I took giant steps to keep up with his military pace.  His warm hand engulfed mine.  When he smiled the skin around his eyes crinkled and his laughter was a wonderful thing to hear.  His scent was cigarettes and Old Spice.

     He enjoyed practical jokes, had a great sense of humor, and loved his family with a fierce devotion.  He could tell a story better than anyone I knew.  His voice could fill a room.  He was down to earth, honest, and never forgot where he came from. 

     Fourteen years he’s gone and I can still hear his voice, remember his scent, his warmth, and his love. 

     I miss him every day.

LOVE LUST DECEIT ELECTRICITY
Short Fiction

A Sizzling Love Story

by

VIKRAM KARVE

There is a saying: “ If you decide to murder your husband you must never act in concert with your lover ”.

That’s why I did not tell Raj.

Or involve him in any way.

Not even the smallest hint.

I made my plans alone and with perfect care.

An “accident” so coolly and meticulously designed.

Precisely at 12:50 in the afternoon, the ghastly accident would occur.

And then my phone would ring – to convey the “bad” news.

And suddenly I would be a widow.

Free.

Liberated from shackles.

Released from bondage.

Then all I had to do was to keep cool, maintain a solemn façade, and patiently wait for Raj to return after completing his project in Singapore.
Then after the customary condolence period was over, Raj would propose to marry me – an act of chivalry, of sympathy, or even “self-sacrifice”.

First I would demur, then “reluctantly” succumb to the pressure from my friends and relatives, and accept – just for my children’s sake.

There would be nods of approval all around.

And soon Raj and I would be Husband and Wife.

The phone rang.

I panicked.

There is no fear like the fear of being found out.

I looked at the wall-clock. It was only 10.30 am.

Had something gone wrong?

I felt a tremor of trepidation.

The phone kept on ringing – it just wouldn’t stop ringing.

I picked up the receiver, and held it to my ears with bated breath.

The moment I heard Anjali’s voice I felt relieved.

“Why didn’t you come to the health club?” Anjali asked.

I’m not well,” I lied.

“Anything serious? Should I come over?” she asked.

“No!” I tried to control the anxiety in my voice. “It’s a just a slight headache. I’ll take a tablet and sleep it off,” I said cautiously.

“I hope Manish and you are coming over in the evening,” Anjali asked.

“Of course,” I said and put down the phone.

I smiled to myself.

That was one party Manish was going to miss. Probably they would cancel it and would be right here offering their condolences and sympathy.

I would have to be careful indeed.

And to hell with the health club and the painful weight loss program. I didn’t need it any more.

Raj accepts me as I am – nice and plump and on the “healthier” side, as he calls me lovingly.

Not like Manish who is always finding fault with me.

I know I can always depend on Raj.

He really loves me from the bottom of his heart.

I looked at my husband Manish’s framed photograph on the mantelpiece.

Soon it would be garlanded.

My marriage to Manish had been a miserable mistake, but soon it would be over and I would be free to live the life I always wanted.

I wish I didn’t have to kill Manish, but there was no way out – Manish would never give me a divorce, and if he came to know about me and Raj, he would destroy both of us, ruin our lives; for he was a rich and powerful man.

Also, I prefer to be a pitied widow rather than a stigmatized divorcee.

The plan was simple.

I had programmed a Robot to do the job.

The huge giant welding robot in Manish’s factory.

At exactly 12:45, when the lunch-break started, Manish would enter his pen drive into the robot control computer to carry out a maintenance troubleshooting check.

And then he would start inspecting various parts of the robot – the manipulator, end effectors and grippers – to cross-check their programmed movements.

It was a routine exercise, and I knew Manish had become quite complacent as the robot had never developed any faults so far.

But today it would be different.

Because I had surreptitiously reprogrammed the software last night.

This is what was going to happen.

At precisely 12:50 all safety interlocks would be bypassed, and suddenly the robot would activate and the welding electrode would arc 600 Amperes of electric current into Manish’s brain.

It would be a ghastly sight – his brain welded out and his body handing like a pendulum, lifeless. Death would be instantaneous.

Manish had been a fool to tell me everything and dig his own grave. A real dope – he deserved it!

It was a foolproof plan and no one would suspect since the program would erase itself immediately. I had ensured that. It would be an accident, an unfortunate accident.

Condolences, compensation, insurance – soon I would be a rich widow, with one and all showering me with sympathy and compassion.

And then I would wait for Raj to come back from Singapore.

