabbed the blanket off of the back of the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. Bundled in the snowman throw and dressed in her snowflake pajamas, she shuffled her feet across the hardwood floor and went to answer the door. The clock blazed 11:45PM as she passed it on the way. Who could be ringing the bell at this hour? Sudden panic set in. Was someone hurt? Did someone die? Forgetting her groggy legs, Cindy ran the rest of the distance to the front door; fear dragging her down. Her family didn’t understand her love of the holiday, but if something happened to any one of them, she would be devastated just the same. Please let everyone be okay, she thought to herself as she turned the gold door knob and swung open the heavy door. Cindy’s panic vanished, to be replaced with confusion; quickly followed by annoyance. Her first thought when she laid eyes on the man dressed like Santa Claus was, what the hell? Why was there a man standing on her porch, at quarter to midnight, dressed like a Santa Claus? The whole thing was ridiculous! I must be dreaming, she thought as she rubbed a hand across her eyes.“HO HO HO! Merry Christmas from a secret admirer,” he said as he handed her a small red box, wrapped in a silver bow. She stared at the little box in confusion and didn’t move to open it. The man just continued to smile at her as his hand held an evergreen tree upright. “Evening Ma’am,” he began in an accent she couldn’t place. “I’m here from Candy Cane Confectionery and these gifts were ordered for you and asked to be delivered at this specific time.” He held out the tree in one hand and a box of chocolate truffles in the other. “May I come in?”

Sunday Poem: George Meredith - Love in the Valley

George Meredith. 1828–1909  Love in the Valley  UNDER yonder beech-tree single on the green-sward,  Couch'd with her arms behind her golden head,Knees and tresses folded to slip and ripple idly,  Lies my young love sleeping in the shade.Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath her,

Seven Questions for Author Iyana Jenna

Thank you very much, Livia, for the chance to be featured on your blog.
Hi, my name is Iyana Jenna and I’m a writer of several short stories published by Silver Publishing, Prizm Books, Evernight Publishing, Alfie Dog Fiction, and Ether Books. They are mostly M/M stories for adults and young adults. You are welcome to check out my work on my blog HERE . I’m from Jakarta, Indonesia, and in real life I teach English to kids and adults.
Now I’m going to try to answer Livia’s questions. :)
1. Are you a reader? What are your favorite books?
Yes, I am a reader. I don’t know what I’d do in my spare time, aside from writing, that is. My favorite books include work by Paulo Coelho, Jeffrey Archer, John Grisham, Sandra Brown, Carla Neggers, and many more, with books such as The Fifth Mountains, A Prisoner of Birth, A Matter of Honor, etc.
2. What is your path to publication?
I like writing and I’ve been writing for more than ten years. At first I never planned to go to publication even if it irked my friend who saw how I did nothing about my stories. LOL. But then an online friend started to publish her stories and I thought how cool it was if I tried doing that with mine. I sent one short story last year to a publisher. They accepted it and it was released in March this year. That was my very first published story ever. Since then my days have changed totally.
3. How much time do you spend writing each day/week?
I try to write every day even if I can only write 500 words or less. I usually write into my cell phone on my way to the office and back so it’s not too much time.
4. How do you work? Are you an island unto yourself? Or part of a larger community?
In writing, I prefer to work alone. I’m usually lost in my head and I’m afraid to let others know about what I have until I’m finished with it. But I’ve been involved in larger communities when it comes to sharing and spreading word about our work, and I enjoy it.
5. What is your favorite thing about writing? Least favorite?
Well, what is my favorite thing? I just like doing it. It helps me go away from the problems in my daily life, including my work. I like thinking about the characters and what they do and say. My least favorite is the slowness in writing. I write so slowly while my muses keep chasing after me. I wish I could just pour everything onto paper/word pages once I thought about a story.
6. Are writers born, taught, or both?
I think they are born. Someone should be interested in writing to be a writer. If you don’t have any interest in writing, you just can’t make yourself sit and write. One can’t teach you. Yes, you can learn to be better writers, but it has to come from yourself.
7. What would you tell younger and less experienced you if you could?
Just go on and never stop. Keep writing and keep sending your work out there. Experience the process of writing and promoting. Connect to other writers. Help others and they will help you back. You are not alone but it has to be a take-and-give process.


Well, I hope I made sense of myself here. ^__^ Thank you again for having me, Livia.

