The Writing Process

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

"And so, my trusty soldier fought his last battle. Perhaps, at the last second—as the arrow was singing in the air, coming closer and closer at him, like a lover eager for a kiss—his eyes started to widen.
Perhaps he knew that his death would not be caused by that arrow, but by the hand of a woman, the one he loved..."

To read more, click here: He died by the hand of a woman, the one he loved

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

I don't know how Justin Harmer found my work. I consider myself lucky for it, because he placed an audition for it. Take a listen to an excerpt from the upcoming audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba...

To read more, and listen to the narration, click here:
The voice behind A Peek at Bathsheba

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

How do we preserve memory, how we lose it? I am fascinated by these questions. My novel, Apart From Love, is inspired by the affect of Alzheimer's not only on the afflicted but on the entire family. Ben's mother used to be a gifted pianist and is now stricken by early-onset Alzheimer’s, a rare form...

To read more, click here:
How do we preserve memory, how do we lose it?

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

And so, I charge him, “It is always secrets with you. I hate you for that."
Which, to my surprise, he accepts. "I hate it too,” he admits. “Having to have secrets."
“With mom,” I say, “things are simpler. You know, from time to time she would tell me something about herself. She would write to me, even.”
“Oh yeah?” he says. “And how long ago was that?”
I figure that the last note I received from mom was—let’s see—at least two years ago, maybe three. It amazes me now that all this time, I have given little thought, if any, to the silence between us.
I suppose I did not feel like telling her about myself, because around that time I quit everything. I left my studies at the Facoltà di Medicina e Chirurgia in the university of Firenze, after only a couple of years. And so, I figured, the less letters from my parents—the better.
I isolated myself, and attributed the sporadic nature of our correspondence to the frequent changes of my address, as I moved often, from one place to another across Italy.
“And her handwriting,” says my father, pressing steadily ahead. “To you, son, was it clear?”
Her beautiful handwriting. It is engraved in my memory. As a child, I used to study it and copy it repeatedly, beginning at age five, when she wrapped her hand over mine, and taught me how to hold a pen. Between the first and middle fingers, she said, and hold it in place like this, by the thumb.
Mom used to draw text with the nib of a calligraphy pen. She would produce a smooth, fluent line, changing it—as if by a magic wand—from thick to thin, connecting the end of one glyph to the beginning of the another, with a stroke that was so fine, truly, fine to the point of becoming invisible, almost. It had such a consistent slant, just like that monogram, embroidered on her silk sheets.
But then, this note—the last note she sent me—which I can see before my eyes as if it were right here, rustling in my hands, this one, I must admit, was different. It had none of these delicate pen strokes.
On the contrary, here was an ugly mess. The words were scattered. Some of them were scratched over, as if some frenzied chickens got loose on the page. What happened? What could possibly explain this unusual sloppiness?>

Ben in Apart From Love

After many years of absence Ben returns to his childhood home, and finds himself faced with a truth that he has so far managed to hide from himself: his mother, a gifted pianist with a training in memorization technique, has been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. His father, Lenny, who has kept this a secret until now, has a hard time relating this fact to his estranged son, and during their first conversation they cast heated accusations at each other, in an explosive exchange of guilt and blame. In this excerpt he uses the deterioration in her penmanship to point out a symptom of her infliction, a proof that Ben might accept.

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Justin Harmer will be playing David, and every one of his wives, advisors, and enemies, in the upcoming audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba. Want to know why I chose him? How could I not, with this audition? Take a listen:

Playing David

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Just updated the book description for Apart From Love, this captures more of the story, check it out:

Secrets, passion, betrayal...
Coming back to his childhood home after years of absence, Ben is unprepared for the secret, which is now revealed to him: his mother, Natasha, who used to be a brilliant pianist, is losing herself to early-onset Alzheimer's, which turns the way her mind works into a riddle. His father has remarried, and his new wife, Anita, looks remarkably similar to Natasha--only much younger. In this state of being isolated, being apart from love, how will Ben react when it is so tempting to resort to blame and guilt? "In our family, forgiveness is something you pray for, something you yearn to receive--but so seldom do you give it to others."

