Uvi’s Comments (group member since Apr 09, 2012)

Uvi’s comments from the The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky group.

That is great. Exactly how I come up later with babbling characters... lol

As they say in my writing class, "write about it"...
Writing about impatience can be a lot of fun. You can even drop parts of sentences along the impatient stumble... lol
But the important thing is to put it on paper. For me, it seems to anchor the ship, even as it is rocking...

Angela wrote: "Uvi, I have a question. Do you ever experience the sensation, in terms of writing, of simply having far too many thoughts and ideas pounding through your skull so that it is impossible to write a c..."

Yes, that sounds quite familiar... Especially when I go to sleep and my characters start chattering in my head... For me, only one thing to be done: focus on one voice, scribble it on paper, congratulate yourself for capturing the tail end of this voice, and forgive yourself for not having the luck to do so for the other voices.

How do you handle it?

No problem... It happens.

hmmm... Mental note to me: why does it happen?

But for you Angela, here is another link to the same conversation: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/ashleyfo...

Ashley Fontainne is an avid reader of classic literature. She is also the author of Zero Balance, Accountable to None, and Ramblings of a Mad Southern Woman, and the host of a Blog talk radio show called the WriteStuff, which is coming to its close this weekend (to be replaced with a new show.) I have read Ashely's poetry, and trust me--her writing is no rambling, it is a full throated roar!

So I am truly honored that she brought me on her show for this special episode, to talk about Apart From Love, Home, my sculptures and paintings, the new possibilities of publishing in this new Indie era, and more.

Come take a listen to our conversation:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/12/no...

Absolutely, it's my pleasure!

Thank you so much, Angela! And I hope your writing is going strong, love your poetry!

Ruth Jacobs lives a quiet life in a small village in Hertfordshire, England, which is quite a contrast from her teens and early twenties, spent rather waywardly in London. She is the author of In Her Own Words... Interview with a London Call Girl. I was tickled pink when she offered to interview me on her website.

And so, this morning I woke up to a surprise: having answered her questions only last night, the interview 'In the Booth with Ruth' is already up! 

By getting Apart From Love, you brought it up to #3 in the Family Saga Amazon category!

Woke up to a nice surprise: my interview on Digital Books Today is up! Asked to describe what I see when I look at my desk, I said, "Since I am an artist, poet and writer, the best way to show you the surface is my painting. As a creator, I see myself this way: I paint with a pen, write with a paintbrush. My art strives to tell a story, and my stories strive to bring you into the scene being painted, letting you sense everything my characters touch, see, or hear."

To read this interview, click the link:
http://digitalbooktoday.com/2012/11/1...

I'm waiting to be taken, but now, be forewarned
Don't you dare come near me, or else you'd be scorned--
Unless you delight in contemporary fiction
And enjoy reading a book with detailed scene depiction

If you let me pull you in, deep inside
Until you find yourself there, in my characters' mind
I'll make you burn in hell, ablaze in desire,
I'll let you swirl like smoke, ever higher and higher

I'll bring you down here: Santa Monica, Venice Beach
For a father-son meeting, with a blame and a breach
You'll hear Lenny, Natasha, Anita and Ben
And be tortured by guilt, again and again

Find a path to forgiveness, find a way to come clean
Find the words to explain what exactly you mean
Turn page after page, then fall to your knee
'Cause Apart From Love, no feeling is free

To those of you who have no Kindle: No Kindle? No Problem! Get a FREE Kindle app for your computer from Amazon.)
http://tinyurl.com/amazon-kindle-app-...
Then go here: http://tinyurl.com/my-book-links to get the Kindle edition of Home and Apart From Love.
♥ Uvi

*´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•`

This is now, just for Thanksgiving
Take my gifts of love, forgiving
Take them Home and I will sweep you
To a different place, a different view
Of how our bonds do make us free
Apart From Love we cannot be