Sunday Poem: Ebenezer Jones - When the World is burning

Ebenezer Jones. 1820–1860  When the World is burning  WHEN the world is burning,Fired within, yet turning  Round with face unscathed;Ere fierce flames, uprushing,O'er all lands leap, crushing,

Sunday Poem: Walt Whitman - O Captain! My Captain!

Walt Whitman. 1819–1892  O Captain! My Captain!  O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won,The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;      But O heart! heart! heart!

Welcome Eric R. Johnston - Author of Children of Time

Interview with Eric
R. Johnston

Can you tell us about
yourself?

I am the author of five novels—Harvester: Ascension, An Inner Darkness, A Light in the Dark, 9111
Sharp Road, and most recently, Children of Time. I’ve been writing my whole
life, but started seriously writing novels in 2009 when my friend, Andrew
Utley, and I began writing Harvester:
Ascension. I have a BA in History and English from The University of
Michigan. When I’m not writing, I work as an editor and substitute teacher.

Tell us about your
new release, Children of Time.

Children of Time is
about a woman named Shawna who has recently survived an abusive relationship
with a husband she was forced to kill in self-defense, only to find her life in
utter chaos as everything she knows starts changing around her. When she goes
to bed one night she has one child, a six-year-old daughter named Alexis. When
she wakes up, she has two daughters, Tonya and Paris, 11 and 7, respectively,
and she’s pregnant to the point of bursting with a child named Alexis, who can
communicate with her telepathically and is as aware as the six-year-old she was
the night before and is as confused as her mother. Oh, and her dead husband is
still alive and will stop at nothing until she’s dead.

Children of Time is
a novel that came about almost by complete accident. I was working on a
science-fiction novel I was calling Temporal
Winter that was about future humans developing technology that could alter
the past with the purpose of improving the future by destroying the “mistakes”
of the past. This technology, although interesting, led to some disastrous
consequences. But there was something about the novel that didn’t work for me.
I just wasn’t in love with it like I needed to be to finish it, so I put it
aside and started work on a dark fantasy novel I called City of Evil. This novel dealt with some loose ends from my novel A Light in the Dark. But this story
ended up being far too short to be a full-length novel, so that too was put
aside.

Then it occurred to me to combine the two novels. The idea
must have been in my subconscious the whole time because the novels fit
together perfectly. Instead of misguided patriots from the future wreaking
havoc on the timeline, it was the villain of City of Evil.  

Do you already know
what to write next? Can you tell us?

My next novel is called All
I Want in Life (Is to Be Happy). I anticipate releasing this one early next
year. It deals with suicide, but like my other novels, it delves into the
bizarre and strange. I don’t want to go into too much detail about it, but I
want to say my decision in attacking such a powerful subject comes from someone
very close to me recently confided in me about suicidal thoughts he’d been
having. After talking the situation over, I think I made him realize there are
other ways dealing with the problems in his life. But just the act of having
this conversation affected me drastically, and one way I deal with things that
bother me is to write about them.

Can you provide a
link where someone can purchase Children
of Time?

http://www.amazon.com/Children-Time-E...




What is a link to
your blog?

www.ericjohnstonauthor.blogspot.com




Excerpt

Prologue of Children
of Time




Shawna let out a deep sigh as she walked into the
lawyer’s office in North Branch, Michigan. THE
LAW OFFICES OF DOOLITTLE, ANDERSON, WILLIAMS, AND LYNCH read the white
writing on the glass door. A bell chimed overhead when the door opened, but it
wasn’t needed. A young woman was sitting at a dark brown oak desk. Shawna was
fifteen minutes early for a divorce consultation, but the paralegal was ready
with a wide, obviously fake smile.

“Uh, hi,” Shawna said with an awkward smile. “I’m
here to see, um….” She looked back at the door. “I guess I’m here to see
Doolittle?”

“Yes,” the paralegal said, jumping up. She looked
too excited, too happy, to be working in a divorce legal practice. “Mr.
Doolittle will be here shortly, but there are a few things I can go over with
you. I’m Sally, by the way.” She held out her hand to shake Shawna’s. “Now
follow me to the back.” She motioned for Shawna to follow her down a long
corridor.

Shawna noticed the carpeting, the walls, and the
ceiling all looked very expensive. Intricate geometric patterns covered the
soft carpet. The walls had matching patterns covering them, matted with a dark
brown finish.