Behind his father's back, Ben and Anita find themselves increasingly drawn to each other. They take turns using an old tape recorder to express their most intimate thoughts, not realizing at first that their voices are being captured by him. These tapes, with his eloquent speech and her slang, reveal the story from two opposite viewpoints.

What emerges in this family is a struggle, a desperate, daring struggle to find a path out of conflicts, out of isolation, from guilt to forgiveness.

Where does the title, Apart From Love, come from?
The word Love is used sparingly in the novel, which makes it ever more precious. The title comes from a phrase used three times in the story:

After a while I whispered, like, "Just say something to me. Anything." And I thought, Any other word apart from Love, 'cause that word is diluted, and no one knows what it really means, anyway.
Anita

Why, why can't you say nothing? Say any word--but that one, 'cause you don't really mean it. Nobody does. Say anything, apart from Love.
Anita

For my own sake I should have been much more careful. Now--even in her absence--I find myself in her hands, which feels strange to me. I am surrounded--and at the same time, isolated. I am alone. I am apart from Love.
Ben

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

"And then she left him.
He looks at the line. It is written in blue ink, pressed into the sheet of paper—vigorously here, faintly there—with his usual stroke, a stroke that drives through the spikes and valleys in the shapes of the letters at a steady slant. The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated, unexpectedly, by a red stain..."

To read more click here:
The line reaches the margin, where it is punctuated by a red stain

[Munia]

Thank you very much for this wonderful group dear Uvi. I shall be active on a regular basis soon enough..Thanks a lot for your great poetry posted here..Enjoyed reading them.

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Munia wrote: "Thank you very much for this wonderful group dear Uvi. I shall be active on a regular basis soon enough..Thanks a lot for your great poetry posted here..Enjoyed reading them."

Aw... My pleasure Munia, glad to hear your voice!

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Somewhere at night a string sings out
All's dark, silent, filled with doubt
I'm alone, and you?
Out there, in the cold, a string sings out

To read more, click here:
After You're Gone

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

By the time I turned sixteen, mom had developed an unexplained fear, a fear of getting lost, which was quite pronounced, even as she headed out for a short walk, such as to the grocery store on Wilshire Boulevard, not more than a couple of blocks away. She seemed to rely, with an increasing sense of anxiety, on the familiar, and would become ferociously shaken if a chair was accidentally moved out of position. We all knew that the instrument--which was only hers, because I had stopped playing by then--was sacred. It was not to be touched.
And so, too, was she...

To read more click here:
We all knew that the instrument was sacred. It was not to be touched

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

#99cents #sale: A Favorite Son

Read it now: A favorite Son
Enjoy the tale that I have spun
About two brothers, greed, rivalry
Who will stay? And who will flee
Forever haunted by regret?
The book is here, for you to get!

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Without even looking at the entrance to the tent, without even touching the cold surface of the hourglass, I know: It is nearly empty. The sand is running out. For us, there is no more time. He will never realize who it was standing there by his bedside, overcome and awash with tears.

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:

The voice is the voice of Jacob

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

John Tucker is a multi-genre author, who says about himself, "I embrace my Gemini ways with an abandon that generally belongs to serial killers, traveling evangelists, and the heroes of most Zombie movies." What a great surprise to find his review of A Peek at Bathsheba:

★★★★★ A Modern Take on an Old Bible Story, October 1, 2014
By J.D.Tucker "J.D. Tucker" (Monroe, Georgia)

Growing up in church I always heard the story of David and Bathsheba in a negative way. True, David loved her at first sight, but the dirty way he sent her husband into the front lines of battle in order to kill him soured my views of the Biblical Hero. From heroically slaying Goliath with a sling, to cowardly sending a man to his death in order to claim his wife. Uvi Poznansky managed to change my mind a bit with this modern take on David's obsession and pursuit of the woman of his dreams. It's definitely not a dry book. It brims with emotions like passion, jealousy, lust, triumph, and self-realization. Religious without being preachy, historic without being boring. Five Stars.

