The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky discussion
This topic is about
Apart From Love
The Writing Process
Mod
Our team has already fallen in love with your work "A Favorite Son" It's an amazing story. We want to feature "A Favorite Son" on our pages for that matter. Could you send me the material required for this novel?
I sent him a brief article about the inspiration for the book, which will be posted soon. Meanwhile, his team composed this lovely picture and presented the book, here:
Presenting A Favorite Son
Mod
Here's how:
✿ Send me a PM to enter the raffle.
✿ The winner will be announced on my Author Facebook Page, on Saturday October 5th
You can click the image and take a listen to the audio clip, performed by two amazing voice artists: Heather Jane Hogan (as Anita) and David Kudler (as Ben.) Also, here is the book description, so you have a handle on what you're competing to win:
Written with passionate conviction, this story is being told by two of its characters: Ben, a twenty-seven years old student, and Anita, a plain-spoken, spunky, uneducated redhead, freshly married to Lenny, his aging father. Behind his 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.
Meanwhile, Lenny is trying to keep a secret from both of them: his ex-wife, Ben’s mother, a talented pianist, has been stricken with an early-onset alzheimer. Taking care of her gradually weighs him down.
What emerges in these characters is a struggle, a desperate, daring struggle to find a path out of conflicts, out of isolation, from guilt to forgiveness.
Mod
By and by, a perfect calm comes upon me. I have no thought in my head, no clue that this is to be the last sunrise, the last morning that I spend with my mother; no premonition that our time together is running out, and that I should kiss her, and hug her, and bid her farewell.
Yet for some reason, glancing around me, I commit to memory every aspect of this scene, every detail: The vivid pattern of the rug, spread across the dirt floor. The embroidered silk pillows, leaning against the woven headrest. The little blemish, barely visible in the corner of the blanket. The silver thread coming apart, at one point, at the bottom of the canvas. The jug of water, half hidden behind the curved leg of the bed.
I can hear little noises: The occasional cry of a newborn baby, searching blindly for his mother’s breast. The light snores of the maidservants, some of whom are just starting to wake up, only to fall asleep again. The yawns of the shepherd boys, stretching their limbs lazily under the sheepskins in the neighboring tents. The unrest of the sheep, the lambs, the kids, the goats, all eager to go out there, to graze in the sun-flooded fields.
Meanwhile the needle flies back and forth, forth and back, over my shoulder, catching the light in its path. I am transfixed. I wish I could stay here forever. This place is so full of charms.
This hour is so intimate; so sweet, and it is fast coming to its bitter conclusion.
And the only thing that disturbs me, the only thing that stands here between us, is not being able to look each other in the eyes, during the last moments that remain to us.
My mother gets up. She is a petite woman, but the snakeskin shoes give her some stature. She throws the remains of the damaged coat back into the chest. Then she pulls out one of her fur hats and sinks her face into it, taking in the smell. “The air of the hunt,” she says, then hands it to me. “Here, put it on.”
Yankle in A Favorite Son
This is my charcoal on paper drawing of Rebecca's hands upon the hairy goatskin coat
Love biblical fiction?
Treat yourself to a gift:
A Favorite Son
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“But why? What is she to you?” says a trembling, shrill voice. “Why even come here for her? Just a tramp, is what she is.”
And in grumble—louder than the whirlwind—another voice says, “Now, who are you to ask?”
“Forgive me... I am nothing, nothing before you. Crush me if you will. I am dust, dust under your feet... But you, you have more important things to do. Let her rot.”
“Gird up now your loins like a man; for I will demand of you, and you shall answer me. Where were you when I laid the foundations of this realm? Declare, if you have any understanding!”
“I am nothing... Nothing but dust—”
“Who has laid the measures thereof, if you know? Or who has stretched the line upon it?”
“I bow,” the thin voice trembles. “I bow before you. Oh please, forgive me.”
And splosh! I hear the poor devil plodding away, wading through some slush.
A minute later, the footfalls of the other march up the road in the other direction, until finally the ground under me stops rumbling.
So I turn on my belly and crawl, finding my way in the dark, till at last I peek out—if only by a nose—through the mouth of the cave. Which allows me, for the first time, to take in the view.
Get ★★★★★ #fantasy TWISTED:
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My guest post takes you into a fall through an elevator shaft:
The Descent into a Different Realm
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To which a voice says, “You can say that again.”
I cast a quick glance this way and that, and see—just outside the mouth of the cave—two figures standing guard. Only they are standing upside down, perfectly frozen. Icy wings hang down from their shoulders, broken. And splinters are scattered on the dirt all around them. They are so still that it seems they have been carved from pillars of salt—if not for their feet twitching up there, above me.
Clenching my jaws so they stop clattering I manage to say, “Who are you?”
The only answer I can hear is a groan from the left, somewhat muffled this time. Turning right I bend down to take a good look at the other guard. Why is he silent?