And then, after a few days I knew he would propose to me, and I would ‘reluctantly’ accept and we would live happily ever after.

I looked at the wall clock. It was almost 11 O’clock.

Suddenly I began to have second thoughts. Maybe I should give Manish a last chance.

All I had to do was pick up the phone and ask Manish to rush home.

Feign a sudden illness or something.

But no! I tried to steel my nerves. I had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no going back. The tension of waiting was unbearable, but I must not lose my head.

I tried to divert my thoughts to Raj.

The first time I suspected that Raj loved me was when he didn’t attend my wedding. Then he disappeared abroad for higher studies and I almost forgot him. And one fine day, after almost fifteen years, Raj suddenly reappeared to take up a job in my husband’s factory.

And when I learnt that Raj had still not married I realized how deeply in love with me he was.

At that point of time I was so disillusioned with my marriage that my daily life was rather like sitting in a cinema and watching a film in which I was not interested.

Raj and I began spending more and more time together, and somewhere down the line emotions got entangled and physical intimacy followed.

Did Manish suspect?

I do not know.

Was that the reason he had sent Raj to Singapore?

I don’t think so.

We had kept our affair absolutely clandestine.

I looked again at the clock.

11.45 am.

One hour to go.

I began to have a feeling of dread and uneasiness, a sort of restlessness and apprehension – a queer sensation, a nameless type of fear.

So I poured myself a stiff drink of gin.

As I sipped the alcohol, my nerves calmed down.

Today was the last time I was going to have a drink, I promised myself.

Once I married Raj I would never drink – there would be no need to.

In my mind’s eye I could almost visualize my husband Manish sitting in the vacant chair opposite getting steadily drunk every evening.

Manish was an odd creature with effeminate mannerisms that became more pronounced when he was drunk.

He was always picking at an absurd little moustache, as though amazed at himself for having produced anything so virile.

How I hated the mere sight of him.

The very thought of my husband made me gulp down my drink.

I poured myself one more drink and gulped it quickly to steady my nerves. Then I had one more drink; and one more, when my cell-phone rang.

I shook out of my stupor and picked up my mobile phone. It was an unknown number. I rejected the call.

The cell phone rang again; same number. I looked at the number. 65….. – it was from Singapore.

Was it Raj? From Singapore? My heart skipped a beat. I answered urgently.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi Urvashi, how are you?” it was Raj’s voice.

“Where are you speaking from? Is this your new number?” I asked.

“No. This is Rajashree’s cell-phone,” Raj said.

“Rajashree?”

“Yes, Rajashree, she wants to talk to you,” Raj said.

“Hi Urvashi,” a female voice said, “Raj has told me so much about you.”

It was strange.

Who was this Rajashree?

I knew nothing about her!

So I said, “But Raj has told me nothing about you!”

“I know,” Rajashree said, “it all happened so suddenly. Even I can’t believe it could happen so fast – Love at first sight, whirlwind romance, swift wedding.”

“Wedding?” I stammered, shocked beyond belief.

“Yes. We, Raj and I, got married yesterday and we are on our way to our honeymoon, on a cruise liner.”

“You bitch! Give the phone to Raj,” I shouted, losing control, the ground slipping beneath me.

“Hey, chill out. What’s wrong with you?” Rajashree said calmly, paused for a moment, and spoke, “Raj has gone to the embarkation booth. Hey, he’s waving to me. I’ve got to go now. Bye. We’ll see you when we come there.” And suddenly she disconnected.

I stared at my cell-phone, never so frightened, never so alone.

I felt as if I had been pole-axed.

I looked at the wall-clock.

12.55.

Oh, My God!

The deadline of 12.50 had gone.

It was too late.

My blood froze.

The telephone rang.

I picked it up, my hands trembling.

“There’s been an accident, madam,” said the voice. It was the company doctor. “We are rushing Manish Sahib to the hospital. I am sending someone to pick you up.”

“Hospital? Tell me the truth,” I shouted hysterically into the phone, “Tell me, is he dead?”
“No. He’ll survive.”

Manish did survive.

I wish he hadn’t.

For his sake. And for mine.

For till this day he is still in coma.

And I know I will have to live with a ‘vegetable’ husband all my life.

It was a small miscalculation.

600 Amperes wasn’t enough.

But then the Robot is a machine.

My real miscalculation was about Raj.

LOVE LUST DECEIT ELECTRICITY

Short Fiction

A Sizzling Love Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

Devoted Reader!