Get ★★★★★ A PEEK AT BATHSHEBA
♥ Ebook ♥ http://BookShow.me/B00LEPPDV6
♥ Print ♥ http://BookShow.me//0984993274
#historical #romance

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Upon that night when ghosts arise
To shriek in gusts of wind
They’ll warn you of your demise
Deep under gravestones pinned

Pretend you never existed
On the ground, above
Pretend you are not Twisted
And not Apart From Love

Twisted
Apart From Love

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Gnarled branches here entwine
Ghosts send shivers down your spine
If you trick or tweet tonight
I will give you such a fright

I'll stay Twisted until dawn
Until then, leave the lights on
I'll scare you with a puff of heat
Apart From Love, it is my treat



Apart From Love
Twisted

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

All was quiet now, deadly quiet. You had to put your ear close to me to hear the one thing, the only thing that screwed up this silence: the crinkly sound of my hair and nails, continuing to grow, somehow. Even the crows had stopped echoing their calls between one and another. And yet, I was not alone. I could sense another presence--

To read more click here:
They were painted quite liberally with some blood-red smear

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

So, he drinks; after which I ask, with caution, “So—what did the doctor tell you?”
He’s raising his eyes again, but the right words can’t be found nowhere close to him—not on the ceiling, or on the wall, or the floor, in this corner, or that. So instead, Lenny shuts his eyes and, like, stumbles into saying, “The doctor, he said: Mr. Kaminsky, the tests came back.”
“At this point,” he recalls, “I took a hard swallow. The doctor paused briefly—perhaps taking another look at the test results—and then went on to say, I have some difficult news for you. Your wife, I believe, has a form of Alzheimer's.”
I take the briefcase away from him, ‘cause it’s just about to fall, anyway.
And so Lenny can’t brace himself no more, ‘cause at this point, he don’t have nothing to hold on to, and nowhere to hide. Instead he just sits there, with the empty glass, saying, “Alzheimer's,” and then again, in a voice that is nearly gagged, “Alzheimer's.”
And after a long pause he adds, “At the sound of this word, Natasha was confused and I—I dropped to my knees. I remember, she could not get it, could not understand what was going on and told the doctor, Wait, hold on, I cannot talk to you now. Call back later, something is wrong here. No, not with me—with my husband.”
Lenny takes off his glasses and like, wipes something from the corner of his eye, and my heart goes out to him. And then, then the strangest thing starts happening to me. For the first time in ten years I feel not only for him—but for her, too.

Anita in Apart From Love

In this passage, Lenny tells his new wife, Anita, how the doctors finally came to the conclusion that Natasha, his ex-wife, suffers from early onset Alzheimer's. This is not an easy conversation for him, having kept the secret to himself for such a long time.

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

So exciting! Producing the audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba is quickly coming to its completion! This is a sweet moment for me, and a sad one too, because I would miss working with my wonderful narrator, Justin Harmer, who has truly become David, and every one of his wives and enemies.

To read more click here:
This is a sweet moment for me and a sad one

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Am I dreaming? I stare at it in great awe.
“Ah!” says Satan, noting my expression with great interest. “You are a curious creature, woman.”
“No disrespect intended, sir,” I say, “but don’t play with me. If you know my name—which I am sure you do—you would do well to use it when you talk to me.”
“Oh, I would,” he teases me, “if you were to offer me at least a token of gratitude, if you know what I mean.”
I do. And it’s not that I am not tempted... Satan is a handsome fellow, even with fine-haired goat beard on his chin, which is something I could persuade him to shave off, in time...
“Here we are,” he presses on. “All alone, apparently, in a deserted library... Now, how badly do you want your name back, woman?”
In place of an answer, I gulp.
And he says, “I am given to caprice, you know. So I may, perhaps, be persuaded to give your name back to you...”
His words go roundabout, but his gaze is quite direct. Which leaves me dumbfounded; but only for a second. After all, even as a corpse I cannot risk a scandal—and in my own village, or the copy of it, of all places! The place seems vacant at the moment—but then, who knows?
They say, walls have ears... And gossip, my God, it would be devastating. For sure, it would kill my husband. His heart has been so weak lately. Betrayal—even a whisper of it—would crush him. It would add to the weight of his mounting woes. I still care for Job, even if I am here, trapped in this hellish replica of my birthplace, and he—somewhere up there, in the real thing.
In the silence that has fallen upon the room Satan leafs casually through the pages of the book. Then he raises the magnifying glass to his eye, and glares at me.
“I see,” he says. “Didn’t think so. Just testing; forget it.”
“I will.”
“You are not all that sexy, anyway.”
“And you, sir, are not such a hotshot.”