“Who,” I repeat, “are you?”
His head is now barely visible; eyes and nose already submerged, he seems to struggle for air. Mud is flowing into his white mouth, and at the surface, froth starts regurgitating.
“Fallen angels are a dime a dozen around here,” grumbles a throaty voice from above. Her foot kicks some more muck in his direction. “Some,” she says, “have no names at all.”
Lot's wife in Twisted
My quick sketch, blue acrylic on paper, untitled
★★★★★ review:
"So immaculately constructed that each work becomes a little treasure to visit repeatedly"
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His hands go in, searching playfully for her feet, touching the creamy skin, fondling her toes, rolling each one of them ever so slightly between his fingers; which makes her arch her back, stretch out her arms, and twist her body around until she is turned over, on her back. She points her toes towards him with a cry of pleasure.
Anita utters a groan as he applies gentle pressure to the soles of her feet, caresses the arches, the heels, the ankles. Her knees spread open and fall apart, until she takes control of herself and brings them together—only to have them spread open again.
I close my eyes because this way, I can see with greater clarity. The entire blanket is coming alive, folding and unfolding, stirring with their passionate tangle. From time to time the ripples rise to mark the line of his back, or the curve of her embrace."
Ben in Apart From Love
★★★★★ bookreview:
"A feast for the armchair psychologist.
Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"
Listen to voices of Anita and Ben:
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Mod
So, you may ask. What now? Having published four books in a year and a half, are you working on something new?
It's a good thing you asked, and yes, I am! My new novel is halfway done. It explores the life of one of the most fascinating characters in our culture: David. Here he is, pondering how to become larger than life:
I often wonder, what was it in Saul, what quality brought people to their knees in his presence, even in the early years, before he was anointed? What was it that made so many of them follow him, to the point of risking their lives? I have turned this question over and over in my mind, and the more ways I look at it, the more I find it baffling. There must be more to leadership than wearing a crown.
For now, this is what I have come to believe: people will follow, if they perceive that their leader is larger than life.
For Saul, this is easy. He is so damn tall!
But stature is only a part of his power. To make his authority even more visible to his subjects—and discourage anyone from doubting it—he adopted some manners, some symbols of high ranking. Which he must have learned from the hieroglyphic stone carvings of foreign war memorials.
These symbols include not just this court, but the walled gardens, too. Looking at the waterfalls pumping here continuously I have to remind myself that it is not the stronghold of some royal dynasty, dominating the Nile delta or the Babylonian Tigris and Euphrates. Set against the view of the poorest sun-stricken desert in Canaan, where water is scarce, this palace seems like a foreign place.
And looking at the center of all this, at the King himself, I have to pinch myself. He is a striking figure, and not just because of his royal garb. Just like painted icons—those of the god-kings of Egypt, and of the high priests of Akkadian empire—he has a magnificent beard, the likes of which I have never seen on another man before.
It is carefully groomed, oiled and dressed using tongs and curling irons to create elaborate ringlets and tiered patterns. Often dyed reddish brown with Henna, it is plaited with an interwoven gold thread. And in place of the ornamental scepter of the Egyptian monarchs, Saul holds the next best thing: his weapon. A spear.
I collect these details in my mind and examine them at length, all the while growing more restless. It is hunger for success, hunger for what he has, that turns in my guts.
No longer do I ask, what was it in him that allowed him to become who he is. Instead I wonder, whatever it might be, is it in me? Do I have what it takes to become a leader? A King, even?
And on my way up, how do I overcome my shortcomings? How does a kid like me—who is too young to grow even a single hair on his chin, let alone a fancy beard like his—find a way to project himself into an iconic role, a role that will become memorable for ages to come?
In short: how do I become larger than life?
The David Chronicles: Reach for Power
Here is my pencil doodle of the word Larger
Mod
The newest in an outgoing series dedicated to the courageous people of Poland who fought always to defend and preserve the Polish identity and cultural heritage throughout long periods of oppression - so beautifully represented here in Polish Literature Anthologies. I had the honor of being invited to contribute several of my poems:
Contemporary Writers of Poland 2000-2014
Mod
Mini-Interview on Irene's Book Oasis
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Double, double misfortune, trouble
Burning coal and blackening rubble
Let the blood in my caldron come to a boil
Let me feed the flames; oh, such a toil!
Don't you dare fear me, come over here
Ever so gruffly, I'll whisper in your ear
Listen, dear, no need to fret
And I promise, no regret:
Apart From Love is here at last.
Get it now, and do it fast!
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"So at the end of an unbearably drawn out, tense second, here it is: she gives a jerk—a sharp one, mind you! And with a click, she brings in a host of shadows by turning on the twisted lamp by her side.
What do I care? I am busy, trying to imagine sun. Curling around myself, eyes half-open, I pass my tongue around my fangs. Here, it is coming to me: a radiant, blood-red sun. Sky—ground—birds—flap, flap, leap!—throats—
I feel her looking at me, trying, perhaps, to decipher the sudden flash in my slit pupils. I flick her with my tail. The shadows—small and large, sharp and fuzzy—all flick their tails at her..."