Hello and I want to thank you again for stopping by on your visit to the information super-highway!  I want to thank each of you for your support!  This post is going to be a lot of fun! First of all, I want each of you to know that Ledge is coming along very nicely. However, in honor of the holiday weekend, I have prepared a special story that I will post right here for your enjoyment! I hoped to have it posted by Thanksgiving, but better late than never, right Devoted Reader!

The story is called Road Trip (A Holiday Tale) and if you enjoy it, I encourage you to check out similar pieces of this type of writing at my Redbubble Homepage.  Simply click the link on the “Redbubble Writings” page and enjoy these little twisted tales.

Again, Devoted Reader,

I apologize for the late posting, but it is my hope that you enjoy this Thanksgiving Tale over the best leftovers and I wish you all a fulfilling feast!

Enjoy and Best of Everything-

John Braxton Sparks

ROAD TRIP

(A HOLIDAY TALE)

She felt like they had been driving for hours. Had it not been but for the hum of the engine, underneath the heat of the rusted hood, Sarah could have believed the world had ended while she was asleep. 

The old Buick was nothing if not faithful. Even though the paint had begun to peel.  Spots of rust decorated the automobile from hood to fender, like liver spots on wrinkled skin. Sarah knew the vehicle was just as predictable as the winding roads on which she drove.

On this November Afternoon, splashing dead leaves in a dark cloud of Exhaust, Sarah wasn’t worried about fixing turkeys or catching early-bird Christmas specials. Sarah was only interested in driving.

Sarah looked over at Dwayne. The blue of his eyes were hidden underneath the blinds of his closed eyelids. For the first time this morning, he’d been completely quiet. But today, the antichrist slept peacefully.

She looked into the rearview mirror. Her left eye still surrounded in the plum color of a fresh bruise.

He hit her hard.

She didn’t even see it coming.

She accidently knocked over a cup of coffee, splashing it in his lap while he read the morning paper. The scream had been as sharp as a knife in the stomach, and it bounced off the walls like the springs of a mattress underneath the weight of a working hooker.

The antichrist hit her hard. The punch was a home-run into her face.

She saw stars as bright as light through punched-tin before she felt the spray of blood drip and flow from her nostrils.

The second punch busted her lip and sent a splash of spit and fresh blood sailing through the morning air like the fall of an evening sunset.

The third punch turned her eye to the bright color of the ripening fruit.

Her laughter echoed in the cab as the tire jutted across a series of small potholes.

“You just never knew when to stop did you, Dwanye? Never knew what was good for you! You never saw what was in front of your face until it bloodied your nose, did you! Fuckin’ Creep!”

The world was as silent as a church on Friday night when Sarah parked the car.

The hole was big and deep. When she looked into the ground, she could see the earthworms and beetles crawl beneath the sheets of fallen earth.

The branches of the willow tree whispered soft secrets in the brush of the autumn winds.

Sarah hadn’t noticed how deep she had cut Dwayne until now. The wound bled openly under her touch, sending small rivers of blood underneath the weight of her fingertips.

When Sarah had finished burying her son, she prayed for God’s mercy.

She prayed for God’s forgiveness.

Mostly, she just bowed her head in Thanks.

The Thanksgiving air promised an early winter with a cooling kiss.

Sarah hummed an old hymnal while the Buick’s engine came to life under the screams of tightened belts.

She had to hurry.

She couldn’t remember if she had turned the oven off after basting the turkey she had prepared for dinner.

She accelerated down the winding county road.

 (c)2009 by John Braxton Sparks

Devoted Reader!

Hello and I want to thank you again for stopping by on your visit to the information super-highway!  I want to thank each of you for your support!  This post is going to be a lot of fun! First of all, I want each of you to know that Ledge is coming along very nicely. However, in honor of the holiday weekend, I have prepared a special story that I will post right here for your enjoyment! I hoped to have it posted by Thanksgiving, but better late than never, right Devoted Reader!

The story is called Road Trip (A Holiday Tale) and if you enjoy it, I encourage you to check out similar pieces of this type of writing at my Redbubble Homepage.  Simply click the link on the “Redbubble Writings” page and enjoy these little twisted tales.

Again, Devoted Reader,

I apologize for the late posting, but it is my hope that you enjoy this Thanksgiving Tale over the best leftovers and I wish you all a fulfilling feast!