Get ★★★★★ TWISTED
♥ Ebook ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00D7Q3IY4
♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993266
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/i-twisted-audio

#dark #fantasy
#halloween

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Hope you had a great Halloween, everyone! Like to dress up in costumes, or to strike a funny pose? You've come to the right place!

Here is Bathsheba Bathing, a lovely oil painting painting by Paolo Veronese, showing king David approaching her with a proposition in mind... I invite you to step into the scene, and help the action along! Here's how:

Come join David and Bathsheba in the royal gardens

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

So instead, my mother decided to acquire stuff: Ornamental purses of different shapes and sizes; an assortment of extravagant fur hats, imported from her faraway birthplace; and numerous pairs of snakeskin shoes with high heels, which were ill suited to the desert sand—all of which caused a stir among the local people.
I can recall how, as a child, I got a rare permission from her to come into the inner part of her tent, behind the screen, and take a peak into her chest. It was overflowing with nose rings, bracelets, and flamboyant clothes. With hesitant fingers I touched one of her shirts, which at the time, was way too big for me.
“Here, Yankle, try it on,” she offered.
I did. I can still remember it: The trace of her jasmine perfume, the striped blue-on-white pattern of the weave, and the swooshing sound of the fabric as it flowed over my head and cascaded around my feet. I remember her laughter, her sudden embrace; and a heartbeat later—opening to me out of the shadow, right there behind her back—the watchful eyes of my twin brother Esav, who must have been standing there for a while, without making a sound.
How my mother sensed his presence—by what quirk of intuition she knew he had been studying us—I will never be able to guess. Perhaps she saw him in my eyes. She looked at me then with an intense look, and in a flash I learned that the unsaid can be more forceful than words. What passed between us at that moment I cannot begin to describe to you. I could hear her heart beat, and at the same instant, the same hammer was pounding in my chest.
With great calm, she gathered the garment from my hand. Then she folded it back into the chest with slow, measured movements, lowered the lid and with a clack, locked it.
“Go out, Esav, go play,” she said, without even bothering to turn her head, without even looking at him; and then she added softly, “You too, Yankle.”
In two shakes of a lamb’s tail we were outside. His hair was flowing, thick and wild, in the wind as he chased me, caught me, punched me down.
All the while, I knew: I would never forget her love, her letting me wear that unusually beautiful, striped shirt. And neither would he.

Get ★★★★★ A FAVORITE SON
♥ Ebook ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00AUZ3LGU
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/fav-son-audio
♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993258

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

We were born in darkness, crying a fit
Like grains of sand, countless stars came up, lit,
We wanted to turn back to the warm womb
Instead we were wrapped by chill and by gloom

Born in darkness, we labored so hard
To find our way in this universe
We were greeted by its hug, the cruelty of its curse
Its predators' jaws... We were forced to traverse.

Ma, why did you fool me, what was it for,
When you sang me a lullaby, not a song of war?
Oh why did you hide the ugly truth from me
We were born in darkness, our life--not to be?
Written by My father,
Translated from Hebrew by me

Get ★★★★★ HOME
Ebook http://bookShow.me/B00960TE3Y
Print http://bookShow.me/0984993231
Audio http://tinyurl.com/Home-audible
‪#‎AudioBooks‬ ‪#‎poetry‬

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

My book, A Peek at Bathsheba (narrated by Justin Harmer) includes a sighting of Bathsheba at mouth of a cave, located just above the Kidron valley, near Jerusalem. I was inspired to paint the scene. My watercolor is homage to A Woman Bathing in a Stream, painted in 1655 by Rembrandt, immediately after he painted Bathsheba at Her Bath.