Her home, in contrast, was modest, with bland white
carpet and matching white walls. Who knew how long she would even have that?
She couldn’t stand being with Darren any longer, and if he refused to leave,
she would have to live with her mother, a prospect she dreaded almost as much
as the idea of staying married to that bastard.

Sally opened a door to another room that looked
like an office one would only expect to see in a $500 million mansion. A
chandelier covered with long pieces of crystal glowing with its own light hung
from the ceiling above the intricately carved desk, and light poured in through
a large window, covering the entire wall opposite the desk.

“Take a seat,” Sally said, gesturing toward a chair
Shawna couldn’t imagine anyone but royalty would be allowed to sit in.

As nice as this place was, she would rather be
sitting in an old, dilapidated building with a ceiling that was falling in from
a combination of water and mold. Free consultation or not, there would be no
way she could afford even the most basic of services here; no way…not in a law
office this nice.

Her heart started pounding as Sally sat at the desk
across from her. “Mr. Doolittle will be here shortly, but I can go over a few
things with you. If you do choose to use his services, he will require a
twenty-five hundred dollar retainer. That should cover all costs. In some
cases, he has used the retainer before the case was resolved, but this is a
rare circumstance.”

“Twenty-five hundred dollars?” Shawna couldn’t
believe the staggering figure. She’d thought maybe it would be $100…maybe even
as much as $500, which was the amount she had managed to get from the ATM after
stealing Darren’s bank card. There was no way she’d be able to come up with
$2,500, not with Darren having control of all the finances. Hell, she hadn’t
even had a job since high school. She had no money of her own.

Just then, a man standing about six feet, two
inches tall entered the room. He had a beard that resembled Abraham
Lincoln’s—thick, but without a mustache. He wore a gray suit that appeared to
be made of an expensive material that she couldn’t even begin to identify.

She stood as he entered and took his extended hand.

“I’m Vince Doolittle. Nice to meet you.”

“Hi.”

“You can sit down.”

She sat back down. Sally walked toward the doorway,
then turned to Doolittle. “I explained to her a little about the retainer. She
understands it’s twenty-five hundred dollars and should cover most expenses, if
not all.”

“Good, good.”

As Sally left, Doolittle shut the door. “So, you’re
seeking to divorce your husband?”

“Yes. His name is Darren. He, uh…he doesn’t know
I’m here. He has no idea I’m trying to divorce him. I really have no money
except for what I was able to swipe off his bank card on the way here. Honestly
I don’t, but I can’t be with him anymore. But I don’t think—actually, I know I can’t afford the retainer. I
mean, all I could get out of the ATM was five hundred dollars.”

“Assuming he’s willing to cooperate, I can serve as
the lawyer for you both, working on what the best options are for both of you.
I can work up the paperwork for the separation, for division of assets, etc. If
you don’t anticipate a fight, there is no reason we can’t do this. Do you think
he would be able to come up with the full amount of the retainer?”

“No…he could, but he won’t. I…I need out of this
marriage. I really have nowhere to go, no one to turn to. And I’m terrified to
even go back there. If he finds out I came here today, if he finds out I took
his bank card…oh God, I just wish he would die.” She drew in a sharp breath and
slapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean that,” she cried, even though she
wanted nothing more than to be rid of him, no matter what it took. She hugged
herself in a tight grip, either hand clutching a shoulder. She was immediately
reminded of the latest beating as her fingers touched the tender skin. “I can’t
do this anymore. I just can’t.” Tears welled in her eyes and began coursing
down her cheeks.

A look of faux compassion that reminded her of Sam
Bernstein in those attorney commercials crawled over his features. “I work with
a lot of divorcing couples. Some can split amicably while others can’t, but we
are here to help if you choose.”

“If I choose?”

“You have three options. You and your husband can
both hire me, and he can pay the retainer; you can borrow the money from a
friend or family member; or, I can refer you to a service for low-income
residents to help you draw up the paperwork. I wouldn’t recommend that choice,
however, because you would be serving as your own attorney; and if he fights
you on anything, or if he gets a lawyer, there is a strong possibility you
could be in a whole world of hurt.”

As if I’m not
already there.

There really was no choice. She’d heard once that
freedom of choice was a myth, an illusion; that access to money was equivalent
to freedom of choice, and if you didn’t have money there were no choices to
make. She would just have to put up with the beatings…maybe convince herself
that she was still in love. Maybe that was all she needed.

“I can’t do any of those things,” she said. “I have
no access to my own money.”