Feline creature in Twisted
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“Job’s wife, I presume? Hallelujah! I have been expecting for you for quite a long while,” says Satan. His voice is sweet. He must have sung in a choir in his youth, because in some ways he sounds as pious as my husband. “Shame, shame, shame on you,” he wags his finger. “You sure made me wait, didn’t you...”
And without allowing time for an answer, he brings a magnifying glass to his bloodshot eye. Enlarged, his pupil is clearly horizontal and slit-shaped. Which makes me feel quite at home with him, because so are the pupils of the goats in the herds we used to own.
Meanwhile, Satan unfolds a piece of paper and runs his finger through some names listed there. Then, with a gleam of satisfaction he marks a checkbox there, right in the middle of the crinkled page. At once, a whiff of smoke whirls in the air. Satan blows off a few specks of charred paper, folds the thing and tucks it into his breast pocket, somewhere in his wool. Cashmere, I ask myself? Really? In this heat?
Job's wife in Twisted
★★★★★ review:
"So immaculately constructed that each work becomes a little treasure to visit repeatedly"
Mod
Layers beyond layers of red, all aglow
With trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissue
It comes down upon me, folding high into low
I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,
Entangled in fabric, I can no longer flee
Can't breath, for now I can see the strange fusion
Now I know: this tissue is me
♫ °˚˚ ✿*‿*) ♡♥ ◦°˚˚
(This poem is included in my poetry book, Home.)
My poem is inspired by my art: here is a set three panels, three oil paintings. I offer it to your interpretation, if the figures are dancing out of joy, or getting themselves tied in utter frustration... When I painted the picture, I likened the red fabric to chewing gum on the floor, into which you step and can never release yourself. The more you fight to free yourself, the more you become entangled.
I did the preparatory work for them by drawing sketches of a nude model, who posed with a silky, red piece of fabric. Then I created a composition out of these sketches, a composition which I arranged as a triptych (an arrangement similar to paintings on an altar.) I did a version of this arrangement in a different color scheme, in watercolor. You can see this version on my facebook page. Then I created the version presented here, in oil. Later, the panel on the right provided the inspiration for the cover of my novel, Apart From Love (available on Amazon in its paperback and Kindle editions.)
★★★★★ bookreview:
"A feast for the armchair psychologist.
Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Mod
The tip of my pen is dull, and the ink has dried, but that cannot stop me from writing. Nothing will. I am grasping for power once again, but in a different way than I did back then. This time I can see, with great clarity, that power does not come from the crown.
At long last I have no urge anymore to keep my grasp on it. Now I know, power comes from within, from something else entirely: my skill with words. I wish I would have recognized it a long time ago, on my first visit to the royal court. Perhaps then I would have become a poet. Not a King.
It is still a long time from daybreak, and the girl’s breast heaves as she mumbles something, some unclear word. She is so close at hand and yet, so far out of my reach.
When I was first crowned, I was such a vigorous young man that no illness could keep me away from my dear wives and concubines. If I would catch a cold, all of them would be sneezing. I know, somehow, that unlike all the women I have had, Abishag is the one I will never know.
I hold my breath until she lulls herself back to sleep. Faint shadows start dancing on the wall. I read the shapes, trying to invent someone, a listener. You.
I whisper, Come in... Call me insane, who cares? Who the hell cares if you refuse to trust me, if you insist on clinging to your kind of reality, which is as dull as it is solid... Mine, I insist, is not a dream. But even if it is... Even so, it is true! How can you deny it? Here is my story. I am opening it up to you.
I can see why at first glance what you see here—these records which I jotted here, on these papyrus rolls—may seem scattered, even scary. I understand why you step back from my door, why look over your shoulder to find the guard...
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 in the center of the space? If you can, then—by the flash of it—I shall take you along, to leap with me into the surface of the steely thing. Into my reflection.
David, in my upcoming book, The David Chronicles Vol. I: Rise to Power
My quick color sketch, David Playing Before Saul
Mod
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, which is when her image may finally appear. It will come to the surface in front of her as if it were a sunken spirit, rising from the deep. Out of nowhere.
For now she seems lost, searching for something—perhaps her reflection—in vain.
I 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?
At what point does it translate, somehow, into meaning? By what path does it penetrate, going deeper? Does it excite the nerves, fire signals up there, between regions of her brain? Does it make some sense, at least at times? Is there any point in talking to her? Is she listening? Can she detect the thin sound—scratched like an old, overused vinyl record—which is coming faintly from behind, from the far end of this space? Can she understand the words? Is there sorrow in her? Is there hope?"
Ben in Apart From Love
★★★★★ bookreview:
"A feast for the armchair psychologist.
Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Mod
Unfortunately, there was no mistaking her smell. I used to think it was the dirt caking, layer after layer, on her bare feet. Yes, that must have explained it! But somehow it reeked even worse now, perhaps because these elegant straps of leather grazed into the dirt, peeling it from her heel. Oh hell, I croaked, wishing I could turn away.
Not now, go away, Leila.
I could hear the heavy flapping of her breast and at once, the ground under me shook. It opened—by God, the ground split open under her sharp, pointy heels, and scream! My hair was flying straight up, my jaw dropped open...
Job's Wife in Twisted
My charcoal on paper drawing
★★★★★ review:
"In her potent style, Uvi Poznansky weaves mythology with modernity"
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“Let me guess,” Joav narrows his eyes.”Are you to hunt a lion and tear it apart with your bare hands?”
“No—”
“Drag a leviathan to shore and cut open its belly?”
“No—”
“Slay a dragon?”
“I wish!”
“What, then?” Joav asks, but by the sly smile hiding under his mustache I suspect he already knows the answer.
“You playing with me?” I say. “I am to come up with a hundred Philistine foreskins.”
“Ha! Is that what a princess goes for these days?”
I answer by asking, “Can you believe it?”
Out of nowhere he pulls up a third knife, and without missing a beat throws it up. “Question is, how hard can it be to get it?”
I shrug. “At the time I still entertained the hope of reaching out to the enemy, obtaining what I need by diplomatic means.”
“Ha!” He catches the other two knives behind his back. “That doesn’t sound like fun to me, not at all.”
“I tried, really, I tried to talk sense to those infidels.”
“Let me guess: you told them all about the joys of converting to our faith.”
“How did you know?”
“Then you overstated the medical benefits of circumcision, and understated the pain.”
“I did.”
“No takers, ha?”
“None. Naturally I had no choice but to resort to military means.”
“By which you mean, slaughter.”
“Yes.”
Joav aims a knife at a target carved in the bark of the olive tree.
“I hope,” he shoots, “that the princess would love you for it.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but her father is entitled to drive a stiff bargain, especially when he’s dealing with a commoner like you.”
I must admit, “Stiff it is.”
From my upcoming book, The David Chronicles, Vol. I
This is a quick paper cutout of a dragon, which I made yesterday,
and let loose in my library...
Who knows how high it will soar!
Mod
I can hear little noises: The occasional cry of a newborn baby, searching blindly for his mother’s breast. The light snores of the maidservants, some of whom are just starting to wake up, only to fall asleep again. The yawns of the shepherd boys, stretching their limbs lazily under the sheepskins in the neighboring tents. The unrest of the sheep, the lambs, the kids, the goats, all eager to go out there, to graze in the sun-flooded fields.
Meanwhile the needle flies back and forth, forth and back, over my shoulder, catching the light in its path. I am transfixed. I wish I could stay here forever. This place is so full of charms.
This hour is so intimate; so sweet, and it is fast coming to its bitter conclusion.
Yankle, in A Favorite Son
This is my clay sculpture called Yawn
★★★★★
"I can't praise the writing enough; the author has an incredible voice"
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A Favorite Son
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“I want you to look at me,” she says, thrusting her chest out in front of her. “You haven’t been here for two weeks, since the wedding. And now that you’re here, you ain’t really here. Am I even wanted here? I’m a woman. I need to feel desired, and I need to be held by a man.”
At this point I feel obliged to peep in, for the third time, “I am not a boy.”
And she wipes her brow. “My God,” says Anita, as she turns away from my father. “I’m so hot. Don’t you wait too long.” And with a harsh motion, she flings the knife on the cutting board, right there between us.
It gives a sharp sound, which startles my father. His mouth is mirrored in the surface of the blade, and suddenly it becomes clear to me that the oven is not the only one fuming—so is he.
He raises his eye to her, and jealousy escapes. He glares at me, and a warning shoots out. What does he want from me? There is nothing I can do. He hates me for staring at her and he hates me for trying not to stare.
Excerpt from Apart From Love
Get ★★★★★ APART FROM LOVE
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-a
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♥ Ebook ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-e
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Read the remaining materials posted under "Ideas and Story Plots" in Web Links. Then, follow the link below to read three short openings to three different stories by Uvi Poznansky. After you have done all your readings, return here and do the following three things:
From each of the three excerpts by Uvi Poznansky. quote *brief* phrases or specific sentences that show the desire/yearning/longing of the main character. Explain *how* those sentences/phrases set plot into motion.
Respond to at least one other student.
Come up with 2-3 questions to ask Uvi Poznansky about her writing, her books, the way she comes with plots, etc. After I grade your discussions, I'll choose the most popular and/or the most interesting questions and ask Uvi to answer them on my website.
Student responses:
"There is a vibrant longing..." When one gets a physical feeling it usually produces movement or shut down, but Poznansky used the word vibrant, and I imagine a shift in the character.