To read more click here:
Cover reveal for A Peek at Bathsheba (audiobook edition)

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

worry about mom, about the little things, which to someone else—someone who does not know her as I do—may seem trivial, insignificant. I worry she is missing her pearl earrings. I must find them for her. The little hole in her earlobe has shrunk away, turning somehow to flesh.
In a whisper I say, “Mommy?” and wonder how the air vibrates over the tender membrane of her eardrum, how it changes into noise, how she gets it when pitch rises, when it falls.
Can she sense the change?

To read more click here
I worry about mom, about the little things

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Perhaps it is the smell of blood, together with the sense of mystery, that bring to my mind the dangers lurking ahead—not just on this journey, and not just in my generation, but in generations to come. Somehow I foresee, right here and now, how our offspring will be lead, powerless, to the brink of extinction.
I shudder to see the calf, held with a knife to its throat, fall to its knees before the sacrifice. Sharply has its last bleat died down.
Then it is placed on the bronze altar, and carefully arranged into position between all the odd implements: the pails for removing ashes, and the shovels and basins and forks and fire pans and the utensils of bronze. In a flash, its body is completely consumed by fire. Nothing but ash remains.
This burnt offering is a vision of our future.
This calf is us.
I feel an overwhelming sadness, and to escape its grip I begin to dance. I dance because this is our moment, because the future is faraway and the dangers it holds are still obscure. With enough joy, enough energy in all of us, perhaps we can change its course.
Denial is bliss.
I give it everything I have. I dance with abandon. I dance with all my might.
As we come near the walls of the city I hear shouts, cheers, and the sound of trumpets, which spurs me to cry out, to sing. And as I am singing, the gates open before me.

David in A Peek at Bathsheba

To read more, see beautiful art, and listen to the narration click here:

Dancing with all his might

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Thrilled to come on for an interview on Seb Kirby's blog, to talk about the connections between my art and writing. Please check it out:

The Interview - Uvi Poznansky

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

I invite you to read this fascinating article, written by Justin Harmer, the gifted narrator of my novel A Peek at Bathsheba. Like my legendary character David, Justin is a prolific poet and musician (playing the harp, among other instruments.) If, like me, you are curious about the process of blowing life into story, by delving into your soul, deep inside, to find the truth at the heart of the characters, then check this out:

As to the bedroom scene with Bathsheba... Lord, forgive me the sins of my youth!

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

He looks away, saying, “Your mom, she was mad at me. She flared up in anger. It was painful. More painful than I had expected. Was she too proud to forgive me? Did she expect me to fight harder for her, so that she may take me back someday? There was no way to know. My God, she let me feel I was done, I was no longer needed.”
“But, dad,” I say, “did she believe she could face it alone, whatever it was? Was she willing to risk everything, and for what? For no better reason than pride?”
“God,” he says. “I wish I knew.”

To read more click here:
You could be there, by her side, fighting to hold her back, away from the brink

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

My announcement of the day is this: Yay!!!!!!!
The audiobook edition of A Peek at Bathsheba, narrated by Justin Harmer, has just gone live!!!!

Take a listen, I promise you will love it:

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Wrapped in a long, flowing fabric that creates countless folds around her curves, she loosens just the top of it and lets it slide off her head—only to reveal a blush, and mischievous glint, shining in her eye. It is over that sparkle that I catch a sudden reflection, coming from the back window, of a full moon.
Looking left, right, and down the staircase, to make sure no one is lurking outside my chamber door, I let her in. Then I lock it behind her, so no one may intrude upon us.

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration click here:

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Clancy Tucker writes young adult fiction for reluctant readers but has also achieved success as a poet and photographer. I am thrilled to come on for an interview on his blog.