“You can’t borrow from your mother?”

“No, no…not for this. She would…just the thought of
her daughter getting a divorce would kill her. Sometimes I think she’d rather
see me beat to death by my husband than to divorce him. You know, the whole
‘death do us part’ line?”

He stood, impatience replacing his faux compassion,
extending his hand. “It’s been nice talking with you, but until you have money,
there is nothing I can do.”

“But I thought you did a free consultation?”

“And you’ve been consulted. But I don’t represent
for free.”

He motioned her toward the door.

Even Darren’s constant beatings never made her feel
as humiliated as she did at that moment. Maybe divorcing this bastard was not a
choice she had. Maybe she could forgive the beatings, and convince herself they
were done for love. Maybe…maybe….

****

Her trip home was a two-mile walk that afforded her
time to think about everything in her life, in particular her loveless and
childless marriage to Darren. They hadn’t had sexual relations in four of the
five years they’d been married. Growing up, she’d wanted a loving husband, lots
of kids, plenty of money to raise them, and a big house with a swimming pool.
She had none of those things, but what hurt the most was the children. She was
thirty-six years old, and had done nothing with her life. Where had it gone?
She’d gotten with Darren in high school and they had dated for ten years, with
him refusing to marry her until they turned thirty.

After their lackluster wedding (another childhood
dream unfulfilled), the beatings began, and the drinking. She couldn’t remember
if he’d drank more than socially before their wedding, but it intensified
afterwards to the point where he could never be seen without a bottle in his
hand.

She remembered how he had recently stumbled into
the bathroom. She could hear him mumbling through the bathroom door. “No
children, no children ever. Keep the children away. No, no. I don’t want to be
a surrogate. Please, I can’t stand this anymore. All these iterations, they’re
killing me.” He said this in the most terrified voice she’d ever heard, then
cried out to someone named Falcon. Then she heard him speak a name: “Alexis.”

She had no idea who these people were…they
certainly weren’t anybody she’d ever been introduced to. Part of her hoped
Alexis was some other woman Darren had met, and that the affair would lead to
the divorce she so desperately craved. But that had been nothing but
speculation, and after leaving the bathroom, Darren had clearly been in no mood
to discuss anything. As usual, he let his fists do the talking. That’s when she
decided she couldn’t wait for him to leave her for some other woman. She needed
a divorce now. But thanks to that money-hungry shyster Doolittle, that prospect
seemed farther away than ever.

Her desperate
thoughts bounced around in her head until she got home, half an hour later. She
slipped in through the garage’s side door and grabbed a pair of gardening
gloves and a spade. Then she went back outside to get her hands and knees
dirty. If Darren had gotten wise to her absence, she could say she was just
weeding the flower bed to plant the bulbs her mother had given her a few months
before. By mid-July, this was long overdue, and the weeds were taking over her
garden.

She peered through
the large picture window into the living room. She could clearly see the back
of Darren’s recliner, but he wasn’t in it. The TV was blaring at full volume,
however, and several cans and bottles of beer were strewn about the room.

Without warning, her face was shoved into the
glass, hard. Dazed, she fell backwards, landing on her butt. Darren was
standing there wearing nothing but a white tank top and a pair of cloth shorts.
A thought, perhaps inappropriate for the circumstance, came to her; why did he
cut the hair on his head so short if he let his body hair grow so wild?

Blood ran from her nose.

“Where have you been?” he demanded, reaching for
her hair.

“I’ve been out here weeding.” She said this softly,
almost as if she was embarrassed that she was still going to use that lie
considering no weeds were pulled, and he had probably seen her arrive home.

“Bullshit.” He grabbed a handful of her long brown
hair and shoved her face into the dirt. “You’ve been weeding all this time and
haven’t managed to pull a single weed? And what were you doing with this?” He
let go of her head and reached into her back pocket, snatching the bank card. A
part of it must have been sticking out of her pocket. “And this?” He reached
around to her front pocket and pulled out the wad of cash. “What the fuck were
you planning on doing? Hire someone to kill me?”

“No,” she said, looking down.

“No, you were going to steal all my money and
leave. You’re not smart enough to hire a hit man.” He threw the cash in the air
as if it were nothing to him. “And this isn’t enough to hire a lawyer. You plan
on bleeding me dry, after all I’ve done for you?”

He pulled her head back and shoved it into the dirt
again. “Eat the dirt, bitch. That’s all you’re good for. Eat it.”