" Finally decided to walk through the door..." This character is ready to face the unknown, her fears by walking through the door.
"Something has been taken from me." That feeling or situation would evoke action in most people - to get it back,retribution, etc.
“He has lived, or rather, has confined himself within these walls for decades, for a reason unknown.” This sentence sets the plot into motion because it really opens up the readers mind to picture what the character has developed his life to, or actually decreased is life to. In just one sentence it says that he has “confined himself” and that in itself means that there are barriers that have been put up for whatever reason and that maybe the character is going to be facing some serious challenges.
“Her longing for him.” When I read this short line it immediately made me think of a desperate girl waiting for what she thinks is her night and shining armor. This plot could be set up as a girl is waiting for a guy that maybe doesn’t even know that she exists to just give her a chance and see that she is just right for him.
“My name? Identity? Who am I, then?” I think that this is a common couple of questions that not just characters, but people run into as well. This plot could be that the character is being tested on something and the outcome makes him question who he is and what he stands for.
From Home by Uvi Poznansky: " There is a vibrant longing in him for the adventures of his early days." I believe this is the most important part of the paragraph because it not only gives you some insight on his current situation of his life but also the focal point of his story. The things he did while he was young is what what drove hime to be reclusive yet he wants to relive those days.
From Twisted by Uvi Poznansky: "Her longing for him." Although the shortest sentence in the paragraph I think it is the most important because early in the text it describes all of her journal entries falling out and fluttering everywhere and every single one of them deals with some unknown male. The importance lying in the fact that every thing mentioned so far by this protaganist is directly connected with him.
From Twisted Uvi Poznansky: "Lying still in a corner of the cave, I try my best not to rattle, not to betray my fear. I figure, as long as they think me unconscious, I am safe." I think this is important because it gives you some detail about the current predicament the protaginist is in. It lets you know that she is afraid to even move or speak, something at least to me seems like important information.
From Home by Uvi Poznansky "He has lived, or rather, has confined himself within these walls for decades, for a reason unknown." I believe that this sentence sets the plot because it makes the reader question who the character is. I would want to know what his personality is and how his social life is. Based on this sentence I would think that he is a very independent, quiet person. Although, I would have to keep reading to find out.
From Twisted by Uvi Poznansky "She closed the book, placed it on the table, and finally decided to walk through the door." I believe that this sentence sets the plot because it allows the reader to believe that the character may be on her way to a new adventure. Based on this sentence, I would believe that the character is a spontaneous girl and wants to live her life.
From Twisted by Uvi Poznansky "At this moment I find myself overwhelmed, turned inside out by a sense of suspicion." I believe that this sentence sets the plot as well because some readers may relate to the position that the character is in right now. Everyone has had that feeling of being overwhelmed depending on the situation depends on how overwhelmed you are.
“In this stagnant place all sounds are muffled, all images erased—but for one thing: his youth. There is a vibrant longing in him for the adventures of his early days.” These two sentences show that the main character, an older man, is yearning for the “adventures of his early days.” Poznansky sets the plot into motion by introducing what the main character wants right away. Her main character has confined himself in a room for decades, with only his thoughts of his youth to keep him company. Deep down, he wishes he could relive, or live adventures similar to the ones he had when he was a younger man. To me, this says that the plot may be flashbacks or one long flashback about this old man’s adventurous past.
”…releasing letter after letter into the air, filling its darkness with white feathery pages, rustling, whispering what she had written such a long time ago, what had been clamped—until now—between the front and back covers, as if it were a flower meant for drying. Her longing for him.” Poznansky’s main character in these sentences has loved a man in the past. We know this (if my assumptions are correct) because of the description of her diary (the gold-lettered word, love, on the spine) and because of the sentence, “Her longing for him.” In the sentences above, the main character is imagining what would happen if she dropped her diary down an empty elevator shaft. It would open, and what she had written so long ago would be released. Not just the physical pages and words, but her feelings as well. She had closed them off when she shut her diary, but she had not completely gotten rid of her feelings. She had preserved them, as a flower is preserved when it is dried. Maybe she knows that if she opens the diary, her longing for this man will return.
“I figure, as long as they think me unconscious, I am safe. I have jolted awake because of the voices, only to discover they are incoherent and muffled. In between the gusts of wind, I can hear them hissing. Each phrase plays out in some verbose foreign music, which I cannot decipher for the life of me…Something has been taken away from me…Who am I, then?” This main character has many desires: to be safe, to know who “the voices” are and what they are saying, to know what has been taken away from him/her, and to know who he/she is. This sets up the plot by providing questions to be answered, and putting the reader in the middle of the action/story.
Questions from the students:
What inspires you to write? Where do you get your creative ideas from?
What do you like to read?
When did you realize you wanted to become a writer?
How do you come up with your opening lines?
What comes first to you, the character or the setting?
What point of view do you prefer to write your stories in and why?
How and when do you decide when your writings are complete?