Check it out:
Interview with Uvi Poznansky

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

"When I sprinkle my secret blend of spices; here, take a sniff, can you smell it? When I chop these mouthwatering sun-dried tomatoes, add a few cloves of garlic for good measure, and let it all sizzle with lentils and meat—it becomes so scrumptious, so lip-smacking, finger-licking, melt-in-your-mouth good!
There is a certain ratio of flavors, a balance that creates a feast for the tongue and a delight for the mind; and having mastered that balance, with a pinch of imported cumin from the north of Persia, a dash of Saffron from the south of Egypt, I can tell you one thing: When the pot comes to a full bubbling point, and the aroma of the stew rises up in the air—it would make you dribble! Drive you to madness! For a single bite, you would sell your brother, if only you had one! "

To read more click here:
It would make you dribble! Drive you to madness!

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Friday night we have a date
Come right here to celebrate
This is when and where and what
You may win prizes! Don’t miss out:

Join the king and me in the Royal gardens

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

I'm blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony
Blessed for the fear, the pain of it all
In which I was steeped, in this reality
And granted the chance to endure or to fall--

To read more, and listen to the lovely narration from HOME, click here:
Thanksgiving: I'm Blessed for the pleasure, blessed for the agony

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Born in the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia, Linda Goodman learned the art of storytelling from her father. Her stories have appeared in Storytelling World, Chicken Soup for the Mother's Soul, Stories for the Family Heart, The Appalachian Quarterly, and in the Storytelling Youth Olympics 1997 Guidebook. This is what she says about my book, Twisted:

★★★★★ " All of the short stories ("laden with shades of mystery and the macabre") in this slim book are good, but the jewel is "I Am What I am", November 16, 2014
By Linda Goodman "Storyteller" (Richmond, Virginia) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)
Verified Purchase(What's this?)
This review is from: Twisted (Kindle Edition)
I recently read Uvi Poznansky's book "Twisted." All of the short stories ("laden with shades of mystery and the macabre") in this slim book are good, but the jewel is "I Am What I AM," which follows the wife of Job through hell to demand that the devil give her name back to her (it was stricken from "the book"). She is fierce, but she is no fool. Even she knows some dreams must be relinquished when their price proves to be too dear. This skillfully written and passionate story is worth at least twice the price of the book.

Get ★★★★★ #amazing #fantasy TWISTED
♥ Ebook ♥ http://bookShow.me/B00D7Q3IY4
♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993266
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Twisted-audio

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Lovely new review for the audiobook edition of Apart From Love:

Overall ★★★★★
Performance ★★★★★
Story ★★★★★

"Beautifully written and perfectly narrated"
A famous poet, translator, and philosopher Samuil Marshak once said that frequent use of highly emotional words robs them of their meaning, making them dull and lackluster, like an old coin losing its shine. And that's exactly what Anita, the young wife of Ben's aging father, says to her husband in the story: “Just say something to me. Anything." And I thought, Any other word apart from Love, `cause that word is diluted, and no one knows what it really means, anyway.

Coming from uneducated Anita, who is a far cry from being a poet or a philosopher, this thought acquires an even more poignant and raw meaning. She is not trying to impress anyone, she is speaking her heart and her mind, trying to cope with the turmoil of her aging husband's fast decline and her growing attraction for his adult son Ben.

Emotions run high in this story by Uvi Poznansky, made even more prominent by the alternating voices in the audio version. Heather Jane Hogan is wonderful as Anita: she comes across as open and unpretentious, just like Anita’s character is supposed to be. David Kudler, as Ben, is more eloquent and sophisticated not only in his words but in his tone of voice that comes across in the audiobook. I sensed a tone of subtle surprise in his tone as he finds himself falling for Anita, through guilt and internal struggle.

A beautifully-written and perfectly narrated book. Highly recommended.