Enjoy and Best of Everything-

John Braxton Sparks

This is supposedly a blog about “living creatively”, but it’s mostly been about surviving pregnancy and the early days of motherhood. Now that Little Man is five months old, we’re getting a bit more sleep and I’m creeping back into the creative swing of things with a couple of mural gigs (which I’ll post about later).  I feel like I’m coming back to life, but it’s a strange new one where time and space for myself are extremely limited. I had a hard time balancing my desire to create with marriage, a social life, and work that pays the bills before I had a baby, but now it seems like a nearly impossible challenge to carve out some “me time”. One the one hand, I want to be there for my son as much as possible. I don’t want to miss a thing and I want him to know I’m there for him. On the other hand, I hope to teach him that the best thing he can do in this life is find what he loves and pursue it with passion, and what kind of example will I be if I’m too busy/tired/afraid to pursue my own dreams?

The majority of famous women artists and writers I can think of (which are, sadly, not many to begin with), did not have children. It seems they had to make a choice between their career and kids, and career won out. I could go on and on about sexism in the arts and how men don’t have to make that choice and blah blah blah, but it’s been done (the Guerrilla Girls do a good job of it) and I’m not out to get famous in the art world anyway. All I want is a fulfilling creative life and a healthy loving relationship with my family. Can it be done? Are they mutually exclusive?

I’ll be thinking and writing more about this topic in coming posts. I’d love to hear more about how you do it if you are an artist and a mama.

In the meantime, here are beautiful excerpts from an essay on this issue which gives me hope. It’s called “The Divided Heart” and is by Ruth Whitman, a poet and professor (one I had never heard of before reading her essay in a collection of women’s art and writing called In Her Own Image: Women Working in the Arts).

“Writing for me was and is an assertion of my identity. I never feel so much myself, with a great sense of relief and release, as when I stop somewhere in the midst of my daily chaos with pencil and paper.”

[On becoming a mother] “I was afraid to lose my independence, my person-ness. But the whole experience of pregnancy, which I found marvelously mind-expanding as well as body-expanding, followed by the experience of viewing this beautiful piece of life for which I was responsible, gave me a passion for motherhood.”

“Perfection of life or perfection of work? Which would you rather strive for? My answer had to be – both. I began to see that life was not static. It changed continually. And one could guide the change: children could be educated to see the equality of needs and responsibilities; I could become less rigid in my view of my needs…”

“I don’t mean to imply for a moment that there were not tremendous pain and division in my heart. I didn’t want to miss companionship with my children…on the other hand, I felt resentful at having to delay my own creative development…my third child was born before my first book came out. But by that time I was beginning to understand that my libido was strong enough to make both books and babies and that in fact one strengthened the other. Both together were the real total of my life. Spiritually, so long as I insisted on my right to a private life, there was no real division. The division was in the distribution of time.”

“More and more I see the parental function – not authoritative, but educative – as the responsibility of every human being who has found out anything by living. If civilization means anything, it lies in becoming part of the great chain of learning from those who have gone before us, and of teaching those who come after us.”

“A private creative person lives inside each of us. It is one’s basic identity, with all the symbols, images, and language that each of us has stored up since childhood. It is in these universal terms that the poet and parent begin to come together, that the conflict begins to subside and the divided heart becomes whole.”

book by Jorges Luis Borges

annotation by Tina Rubin

With the earlier stories in this collection (Part I: The Garden of Forking Paths), Borges not only “explodes all previous notions of genre,” as critics have said, he also exploded my own naiveté about the impact magical realism can have when done well. Borges’ references to ancient literature, his explorations on the nature of reality, and his hints at chaos theory literally elated me. I had long boxed these subjects into the nonfiction category (philosophy, religion, history), not realizing that they could be incorporated into fiction. A few years ago I began a nonfiction novel based on translations of ancient texts, on the order of his “Circular Ruins” story in which thought form becomes reality which, in effect, turns out to be thought form. The few people who read my early chapters labeled it science fiction, and I promptly put it away. I hadn’t yet discovered magical realism. Reading Borges, however, gave me insight about writing in this genre and the courage to pick up my previous work.

Borges’ well-crafted stories, many written with tongue-in-cheek humor, are excellent examples of how to amuse while expanding a reader’s mind. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the first story, “Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius,” contains this sentence: “Then Bioy Casares recalled that one of the heresiarchs of Uqbar had stated that mirrors and copulation are abominable, since they both multiply the numbers of man.” If you’re going to write about possibility, probability, and a chaotic universe, it’s probably a good idea to be funny while you’re at it.