He had both his hands on her head, pushing it down
into the dirt. She remained calm while praying it would all be over soon. Just kill me, she thought. Please, just let it end. Then she
remembered the spade just below her. Could she reach it? She stretched her hand
underneath her, grabbing for it, but it wasn’t there.

“Looking for this?” Darren let go of her head
briefly, just long enough to pick up the spade. “I could slit your throat if I
wanted to. But you know I won’t. What would be the fun in that?”

He pushed her face into the dirt again, and then
got off her and went into the house. She could see him through the window as he
sat back down in the recliner, set the spade next to him, and cracked open a
beer as if nothing had happened.

****

She cried in the bedroom for the rest of the day,
just waiting for eight o’clock to come along. Darren fell asleep in the
recliner at that time, like clockwork.

Eight o’clock came, and like always, he fell
asleep. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, depending on one’s perspective,
he didn’t stay asleep. As she lay in bed, he came into the room in a drunken
stupor. He hadn’t showered or shaved in weeks, so his stench was intolerable as
he bounded on her like she was his prey, ready for the taking.

“Get off me!” she screamed and pushed at him, but
he was too heavy and tore at her clothes. She ripped at his white tank top,
scratching his shoulders and face, but he kept on. He grabbed her breasts so
hard she cried out in pain—it felt like he was trying to pull them off—and then
he moved to her pants. It was clear where it was heading. Her foot connected
with his groin, but that only seemed to encourage him, for he became more
aggressive, tearing her pants off the rest of the way.

“You’re mine, bitch.”

And then he forced himself inside her.

She still bore the emotional and physical bruises
and scars from previous beatings, but he had never raped her, and she’d never
thought he would…until now.

“Help!” she tried to scream, but he silenced her
with a punch to the mouth, breaking a tooth. Her cry for help turned into an
uncontrollable sob.

The pain was enormous; she couldn’t breathe. Blood
poured from her mouth and down her throat. She could also feel blood pouring
from her vagina, soaking the bed. The tooth that had broken off lodged itself
in her throat, causing her to choke. She tried to plead with him, tell him she
couldn’t breathe, to slap at him, but he just held her arms down and fucked
her. “You think you’re leaving me? I have a right to fuck my wife,” he said
with a grin.

She managed to swallow the tooth, and as she lay
there taking the abuse, she tried thinking of another place, somewhere else but
there, but only nightmarish images filled her mind. She imagined herself dead
on a blood-soaked mattress. That was how this was going to end, right? He was
going to kill her—if not tonight, then sometime soon. If she survived this, it
would only be the beginning of this horrible new act.

Darren wasn’t holding her left arm as securely as
her right, which allowed some mobility. He seemed to be concentrating so much
on his act that she didn’t think he would notice if she were to wiggle her arm
completely free. She knew there was a gun in the nightstand next to the bed. If
she could only reach it, she could end this.

He punched her in the nose, releasing that arm to
do so. She’d been punched in the face many times before, but it always came as
a surprise, even now. Blood gushed from her nose, but she somehow maintained
the presence of mind to move her left arm. When he put his hand back down to
support his weight, he didn’t seem to notice that he no longer held both her arms;
he just continued thrusting away, seeming to take immense pleasure from his
heinous deed.

“I have a right to fuck you, bitch,” he said,
leaning in close, his face almost touching hers. His breath was hot and smelled
like sewage. He licked the blood pouring from her nose and sucked it from her
lips.

She managed to scoot toward the nightstand,
twisting her arm backward to get to the drawer. The gun, she knew, was fully
loaded. Darren had gotten it “for protection,” and always kept it loaded.

She concentrated on opening the drawer; it came
open with surprising ease, and the gun was right on top. She twisted her wrist
around and felt the weapon’s cold metallic grip. Darren continued to lick her
face, enticed by all of the blood. Soon there would be more, and not hers.

Gun in hand, she tried to move so she could shoot
him without shooting herself in the process. Because he was lying right on top
of her, she just couldn’t turn the gun the way she needed to. Should she just
shoot into the ceiling? That would certainly get him off of her, right? Maybe
not…he might just punch her again, take away the gun, and then shoot her. She
couldn’t take the risk. Any shot had to count.

“Darren,” she croaked. Her voice was thick and low.
He didn’t hear her. “Darren,” she repeated, this time a little louder.