Get ★★★★★ APART FROM LOVE
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-a
♥ Ebook ♥ http://BookShow.me/B006WPITP0
♥ Print ♥ http://bookShow.me/0984993207

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Then—still with her arms locked around me—she lays her head back, for which I am grateful. This way she cannot see how I weep, she cannot suspect that the pillow under my chin is turning soggy. Oh damn. I cannot stop these tears.
Trapped here in her embrace, I am mourning something I cannot snatch back from the hand of time. Something that by some spell used to let me feel invincible. I never thought I would lose it--

To read more click here:
she lays her head back, for which I am grateful

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

For a moment I am grateful that my husband is among the living. Or so I think. Nowadays, influenced by the elders, he regards swearing as a mortal sin, as bad as cursing. He even plugs his ears, for no better reason than to avoid hearing it. But if you ask me, I swear: without a bit of blasphemy, language would utterly dull, and fit for nothing but endless prayer. Sigh.
Strangely, Satan does not frighten me that much anymore. And so, swaying on my hip bones, I strut out of the cave in his direction--

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
I feel an odd urge to fondle his horns

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Wow--I am thrilled to find this review, written by Dolores Ayotte, author of A Woman's Voice (and other self-help books) who is a great inspirational writer and one of the best reviewers on Amazon. This is what she said about the audiobook edition of A Favorite Son:

Overall ★★★★★
Performance ★★★★★
Story ★★★★★
"Skilled Masterpiece!"
Would you consider the audio edition of A Favorite Son to be better than the print version?
After both reading A Favorite Son on my own and then listening to the audio book, I think there is a definite benefit to hearing the male voice bring the characters to life. I very much enjoyed this audio experience.

What was one of the most memorable moments of A Favorite Son?
One of the most memorable moments is the obvious favoritism of Rebecca for one son over another and the lengths she would go to deceive her husband, Isaac, demonstrates the duplicity of her role in all of their lives.

Which character – as performed by David Kudler – was your favorite?
I think David Kudler did a great job of portraying all the characters he played in this audio book. His voice is clear, precise, and effectively draws the listener into the story line.

Any additional comments?
Most of us are familiar with the well-known Bible story of Jacob and Esau. Twin sons born to Rebecca and Isaac in their later years, are at odds and in competition to inherit the much coveted blessing from their father on his deathbed. The collaboration that takes place between mother and her favorite son, Yankle, in order to dupe Isaac effectively demonstrates the length some parents will go to in their unfairness, or what I refer to as, the "division" of their love.

According to the main thread skillfully woven into this novel, the phenomenon of favoring one child over another may be a curse not only for the favored child but for the rejected one as well. I purposely use the word "division" of love to describe the favoritism both Rebecca and Isaac displayed for opposite sons in this story in order to stress what I consider to be a poignant point.In my opinion, neither parent expresses true love. True love does not divide families nor does it create ugly competitiveness, sibling rivalry, jealously, hatred, anger and all the other undesirable, negative traits expressed between these two sons. Neither parent shows love for their offspring nor toward each other. It has been said that true love multiplies...it never divides.When one discovers this definition of love and fully embraces this concept, the negative emotions experienced by this family and many others, will no longer exist. To me, that is the true moral to this Bible story.Ms. Poznansky takes an age old story and gives it a modern twist.

The reader is invited into the tortured psyche of Yankle and the grief, guilt, and full knowledge of the consequence of his deception in order to demonstrate what a living hell is all about. Yankle is haunted by his choice, that of manipulating his father's deteriorating physical condition along with his mother, in order to steal his brother, Esav's birthright. He does not want to repeat history in his own life and continue with this kind of favoritism in his relationship with his own sons.This author shows not only by the cover she has so beautifully painted, but also by the words she has so carefully chosen to depict the results of such a past and present dilemma...the consequences of such a devious act.

