Anita Dawes's Blog: http://jenanita01.wordpress.com, page 14

Dear Hearts by Ericka Clay

re-posted from http://jenanita01.wordpress.com

 

From the outside, Mitch and Elena Reynolds are a typical White Smoke, Arkansas family: married, raising a daughter, running a local business, attending church on Sundays. But their happy family image starts to crack when Mitch has an affair with a local man, Aaron Hooper. Mitch and Elena’s tumultuous relationship is further tested with failed attempts to get pregnant again, forced AA meetings to curb their alcoholism and bitter therapy appointments to try and “fix” their daughter, Wren. It’s not until both Mitch and Elena trust in their love for their daughter that they begin to rekindle the connection they first formed as kids. But is it too late? From the author of Unkempt, Dear Hearts is an exquisitely told tale of love, loss, and human connection in the wake of darkness.


  Our ReviewI loved the sound of this book, expecting a strong romantic story.Not having read Ericka’s previous book, ‘Unkempt’ I was unprepared for the raw, unrelenting emotions that leapt at me from the pages.
This is the story of a young married couple and their young daughter. At first glance, an average family, but you don’t have to look far to see the signs of trouble.Watching Mitch trying so hard to be a typical family man and failing miserably is so painful. You are desperate to know what his problem is, but you don’t discover his totally unexpected secret until chapter four.
His wife, Elena, is clearly struggling. First, with the frustration of wanting another child but failing to conceive. Her daughter adds to her worries and on top of everything, she knows something is wrong with her marriage. Nothing she can put her finger on but she suspects Mitch is seeing another woman, and this is slowly eating away at her nerves.
The characters in this book are very real, their emotions raw and bloody. The prose is unlike anything I have ever read before and I found it a refreshing change. Life is just like this but you rarely see it painted quite so eloquently. I especially liked the way the main characters have their own first person oriented chapters, putting you right there in their lives. You feel the pain of their struggling relationship as if it were happening to you.
When Elena finally learns Mitch’s secret, it is far worse than anything she could have imagined and it tears her fragile world apart. This story is raw, brutal and uncompromising, and the shocking surprise ending will take your breath away.
I loved the part where Elena tells her friend she might kill him, and the friend asks ‘which one?’This book is for anyone who has ever been unfaithful, to feel the excruciating pain of betrayal. One of the saddest stories I have read in a while.
About the AuthorEricka Clay is a published novelist and the author of Unkempt and Dear Hearts. She graduated from the University of Arkansas creative writing program, has published a book of short stories and poetry and is in the process of writing her fourth novel, Runners. Ericka has been awarded a number of times by Writers Digest for various short fiction pieces, she has written four novels (one of which placed as a quarter-finalist in the 2010 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest) and has had the privilege of sharing her craft, teaching writing classes and holding writers workshops in the South Texas area. She currently lives in Louisville, Kentucky with her husband, daughter, two dogs and an insatiable need to push buttons, both figuratively and literally. 
You can find Ericka here...

Looking for Inspiration...

Getting harder and harder to find it, these days...
But I know it's there, somewhere...and I will find it...

My Favourite Places x6

St Nectan’s Glen, Cornwall
Some of you will probably know that I am inordinately fond of Cornwall, and have explored quite a few of its special places.
The minute you cross the Tamar Bridge, the air seems different and the magic starts to stir.We always make our way to Tintagel first, as we are Merlin and Arthur fanatics and this is our most important stop.
On our many trips to the West Country, we have discovered so many wonderful places, from magical forests and waterfalls. The stunning Atlantic coast with its rugged cliffs and caves, some of which involving a death defying climb that will literally turn your hair white.
We have visited most of the sites that are reported to be connected to Merlin and Arthur, including the pool where the sword Excalibur is supposed to lie. We have almost been blown off the cliffs when the weather turned bad, and have lost count of the times we have been soaked to the skin. But the weather, with all the glorious sunsets and scenery, to the sudden downpours, are all part of Cornwall’s magic.
And if you ever visit, you must remember to look up at the night sky. Nowhere else in the UK will you see night skies like the ones in Cornwall. The heavens seem so low; you can almost reach out and touch the millions of stars right above your head.
My personal favourite is St. Nectan’s Glen. Not easy to find, or get to, as it is only accessible on foot. This sacred site is where the river Trevillet has carved its way through the Devonian slate, and created a magnificent 60-foot waterfall. This water then punched a hole through the original kieve (basin) and cascades into a beautiful valley.
You walk through ancient woodland to get there, and it is quite a route march to reach the small hut or hermitage at the top where the monk St. Nectan built the sanctuary in 500AD. The frustrating part of this particular journey is the fact that you don’t see the falls until the very last minute. You gradually hear the murmur of the water as you get closer, but the landscape seems to keep it safe and secret until the very last minute, and is even more stunning because of this.
This place is sublimely spiritual, like nowhere else I have ever been, and always has a profound effect on me. From the trees with all the multi-coloured wish ribbons, to the freezing spray of the white water, fighting its way through deep chasms in the rocks, this place inspires me to be better than I am…

My Chinese Portrait...