Borges weaves his philosophy, which questions our perception of reality (including books), through his stories. Our perception of reality is one of my favorite topics, and one I’ve incorporated into my current novel, so I read with great interest to see how he did what he did. “The Babylon Lottery” reflects on the Godlike qualities an artificial system can take on, making the reader wonder whether our own notion of God began with such an artificial system. Borges’ reviews of imaginary books (which brought Vladimir Nabokov to mind—specifically The Real Life of Sebastian Knight, in which Nabokov’s narrator convincingly analyzes his dead half-brother’s novels) astounded me with their implications. And from the world of Uqbar, where there are no nouns, to the Library of Babel, a chaotic universe where books have no meaning, the message seems to be this: Don’t take reality for granted; there are innumerable probabilities and you can choose whichever future you like.

Although Borges carries his themes through the second half of the collection, Part I resonated more with me. The stories in Part II, however, were excellent examples of craftsmanship and narrative story, conveying an equal measure of action to theme with not quite as much intellectualism.

Ficciones is a difficult collection to annotate—with these two pages, I haven’t begun to do it justice. But as Pierre Menard, Borges’ fictional author of Don Quixote, suggests, every time we read we are, in effect, creating an entirely new text simply by viewing it through the distorting lens of history. So it is with Ficciones. I could create any number of pages here, since with each review I go off on an entirely new tangent. Such fun!

(Save it, Baby! Count me in!)

So, it goes like this . . .

So people want to know what my pumpkin goo is…

Well…

Pumpkin Goo is my interpretation of pumpkin pie without the crust. I bake it for 5 hours until the moisture is almost completely gone, and then I force my family to eat it with Cool Whip and tell them it’s actually pumpkin pie.

I think they bought it…

Can you believe that I got compliments?

I am a horrible cook.

I really don’t even know why I try sometimes, but my husband… my husband is incredible!

Super yum.

I would love for him to cook every single day, not only for the fact that he is an excellent cook but also for the fact that then I wouldn’t have to be in the kitchen.

Boooo-ring.

I can’t help it that I am not a Martha Stewart kind of girl.

Have you ever seen one of Martha Stewart’s television shows?

Like I would want to party with her.

It would be much like sleeping, but only awake… and on a bountiful table of sun-toasted greens and mixed hay on a a bed of sea salted crusties.

Snooze-ville.

So, yeah… my family is used to my own interpretations of many holidays.

I am not bound by tradition.

I draw outside the lines, baby.

Always have, always will.

It is not a mistake that my family loves my Pumpkin Goo since they have been raised on cripy black hot dogs, blue-box mac-and-cheese, and Albertson’s Monday Chicken Meal deals from the market.

Frankly, they crave my Pumpkin Goo since it is the closest thing to home-made food… once a year…   

… that is not burnt.

I’m a really great person for love, though.

Got tons of love.

Never out of love.

I am the Queen of Love.

But… cooking… how you say… not so much.

I do believe that Thanksgiving is about Food AND Love.

So… One out of two isn’t bad. A 50% success rate is not too shabby on a day that has some serious cooking in it, right?

That is the essence of Thanksgiving to me… my Pumpkin Goo, and someone else making all the rest of the great food, and lots of love.

Yeah, like ample amounts of love.

Like my mom crying when she says how much she loves us…

And, then at that vulnerable moment I throw some more Pumpkin Goo on her plate…

Just kidding.

I also sneak on some more Cool Whip.

It’s all good… including the Pumpkin Goo.

And, the love.

And, the yelling that the rolls are getting burned.

Yelling is a big part of Thanksgiving.

Loud love.

Lots of loud love.

Lots of love…

Hope your day was over flowing!

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

  A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award Winner

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK - An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
Check out S. Belle Karper’s – Beauties and Beasts – Blog! Baby! Blog!
and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle - all on Website
Save it, Baby! Count me in!

plaza-hotel-new-york-city-the palm court dining room the calamity girl

Since early this morning I’ve been using Google to find pictures of my settings that I’m using in my novel.

I’m planning to make several Squidoo websites for fun about the fictional settings in my novel – The Calamity Girl – The Promotion.

I was supposed to be writing a description for each one and got carried away.

I’m not supposed to work on the book till December but I had the urge to do it today.

I actually wanted to start proofreading the manuscript so I could work on the finished product.

Then I made a promise to myself.

First complete the rough draft with all the descriptions of the places mentioned in the book.

I’ve only given the names of the places so far; now I want to go back through the manuscript and by looking through my characters eyes, describe what she sees to the reader.