How do you market your stories?
I will answer these wonderful questions in my next post!
Mod
Les Bush Poet: http://tinyurl.com/favorite-son-audio
Terri Pletcher: http://tinyurl.com/twisted-fantasy-audio
Pamela Sims: http://tinyurl.com/home-poetry-audio
Dennis W. Headrick: http://tinyurl.com/apart-from-love-audio
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Having discussed my work in class, they came up with great observations, and posed these questions to me. You can see for yourself that their questions are truly thought-provoking. Their interest in the creative process tells you a lot about them!
Check out the interview:
A Chat with Uvi Poznansky
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"I have long been fascinated with the story of Jacob and Esav. To me, it captures several layers of emotions which we all go through in our families: a rivalry between brothers, the way a mother’s love, unevenly divided, can spur them to action, to crime, even; and how in time, even in the absence of regret, a punishment eventually ripens.
The story had been brewing in me for several years before I put pen to paper. Being an artist, I had expressed it through sculpture long before I wrote the words. So here you can see Yankle and his mother Becky, plotting to cheat the father. Out of a sense of shame, they are unable to look each other in the eye..."
Check it out, here:
The inspiration for "A Favorite Son"
Going home for the holidays? Bring a gift...
Get ★★★★★ #biblical A FAVORITE SON
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/fvort-a
♥ Print ♥ http://tinyurl.com/fvort-p
♥ Ebook ♥ http://tinyurl.com/fvort-e
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An autographed book is a collector’s item. The ink of my pen on the title page is a touch, a symbolic handshake between you and me. And the highly praised cover is the way to hold my art in your hands.
To get my books, autographed, click here:
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“I want you to look at me,” she says, thrusting her chest out in front of her. “You haven’t been here for two weeks, since the wedding. And now that you’re here, you ain’t really here. Am I even wanted here? I’m a woman. I need to feel desired, and I need to be held by a man.”
At this point I feel obliged to peep in, for the third time, “I am not a boy.”
And she wipes her brow. “My God,” says Anita, as she turns away from my father. “I’m so hot. Don’t you wait too long.” And with a harsh motion, she flings the knife on the cutting board, right there between us.
It gives a sharp sound, which startles my father. His mouth is mirrored in the surface of the blade, and suddenly it becomes clear to me that the oven is not the only one fuming—so is he.
He raises his eye to her, and jealousy escapes. He glares at me, and a warning shoots out. What does he want from me? There is nothing I can do. He hates me for staring at her and he hates me for trying not to stare.
Ben in Apart From Love
Going home for Thanksgiving? Give a book!
★★★★★ Apart From Love
"A feast for the armchair psychologist.
Reveals insights that can touch and frighten each of us"
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
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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
Listen to this poem in its entirety, here.
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“Becky my dear,” he says, with a note of disdain. “What I know is this: Anyone else in my position would have at his disposal at least two or three legally registered wives, not to mention a respectably large harem, full of concubines—”
Being a practical woman, she decides to ignore that. “Fine, then,” she says. “So now, dear: How about giving me some means of transportation? The rich women, I hear, those in the cities along the coast, in Ashdod and also in Ashkelon, they have started to buy new automobiles. And I, I live here in the desert but still, Isaac, I come from nobility, you know, from one of the richest families in the land.”
“What kind of transportation?”
“A camel, for instance,” she says. “Two humps, or more, as well as a driver or two, or more; and four leather saddles, the soft kind, of course. It would be but a small token, a token of prestige—”
“For goodness sake,” he groans. “It’s a camel you’re talking about—not a Rolls Royce!”
“I see,” she says. “You don’t love me anymore.”
For the first time in the conversation, his voice softens. “Don’t cry, Becky,” he pleads. “I love you. I will always love you—”
I imagine she must be smiling through the tears. “In that case,” she says, “I will always take such good care of you.”
Rebecca and Isaac, in A Favorite Son
★★★★★
Gift for the holidays: treat yourself to it!
"I can't praise the writing enough; the author has an incredible voice"
A Favorite Son
Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Mod
No longer am I inflicted with sensing shadows. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. All my sorrows are about to melt away. In this inferno, nothing will be left behind me but an empty shell. I fly into the brilliance. I am ablaze. I am in bliss. For where I am going I shall be reborn.
The voice of a clay model for bronze casting, in Twisted
Babysitting the bird for Thanksgiving? Why not treat yourself to a gift:
★★★★★
"You don't actually be twisted to enjoy these stories, but it helps a lot..."
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
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★★★★★ Got this for my 88 yr old home bound mothers Kindel., November 24, 2013 Got this for my 88 yr old home bound mothers Kindel., November 24, 2013
By Mary Watkins
Amazon Verified Purchase
Bought this book for my 88 year old mother who is home bound. Downloaded it to her Kindle. She loves reading and loves history, mystery, Sy-Fy, love stories (Amish type, not porn type!). She loves these books
Mod
Book Reviews ~ Apart From Love
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from me to you!