(⁀‵⁀) ✫ ✫ ✫.
`⋎´✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ *´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫ (¸.•´ (¸.•`
☻/ღ˚ •。* ˚ ˚✰˚ ˛

http://tinyurl.com/home-ebook
http://tinyurl.com/apartfromlove-e
http://tinyurl.com/my-book-links

Am I a leaf about to drift
About to fly away, to chance
The cold, the heat, the drop, the lift
Upon the wing of wind, to dance?
Or else, nestled in this tree
Am I to stay, and thus be free?
Here I am, Apart From Love
Flying Home just like a dove

‎"I can just see him in my head, like, holding the baby’s hand, guiding him already in his first steps. Then, letting go, he’s gonna take a step or two back, and hold his breath, waiting there for the little one to walk into his open arms.
Lenny’s gonna buy him a brand new tricycle, and teach him how to set his little feet on top of them pedals, and push, push harder, even harder—yeah! Just so! And again: Go on, push, until—oh boy! With great joy, he’s gonna clap his hands, because here—for the first time—you could detect a move, a slight move ahead.
And then, a few years down the road, he’s gonna surprise our child with a large, shining bicycle, and adjust the training wheels as time goes by, until they wasn’t needed no more; at which point, Lenny would remove them, and hold them in his hands, like, to weigh them for a moment, and try to wipe the rust, and wish that time would like, slow down, just a little, because it’s hard, so hard for the old heart to let go.
Yes, Lenny needs a son: someone to need him, trust him, and make him trust himself again."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Hello everyone! Only one week remaining to enter the Writing Contest!

In honor of my book event, Our Family Tree, which will come to its high point on Thanksgiving weekend, the contest is centered around the theme of the event.

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/p/contest_...

Please retweet:

"He has undone the buttons of my blouse, he loosens it this way and that, and then, in one firm pull it’s already down"
http://tinyurl.com/apartfromlove

"My little one would gurgle and coo right here, in my arms. I would be brushing my lips over his scalp—ever so gentle—careful not to touch nowhere close to the tender spot, right there at the top. I could almost feel the fine fuzz of his hair, real soft, tickling my cheek.
In my head I could kiss, I could almost swallow his tiny fingers. They would wrap around my finger, their nails so pink, so incredibly clear. And the little hands, they would stroke my hair or like, search for my breast.

Then I would touch the nipple to my baby’s lips, and watch him latch on and like, suck, suck, swallow, breathe; suck, suck, swallow, breathe.
All the while his eyes would be fixed on me, curious to see, to separate my face out of that blurry chaos, that first, misty sight of lights and of shadows. And so I promised myself: I would give him that which I never got. I would become such a good mama, like no mama ever was! I would keep him safe right here, close to my heart."
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

At first my father seemed relaxed enough to tell me—at more length than usual—about my grandfather, whom I never met, because he had died long before I was born. I got a distinct sense that dad was, somehow, still afraid of the old man, who had pressed him hard to achieve that which he himself had failed to become: a lawyer.
“So,” I asked, “what did you do?”
A brief laughter erupted on his lips. “I told him that I had registered at the university, and would be majoring in Law, just as he had always wished—but somehow I neglected to mention that the closest I ever came to registering was flipping through an outdated course catalog, while sitting on the toilet, and dreaming about something else.”
“And,” I hesitated to ask, “did he ever find out?”
“Well,” said my father, and in a flash, his face turned red, “if it occurred to the old man that this might have been a nasty lie, he admirably concealed it.”
I listen to his voice, which is still here, echoing in my head, and all of a sudden I grasp that he grew embarrassed not only because of his obligation to his father—but to me as well. Perhaps a sudden sense of shame caught up to him, shame for falling short of becoming an acceptable role model. Or else he had a premonition—a fear, even—of how I would treat him, not too far in what was then the future.
Which makes me realize one thing: up to a certain point, I wanted to become a man just like my father. And from then on, I wanted to be anything but. Which made me spend a whole decade in diametrical opposition to him, so that I wound up living a life based directly on his, as though I had never left home.

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...