To quote Ms. Poznansky when describing her book cover, she states, "To me, this is what this image means: looking directly at yourself, facing the pain and the ugly imperfections within, without any attempt to mask who you are--even if you find yourself on the verge of a meltdown." I think each of us will eventually reach this point in life, and regardless of what path we take to get there, we must face ourselves, our actions, our lives and learn what true love is all about...I think this is the genuine motive and goal behind the work of this talented artist and author. Her writing is meant to provoke, prod, persuade, and push us to the limits of our inner selves in order to tie it all together. In my opinion, she is not only showing us a part of herself, her every desire is for us to see our own reflection in her work and see what personal message it holds. She has certainly succeeded with me...

Inspirational Author & Book Reviewer ~ Dolores Ayotte

Get ★★★★★ A FAVORITE SON
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[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

I live here with no joy, no regret
And scribble little rhymes just for me
I live... No longer preach at the gate,
Nor squash any ants carelessly.
In their hiding place they seem to await
And observe me, in all probability--

Take a listen to one of my fathers' profoundly great poems:
I live here on paint and on toxoid

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

If I wanted to, I could just extend my arms and hug her, because there she is, opposite me, and the distance... The distance, you see, is so close—but I hold myself back.
She is looking out the window.
Perhaps she is immersing herself in the grays and purples quivering there, on the other side of the glass, reaching a blur in the cold October sunlight. Perhaps, with great patience she is waiting there, waiting for the night, for the darkest hour--

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
Unprepared for the secret, which is now revealed to him

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

“I have no secrets from you,” I say, brazenly. “Perhaps I should have.”
He seethes at me. “Behind my back, you’ve been bold enough to entertain the worst of my enemies, the one who has the blood of my brother, Asahel, on his hands.”

To read more & listen to the beautiful narration by Justin Harmer, click here:
Behind my back, you’ve been bold enough to entertain the worst of my enemies

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

My announcement of the day: The Edge of Revolt is available for preorder!
The third volume of the trilogy The David Chronicles will be released on December 19, 2014, just in time for the holidays. I am designing the cover as we speak, but for now, you can already see the title page--

To read more click here:
My announcement of the say: The Edge of Revolt is here

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

By what twist of imagination did this happen? How did this outline of his jaw suddenly appear, how did it open now, as if he was just about to call her name? In a moment, she thought, he would reach for her hand, smiling as if nothing bad could happen—

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration, click here:
In a moment he would reach for her hand, smiling as if nothing bad could happen

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

“Talking about a small fortune,” she counters, “what about your little trunk, full of gold coins?”
“Being of a sound body and mind,” he says, “I spent it all.”
“On what, in heaven’s name?”
“What! On what, Becky? Here I go, heaping all those bracelets, all those nose rings on one woman, and one woman alone, only to find out, in the end, the real extent of her gratitude!”

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration by David Kudler, click here:
What about your little trunk, full of gold coins?

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

The cover art for my new novel, The Edge of Revolt, is my watercolor painting inspired by a quick charcoal sketch which I have drawn while listening to music--several pieces of music, each with a different rhythm and mood, reflected here. I imagined that these rhythms are taking me to a magical landscape, which I am yet to explore--

To read more, click here:
Cover reveal for The Edge of Revolt

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

How my mother sensed his presence—by what quirk of intuition she knew he had been studying us—I will never be able to guess. Perhaps she saw him in my eyes. She looked at me then with an intense look, and in a flash I learned that the unsaid can be more forceful than words. What passed between us at that moment I cannot begin to describe to you--

To read more, click here:
What passed between us at that moment I cannot begin to describe to you

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

Come in! Will you? Will you read these scribblings? Can you see my sword, which I have drawn here, look! Can you see it the way I do, lifting out of the ink and into the air, turning magically over, around and around, right here in the center of the space?

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration by David George, click here:
Come in! Will you? Will you read these scribblings? Can you see my sword?

[Uvi, Author, Poet and Artist]

What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled, and where he kicks, ‘cause he has to. Like, he don’t feel so cosy no more. Here, can you feel it? I reckon he wants me to talk to him. He can hear me inside, for sure. He can hear every note of this silvery music--

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration by Heather Jane Hogan, click here:
What matters is only what’s here. I touch my skin right under my breasts, which is where the little one’s curled