Stop babysitting big bird, and get a little something for yourself this holiday:
A Favorite Son
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Home
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Apart From Love
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Twisted
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
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Twisted by Uvi Poznansky
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Only $0.99
Get it quick, get it now
Enjoy the read, and I will vow:
Here's a story with a twist
And no regrets for what you could've missed!
★ Twisted ★ Apart From Love ★ A F avorite Son ★
Mod
Would you listen to Twisted again? Why?
Yes. It was thought provoking and at times achingly beautiful.
What other book might you compare Twisted to and why?
Perhaps to some of HP Lovecraft's light works, or Washington Irving's folk tales. Poznansky's works feature some little twist that turns the tale just slightly sideways, giving the reader a new way of looking at it. Lovecraft and Irving also do the same in many of their works.
Have you listened to any of Heather Jane Hogan’s other performances before? How does this one compare?
This was my first time enjoying Heather Hogan's narration.
If you were to make a film of this book, what would the tag line be?
Uvi Poznansky takes the reader through the odd, the dark, the twisted with intelligence and artful form.
Any additional comments?
I am hard put to say which was my favorite. I Am What I Am drew me in right away with the mystery of who this dead woman was. Not being familiar with Christian tales, I nevertheless enjoyed the rock and hard place Job’s wife found herself between. She did a lot of sighing, but if I were her, I would probably do so too….or cuss. I, Woman was sensual and full of creativity, just as I imagine sculpting with clay would be. Even though this was short, the main character grew over the space of the tale, at first thinking little of her clay companion, then coming to appreciate any communication with him, and finally, afraid of what lay before her, missing his constant presence. Perhaps this was my favorite. The Hollow went by a little too quickly for me, leaving a rather ghostly impression on me. Perhaps it was meant to do so as the woman was in free fall. The book ended with an unlooked for surprise in the last story, The One Who Never Leaves. It is all told from a cat’s perspective, tamed, trapped in domesticity. Being the servant to several cats, I completely connected with this story, recognizing that predatory glint in my cat’s eyes, as captured by the disgruntled feline of this story. In short, this is an excellent collection of short tales. Each was unique, standing on it’s own merits. I also loved that each was told through female eyes, allowing one more layer of connection. The Narration: Heather Jane Hogan provided clear, distinct voices, and even went extra lengths to give Satan in the first tale an unearthly tone. My only minor criticism was that the pacing was slow; however this may have been by request of the author.
♥ Audio ♥
♥ Ebook ♥
♥ Print ♥
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"Elegant and Elegiac"
If you could sum up Home in three words, what would they be?
Elegant and Elegiac
What other book might you compare Home to and why?
No comparison.
Have you listened to any of Kathy Bell Denton’s other performances before? How does this one compare?
I've not heard Kathy Bell Denton's other performances.
If you were to make a film of this book, what would the tag line be?
Elegant and Elegiac
Any additional comments?
In a day and age when much of the music in poetry has died, you can now hear the voices of father and daughter singing their harmonious duet in Home. Uvi Poznansky takes you with her through that tunnel of memory into her father’s lost world, into his river of poetic dreams, a narrative that flows with the voice of longing, lament, and loneliness, on to the day his immortal soul stands by his grave in “I Plucked a Wildflower.” Transcending all past yearning, Zeev Kachel sings no funeral dirge for himself, but a magical song of release
Get ★★★★★ HOME:
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Home-audible
♥ Print ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Home-print
♥ Ebook ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Home-ebook
Mod
Overall ★★★★★
Performance ★★★★★
Story ★★★★★
"The characters truly come to life"
If you could sum up Apart from Love in three words, what would they be?
Full of Surprises
What did you like best about this story?
I had already read Apart From Love before listening to the audio version and I had previously found myself amazed by the author's brilliant story telling when I read it. With the audio book, it may have seemed clearer that they were recording themselves but it is hard to say since I had read the book already. Anita and Ben jumped out at you with their quirky personalities shining through their voices.
What about David Kudler and Heather Jane Hogan ’s performance did you like?
The show of emotion was wonderful for both Kudler and Hogan.
Who was the most memorable character of Apart from Love and why?
Ben and Anita are the most memorable characters in this complex story.
Get ★★★★★ APART FROM LOVE
♥ Audio ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-a
♥ Print ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-p
♥ Ebook ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-e
Mod
Winter comes with snowball fights
Time to find a quiet place
Hold my books in your embrace
It's warm now, take off your glove
Stay Home and read Apart From Love
Get it for you and for your friend
A holiday gift, to give, to send
My books are here, no need to wait,
Night will come, it will be great.
My oil painting, titled Paperband
A Favorite Son
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Home
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Apart From Love
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Twisted
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Mod
A perfect copy of the land of Uz.