I spotted this on someone’s website the other day, and thought it sounded like something we would enjoy doing. I won’t identify who did which one, maybe you can guess…
~~~A Chinese portrait is an abstract artistic depiction of a person. Every sentence you complete provides an insight into you as a person.
“The best part of knowledge is knowing the extent of one’s ignorance.” Old Chinese proverb…
My Chinese Portrait
If I were a sound…  I would be waves crashing on rocks.
If I were an animal… I would be a horse, running free.
If I were a flaw…  I would be the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
If I were a season…  I would be autumn, when all of Nature goes to sleep.
If I were music…  I would be Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield.
If I were a movie…  I would be “Legend”, the story of Merlin.
If I were a fiction character…  I would be Merlin, for his magic and wisdom.
If I were a sin…  I would be anger, for I have spent my life trying not to be.
If I were an element…  I would be water, a sea or waterfall, river or lake.
If I were a quality…  I would be courage, for you get nowhere without it.
~~~
My Chinese Portrait
If I were an animal…  I would be a cat, because freedom is so under-estimated.
If I were a wish…  I would be a warm cuddle for those who feel lonely and unwanted.
If I were a shape…  I would be a circle, because it has no beginning or end. The circle of truth.
If I were a song… I would be “Country Roads” so it would take me to where I belong.
If I were a character…  I would be Tinkerbell, so I could grant everyone at least one wish.
If I were a film…  I would be “Spartacus”  because it shows the best and worst in each of us.
If I were a book…  I would be the Bible and highlight the pages where you can find comfort and truth.
If I had a power…  it would be to heal the bodies and souls of those in need.
If I were a sound…  I would be a warm wind that frees you from your fears and lifts your soul.
If I were a flower…  I would be a rose, to make someone smile and remember the good days.
~~~
So there you are, our Chinese Portraits. Can you guess which one is Anita’s and which is mine? Feel free to have a go yourself, and you don’t have to stick to the categories we chose…
What would yours reveal about you?

Ten Things I love Most in the World...

Ten things I love
Mother Nature has been the number one love in my life for longer than I care to remember. My idea of heaven would be to live in a forest with a river nearby.
The way I feel about horses goes way beyond love. Sometimes I think I must have been a horse in a former life, from the strong and powerful connection I seem to have with them.
I have always been a bit of a freak for thunderstorms. The noise, barely contained power and the majesty of the lightning speaks to me in ways I cannot describe.
Whenever I have spare time, and even when I don’t, I have to track down a puzzle. It can be a jigsaw, a computer game, or a simple game of solitaire. My idea of heaven.
Something about the smell of the seacommunicates directly with my soul, and I think I could easily live on a beach. They say that salt water is a good healer, so how much more could sea water do?
The art of bonsai has always fascinated me, and over the years, I have collected some of my own. Like having children, they need so much care and attention, but give back so much more to their carer.
My love of writing has grown out of my love for reading, and my appreciation of all my favourite authors. On the good days when I don’t doubt my abilities, it is the best thing in the world.
Most people hate the rain, but I love it. Getting soaked to the skin is an amazing experience, and if there is thunder and lightning too, so much the better!
Making people laugh has to be one of the most rewarding things you can do. I love to know I have lifted someone’s spirits just enough to make them laugh.
I never thought I would enjoy blogging as much as I do, when I first started two years ago. In the beginning, I was hopeless, didn’t have a clue and knew no one. So much has changed since then…
Ten Things I Hate   Cruelty of any kind comes top of this list, for there is far too much of it in this world. It is just as easy to be kind.
Rudeness comes a close second, as I cannot understand the need for it. It closes too many doors that eventually will refuse to open again.
Arguments. Every time I get involved in one, I want to crawl away and die. Life is much too short to argue.
Hangnails are my least favourite thing, and I get some shockers. No matter how careful you are, your fingers get sore.
I hate the cold. As I get older, it’s becoming a real problem. Sometimes, even on a mild day, I have trouble keeping warm.
Things that go wrong. I’m a bit of a perfectionist and try very hard to get things right, but sometimes it just doesn’t happen, no matter what I do.
Computers. These should be on the top of this list, as they tend to drive me insane. They are illogical and unreasonable, but we know we cannot do without them.
Feeling helpless. Closely linked with number seven, this is what PC’s do to me. Nothing else on this planet can get me as mad as a computer.
Injustice. I hate all forms of injustice, acerbated by the certain knowledge there is nothing you can do about most of it.