“Shut up, bitch,” he said and pushed his hips
against hers. At that moment she realized she was going to have to fuck him
back, to drive her hips against his. That way he might lift off her a bit,
giving her a better angle to shoot him. The thought disgusted her, but was the
only option she could think of.

“Oh, the bitch is getting a little feisty,” he
said, and lifted himself off her just enough to give her a clear shot.

The explosion was the loudest thing she had ever heard.
The bullet passed through his nose, destroying it completely. He collapsed on
her, blood gushing from his face and into her mouth as he lay on top of her,
dying. She didn’t notice it at the time, but she would conclude later, when the
pregnancy test came up positive, that he was ejaculating as well.

****

The memory of that night lingered on. The
nightmares grew worse as the pregnancy progressed. Darren’s death was ruled
self-defense and no charges were filed, but a part of her hated the fact she’d
killed him. He was a bastard and probably deserved what he’d gotten, but that
did not change in any way the fact that she had taken another human life.
Nothing could change that. And every night, the image of a noseless monster
ravaging her haunted her sleep.

Shawna stayed in the house. Even after the horror,
she couldn’t leave North Branch, Michigan, a small village north of Lapeer that
had been her home all her life. But there was one unexpected benefit. As the
surviving spouse, she gained full control of Darren’s bank account, an account
that had sizable funds. She had no idea where he’d gotten all of his money, but
she didn’t question it. She wasn’t going to have to worry about that ever
again.

A part of her missed Darren. She had been miserable
with him, but life as his wife was a life in which she didn’t have to make
decisions or think for herself. It was a life of just existing, something that
lent some comfort. But she knew when these thoughts came she was being silly;
it was the mentality he had forced on her for all those years. Five years
they’d been married, and not once had he treated her as an equal, as someone he
loved.

As the months went by, things got a little easier.
She even got her broken tooth fixed, thanks in no small part to her newly acquired
“fortune.” She gave birth the following spring to a beautiful, seven pounds,
thirteen ounces girl she named Alexis. She never looked at Alexis as anything
other than her daughter. She never spoke of Darren, but he was always there in
the back of her mind, haunting her dreams, coming to her again and again.

Was this normal?

After the incident, she started going to a local
non-denominational church. Even though her parents had always been religious,
she had never thought much about it. But as the years went on, as the
ostensible message of love and acceptance became more clearly one of hate and
division, Shawna stopped attending, causing a rift between her and her mother.

 “Mom, I’ll
find meaning and forgiveness in my own way…without the baggage,” she explained.
“I just don’t like the message…the attitude behind the sermons. Seems like
Pastor Scott hates everyone and everything…I don’t like it.”



Her mother took this as a personal affront. “No
matter the circumstances, you killed another human being, Shawna. You’re a
murderer.”

Welcome Joan Porte - Author of Signs of the Tines: The Ultimate Astrological Cookbook

"The perfect gift with great recipes for the holidays!" 

~BK Walker, Author of Wolves of Shadow Falls Series






The 295-page book with more than 120 recipes is written to celebrate a unique pairing of food and astrology.

Discover why:


• Scorpios have a craving for pasta puttanesca
• Librans feel grounded when they dig into a chocolate mousse parfait
• Cancerians stand tall with their bowl of Brunswick stew
• Virgoans set aside their healthy-conscious habits when faced with chocolate raspberry ramekins
• Aquarians respond to the sustainable fish used in Pollock with berry prosecco sauce
• Pisceans beat a common ailment when feasting on quinoa with roasted root veggies.




"These recipes are taken from a number of sources; some are family gems, others I've concocted and tweaked over the years," says author Joan Porte.











The home cook will discover how astrology as a source for new food ideas and new ways to entertain friends. And the astrology enthusiast will discover how cooking can be a new use for astrology as a way to add more meaning to the daily ritual of eating we perform to survive and thrive.





About
the Author - Joan Porte

Joan
started "playing" with Astrology when she was in grammar
school. She always had a fixation with the planets - Pluto being her
favorite (surprise she is Scorpio Sun!) Yes, Pluto is still a planet
to her! She put her astrology "toys" away when she grew up
and went into the "real world," sadly convinced that it was
time to do more important things. The universe and her North Node in
Sagittarius woke her up in her mid-thirties after which she began an
intensive study of Western astrology.