If I squint hard, aiming my gaze faraway to the foot of that volcano, I think I can spot the familiar outlines of houses. They belong to the rich among us. Between them I look for an interval. There must lie the village square. And I know, without really seeing it, that falling to pieces on the other side—where the poor folk live—is our shack. The place where we lived, Job and I, in such misery during the last year.
Imagining it, even for a second, frays my nerves.
Job's Wife in Twisted
Looking for something special for your stocking?
★★★★★
"In her potent style, Uvi Poznansky weaves mythology with modernity"
Get Twisted
★ Audiobook ★ Ebook ★ Print ★
Mod
I have long been fascinated with the story of Jacob and Esav. To me, it captures several layers of emotions which we all go through in our families: a rivalry between brothers, the way a mother’s love, unevenly divided, can spur them to action, to crime, even; and how in time, even in the absence of regret, a punishment eventually ripens...
To read the interview in full click here:
Interview with Uvi Poznansky
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The forest rustling in the rain
Leaves were swirling all around
I heard soft footsteps up the lane
To read more, and see my animation, click the link
Now I Am Paper
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Take off your coat and come inside
No more trembling, no more chill
Here is my paper and my quill
This is the time for story telling
Kisses, hugs, and lavish giving.
Let there be joy, love, delight,
Warmth and sparkling light!
Bring the gift of books to your loved ones
Better yet, get them for yourself
★ A Favorite Son ★ Apart From Love ★ Twisted ★ Home ★
Mod
Here is the story of David as you have never heard it before: from the king himself, telling the unofficial version, the one he never allowed his court scribes to recount. In his mind, history is written to praise the victorious—but at the last stretch of his illustrious life, he feels an irresistible urge to tell the truth. In the first volume, Rise to Power, David gives you a fascinating account of his early years, culminating with a tribal coronation. Rooted in ancient lore, his is a surprisingly modern memoir.
In an era of cruelty, when destroying the enemy is deemed a sacred directive, the slayer of Goliath finds a way to become larger than life. His search for a path to power leads him in ways that are, at times, scandalous. Notorious for his contradictions, David is seen by others as a gifted court entertainer, a successful captain in Saul’s army, a cunning fugitive, a traitor leading a gang of felons, and a ruthless raider of neighboring towns who leaves no witnesses behind.
How does he see himself, during this first phase of his life? With his hands stained with blood, can he find an inner balance between conflicting drives: his ambition for the crown, his determination to survive the conflict with Saul, and his longing for purity, for a touch of the divine, as expressed so lyrically in his psalms and music?
Rise to Power
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★★★★ Nice, December 8, 2013
By read-along-with-Sue - See all my reviews
I was gifted this book by the author in exchange for my honest review.
At first I found the start hard going. It certainly isn't one of those books you can pick up and immediantly get into.
That doesn't mean it didn't take my interest, it did. That is why I carried on with it.
As the story unfolded there was a lovely love affair going well on.
I think the one thing I take from this book is that dreaded disease Alzheimer's. My husbands Father is afflicted with this and I could relate to lots in this book on so many levels.
The blurb doesn't do the book justice, its a superbly written piece of art.
Would I recommend it? Oh yes.
Mod
The old year passes, time is swift
Now it's time to give a gift
Tis the season to be jolly
Curl in bed and no more folly
I have a story that must be told
With me in bed you won't be cold:
♥ Home ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Home-ebook
♥ Twisted ♥ http://tinyurl.com/Twisted-ebook
♥ Rise to Power ♥ http://tinyurl.com/risepower-e
♥ A Favorite Son ♥ http://tinyurl.com/fvort-e
♥ Apart From Love ♥ http://tinyurl.com/aprtl-e
The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky
Books mentioned in this topic
Marriage before Death (other topics)Inspired by Art: The Edge of Revolt (other topics)
Inspired by Art: The Edge of Revolt (other topics)
Inspired by Art: Fighting Goliath (other topics)
Inspired by Art: Fall of a Giant (other topics)
More...
★★★★★ Truly wonderful!, September 13, 2013
By Bill Nelson - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase
I didn't need to read the author's bio to know she was a poet. The writing is lyrical, eloquent and yes, poetic. And, I could have guessed Poznansky is also an artist, as each scene is painted with lovely sentences and paragraphs that seem to be created out of a vision delivered by a muse. Apart From Love, by Uvi Poznansky is an emotional story told with care. It deals with love and secrets (and all that they entail) and finally, a quest for understanding. We hear this story from Ben, "Here is my latest revelation: I have been in hiding for so long that at this point, by some strange twist, my mind starts rebelling against me. I know it, because - in spite of my efforts to disguise myself, to alter my looks and behavior - I find myself wishing to be found out." And from Anita, "I open the bedroom window, and feel warm spring air coming in, blowing gently into my face, which feels like a promise." But I might have enjoyed the cleverly named Mr. Bliss the most. Apart From Love is a beautiful thing to read. Highly recommended.