Weakness. Mainly my own. So many things I wish I didn’t need to do, like the biscuits I cannot leave alone. How anyone can be so strong with everything else, but such a wimp when it comes to food is a mystery...
Would anyone like to share their likes and dislikes on our post? We really would love to hear from you…
©2015 Jaye Marie

Ruffled Feathers…

Totally fed up with everything, I decided to walk to my favourite place, the local pond. It was more like a huge lake than a pond and a beautiful place to soothe away all your rough patches. This week had been full of rough patches, my spirits needed lifting, and a little peace wouldn’t go amiss either.
It was sunny and very cold, but the brisk walk was already doing me good. The sunlight glinting on the water welcomed me like an old friend and I could feel my worries fading into the background.

Within minutes, the air was rent by some serious and noisy quacking. It sounded like a whole flock of angry ducks were unhappy about something. Totally the wrong time of year for duckling protection, or territorial rights, for that matter, so what was bothering them?
As I walked towards the water, three fat and angry geese were trying to pick a fight with the resident swans. Stupid really, as the swans are huge by comparison.
That was when they noticed me and decided to attack me too. I had to laugh, as they looked so comical, but they made it clear they meant business, so I backed away, just to see what they would do.

Once I was far enough away, they lost interest and went back to annoying the swans. It would seem that no matter where you go these days, you will find angry people, politicians, countries and geese.
Most of this anger is the result of ignorance, misunderstanding and impatience. All of which can be avoided if we just take a moment to think, before we react. There is always a better way, we just have to find it.



“Peace on Earth and Goodwill to All Men…” works quite well at this time of year, but once January arrives, we seem to put it back in the box with all the other Christmas stuff, and that is a shame….

My Christmas Walkabout…

Petersfield...all ready for Christmas!


The wind was howling and although it was early evening, it promised to be a wild night. Very cold, with spots of rain/sleet in the wind.
But I was determined to going out anyway. My hometown had finished putting up the Christmas tree and decorations, and I had been told they were particularly good this year.
Not sure how good my photographic skills would be, muffled up like an Eskimo, but my week thus far had been pretty dismal and I was in the mood for a bit of festive cheer.
The cold wind took my breath away the minute I stepped outside, and my eyes refused to stop watering, but it was truly magical. The only thing missing was snow. But considering our town’s history regarding snow, I didn’t really miss it. One year, it snowed so much and so quickly, we were cut off from the outside world until the next day. Cars were abandoned everywhere, as conditions became treacherous and no one could get in or out by car.
A lot of snow fell that night, where usually we only get a few flakes, if anything at all. Some members of our family had to walk home from Portsmouth, some twenty miles, which took over seven hours.


My walkabout last night was wonderful. I managed to take several photos with my new camera, using the night setting, something I had never done before. Some were a bit blurred, as I was probably shaking with the cold.
The best of all was the huge tree. Most years it has been a bit of a letdown, looking more as if someone had thrown the lights and tinsel at it and missed, but this year someone with some artistic talent must have been in charge.
It was gratifying to feel that, at least in my town, everything was right with our world, even if the rest of the world was in turmoil.
And like a Victorian Christmas, all we need now are some carol singers!

The Miracle of the White Azalea...

  As someone who loves bonsai, my favourite treat is to visit Heron’s Bonsai in Surrey. It is an amazing place with beautiful bonsai in every conceivable shape, size and price. From small starter trees for just a few pounds, to large mature specimens, some of them hundreds of years old and costing a small fortune.I could walk around Herons for hours, and usually do, for Peter Chan, the owner, has his own personal collection there. Peter has won many ‘gold’s’ at Chelsea and teaches the art of bonsai. This is how I met him. He was the guest speaker at our local bonsai club in London, and by the time he had finished pruning and training an ordinary garden centre shrub into an impressive bonsai, I was well and truly hooked.
My own collection is  pretty eclectic. I have some wonderful specimens; some have been presents from my family, and some I have grown from seed. Others I have trained, as Peter showed me, from bushes I have found in my travels.Going to Heron’s is potentially a very dangerous thing for me to do, for there will always be something I cannot live without.These days, I am governed by the space I have available, so I tell myself I will just ‘window shop’.Doesn’t always work, of course.