According
to Joan, "Modern Man takes for granted the Sun and how its
energy propels and sustains life. Moon energy controls the tides yet
we ignore the other more personal influences it has on our bodies and
lives. We have lost the art of appreciating and reading the stars as
messengers from the god and goddess. Humanity has disconnected from
its source
and consequently suffers emotionally, spiritually and
physically."

"Each
person is born with a map - a soul map - that is his or her
astrological chart. It is a map through the maze of life that shows
the karma we need to balance our soul's desire for a life that leads
to enhanced soul growth. I simply read the map - illustrating where
you have been and where you are going to make your journey through
life less bumpy." With this cook book Joan is combining her
astrological knowledge with her lifelong love of cooking in her own
inimitable way.


She
is the author of the blog Karmic
Astrology.


Her
other book is Fortyish: Lessons For the Ages From a Baby Boomer.





Website
| Signs
Of The Tines FB | Karmic
Astrology by Joan Facebook | Blog





Watch
Media Videos with Joan





Genre:
Astrological Cookbook

Publisher:
Soulsign
Publishing Company Ingraham Press



Release
Date: April 2013

Amazon



A
new breed of cookbook that combines personal astrology with a love
for preparing and sharing delicious meals. Astrologer and gastronome
Joan Porte brings a new, fun twist to cooking by showing anyone who
loves to cook how to personalize a menu for your family and friends.
Beautiful photographs complement the more than 120 featured recipes
organized by zodiac sign. Choose a dish or plan a multi-course meal
with selections from: Appetizers, Soups, Pasta, Veggies & Fruit,
Meat & Fish, and Dessert for each of the twelve signs. SIGNS OF
THE TINES is a heart-warming and mouth-watering invitation to eat in
alignment with our stars!
–
Adam
Gainsburg / Soulsign












Sample
More Recipes Here






Tomatoes
Stuffed With Artichokes & Feta

Taurus
is
a bit confusing when it comes to color. Bulls are drawn to the color
red; however, the color associated with Taurus is emerald green,
symbolizing the pastures in which they love to laze comfortably.
Therefore, I offer here a very red veggie dish with a dash of green.

One
of the first dishes I made when I was a kid were tomatoes stuffed
with chicken and tuna salads. I thought they were just the neatest
things. As I grew as a person and a cook, I encountered many recipes
that stuffed tomatoes with some kind of creamy spinach messes or ones
that were all breadcrumbs and cheese.




This
recipe is my grown-up version of the stuffed tomato that embraces the
artichoke as well and is easy enough for the sometimes lazy Taurus to
make. (Did I say lazy? Oops. I hope they don’t stampede.)


6
large firm tomatoes*
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2
14-ounce cans un-marinated artichoke hearts, diced
3 shallots,
diced
3 garlic cloves, diced
Juice of ½ lemon
½ cup pitted
Kalamata olives, roughly chopped
1 teaspoon fresh oregano,
minced
10 ounces feta cheese, crumbled
6 big basil leaves




Serves
6


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.




Cut
the stems off of the tomatoes and scoop out the pulp, leaving the
shell. Set the pulp aside in a small dish. Drain the artichoke hearts
in a colander.




Heat
the oil in a medium sauté pan over medium heat. Rough chop the
tomato pulp and add to the pan; cook down until most of the moisture
of the tomato is gone. Add the shallots and garlic and sauté until
soft – about 2 minutes. (You may have to drizzle more olive oil
into the pan to keep the veggies from sticking.)




Remove
the cooked vegetables to a small dish to cool and add the artichoke
hearts to the pan. Cook until they begin to turn golden brown.
Squeeze the juice of the lemon in a small dish (watch the pits) and
pour over the hearts. Let the lemon juice cook down and add the
olives. Stir in the oregano and remove immediately from the heat. Add
all of the vegetables together in one dish and let the mixture cool
to the touch.




Fill
the tomatoes ½ way with artichoke mixture, add a layer of feta, fill
the tomato to the top with more artichoke mixture and top with more
feta. Place a basil leaf on top of each tomato.

Place tomatoes
on a greased cookie sheet and bake for 10 minutes. The cheese should
be melted and lightly brown.

Serve warm.






*Depending
on the size of your tomatoes you may have some artichokes left over.
The mixture is great reheated and used as a topping for steaks or
salads.












Follow The Tour Here










a Rafflecopter giveaway

Shutting down for the moment - Will be back as soon!

Will be back after I've sorted out the technical problems I've had with the blog over the past few weeks.