Six years ago, on such a visit, I had been content to settle for some potting compost and was about to leave, when on the floor near the checkout, I saw a rather shabby looking plant with straggly branches and wilting leaves. It was about six inches tall and unrecognisable, and didn’t look as though it would live to see tomorrow.As I picked it up, Peter looked over at me, eyebrows raised. I must have had a question written all over my face, for he just smiled and said I could have it. He must have thought the poor thing was beyond hope.
As I have always been a champion of dying houseplants, I took it home and began to cherish it. Turned out it was an azalea, and for several months there was no sign of improvement. A few new leaves and some that fell off. Not very encouraging.Then three weeks before Christmas, something strange started to happen. White buds appeared. In no time at all, the pathetic little branches were covered in beautiful, double white flowers. Unusual for an azalea, I discovered, they usually had single flowers and they never bloom at Christmas time.

All the next year I tended it with care, mindful of the display that might come again. I repotted it, carefully fertilised and watered it, but nothing I did seemed to make any difference. It just didn’t grow. I had heard of slow growing, but this was ridiculous!But another Christmas loomed and more white buds appeared.
I was puzzled. How could such a spindly specimen bloom so abundantly in the middle of winter?So, in my bonsai collection, among all the healthy, vigorously growing trees, in pride of place is the white azalea. Six years have passed and it hasn’t grown at all, but it blooms in December without fail . The leaves look healthier though, so it isn’t dying.
Just my little magic tree…

Another day, another determination...

When I finished writing The Ninth Life , my first ever novel last year, I mistakenly thought the hard work was over.
Stupid thing to think, for I have spent the last ten years or so editing other people’s books and should have known better. Editing/proofing is something I have always enjoyed doing, and never considered it hard work.
Apparently, the fact that this book is mine has turned everything on its head. I don’t understand why it has suddenly become so hard, and can only assume that I must have come up with a lesser quality of book than I am used to working on. In other words, it was probably a pile of rubbish.I can’t think otherwise, now can I?
In the past, I have written short stories and poetry, but reading has always been my favourite pastime. The thought of writing my own book always appealed to me, just never seemed to get around to it.  Life has a way of getting in the way, doesn’t it?
Then I started to be plagued by all these characters. First one, then another and more of them talked to me (and each other) and I became fascinated and involved all at the same time. When I decided to write some of it down, these same characters went into overdrive. What I thought they should be doing was blatantly ignored, to be replaced with their own agenda. In the end it was as if they were writing the story and not I.
The ending was a bit tricky, as they wouldn’t let on what was going to happen and I worried constantly that it would all go pear shaped. Maybe they didn’t know, and then what was I supposed to do?I didn’t think this was how you were supposed to write a book. Surely, you were supposed to have far more control than that?
The oddest thing that happened to the plot as it went along, totally beyond my control, was about one of the cast, the ex-husband of Kate, the main character. He started out as an ordinarily bitter man with a small axe to grind, suddenly turned into a vicious serial killer right before my eyes, taking me completely by surprise!
The other thing that surprised me was how hard it seemed to be, even with a very cooperative cast. Writing anything (other than a book) has always come easily to me, but creating a novel turned out to be so complicated. Continuity was a constant problem, as was remembering all of the characters history, their likes, dislikes and foibles. I learnt to keep a running timeline and a storyboard for the plot. This was necessary after the characters had decided whatever they would do next and was one of the ways I kept up with them.
In addition, I am ever thankful for all the attributes of Microsoft Word. Without their Find, Select and grammar checking facilities and all the other helpful tricks, I think I might have gone completely mad a long time ago.
Editing has always been something I love to do, so is it different because these books are mine, or because I am a lot older now?
Maybe my brain has had enough and is starting to slow down and miss things all together? For instance, I don’t recall having this much trouble with ‘Passive sentences’ before. And the over use of certain words, like ‘that’.
All joking aside, I am having the best retirement ever. Free to do whatever I want is absolute bliss, the only downside being, my old brain is not as agile as it once was.

But will that matter?  Not in a million years…

Today, I am going to upload The Last Life to Lulu.com, an...

Today, I am going to upload The Last Life to Lulu.com, and create a paperback edition.
I have done this several times before and not found it too difficult...

Hopefully, today will not be any different. Fingers crossed!