We must feel like we are standing there beside her and looking at it too.

It’s like entering an imaginary world, that takes you out of reality and puts you into a state of fantasy.

I loved the pictures of Hawaii.

It was hard trying to find what I wanted.

I searched under villa’s, thatched roofs and cottages for an hour.

Feeling pretty frustrated, I took a ten minute break then went back at it.

I finally spotted hotels and bungalows in my Google search and went to that site, found some pictures, vacation details and it fit perfectly into my story!

Now I know why people start with an outline BEFORE they start writing.

Imagine how hard it is to write about a place you have never seen in your life.

That just about sums up what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks.

I can’t just use my imagination, I need something real to grasp a hold of.

So I found a lovely place with gorgeous pictures in Hawaii.

Then I had to figure out what the name of the place was and kept using the resort name instead of where it was located.

It’s a good idea to study a map of the place you are writing about to get familiar with the area.

I was so wrapped up in the moment that I was enjoying it to the point that I felt like I was there.

Sorry that sentence is too wordy but I’m pressed for time.

Then I took Daisy (our toy poodle) out for a walk, into the cold, dreary surroundings before me and I felt a little bit depressed.

Oh to just jump on a plane and go stay somewhere nice in Hawaii!

I wish I could.

I can’t but my character can, and that’s what so great about using your imagination.

I can picture it in my mind, what I want.

Trying to find pictures of it on the internet was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

It’s over 8 hours later and I haven’t finished all of the required settings, but I’ve got the main ones completed.

I’m happy that I’ve figured out where everyone is living in the story and what types of homes they have.

I had fun while looking for pictures that were similar.

You have to really pay attention to the background surroundings.

lakeview terrace toronto city view rachel's penthouse

For instance, Rachel Tornquist lives in a fictional Penthouse Suite at Lakeview Condo’s in Toronto, so I can’t use a ground floor picture for anything!

I had to also pay attention to the type of architecture, and window designs.

I also looked at the furnishings and decor, was it the right type for me?

I felt like an interior decorator today and I loved it!

So I didn’t do any writing other than addresses, locations where I found my material on Google.

I typed up my novel notes in Microsoft One Note, man that program makes life so easy, it auto saves everything!

I’m taking an hour to work on my blogs, then I’ll probably start tackling the websites that I want to make on Squidoo.

I jotted down notes in my work notebook and if I don’t do it right away, I’ll get lost and start another project and forget about this one till a later date.

I’m trying to stay organized this time.:)

Me senté anoche a observar qué había en televisión estaba dispuesto a que si no había nada más me dispondría a seguir mi lista y hacer la entrada sobre una de las muchas pelis que tengo pendiente.

Bueno, había un par de series, otro par de pelis y Goodfellas de Scorsese. Sabía que la peli era larga y que estaba un poco cansado pero transcurridos unos diez minutos, ya estaba cautivado por la historia.

Ya había dicho de Scorsese que no es sólo como describe las vidas y costumbres de los italianos mayormente en Nueva York, el hombre es un verdadero cuentero, cada pedacito tiene algo interesante, cada chiste tiene su magia. ¿Cuántos actores son naturales en la peli? ¿Cuántos verdaderamente sabían actuar? Todos se interpretan a si mismos y muchos hoy día se encuentran encasillados en ese primer papel que hicieron para el maestro. La lista es larga y uno se pone a revisarla y casi todos los encuentra uno de nuevo actuando igualito en The Sopranos.

La peli es fascinante, lo que más me agrada y recuerdo haberlo escrito en algún lado por ahí hace quince años es que los italianos si que saben comer y cocinar. Me pasó con The Sopranos, me pasó con Anthony Bordain cuando visitó Nueva Jersey italiana y me pasó con Goodfellas en 1990. Alguna vez con un amigo de universidad grabamos la peli y anotamos cuidadosamente las recetas de Pauly y Jimmy en la cárcel, diligentemente nos acomodamos en alguna de nuestras casas con ingredientes de excelente calidad, repetimos la receta al pie de la letra, recuerdo que la única excepción fue que en vez de latas de tomate en realidad buscamos como hacer la salsa con tomates frescos, lo que nos iba a tomar tres o cuatro horas más. No importó. Rebanamos el ajo con bisturíes X-Actos y delicadamente los sofreímos en acetite de oliva medianamente caliente. Tal cómo Liotta y su personaje lo describían el ajo simplemente se deshacía en el aceite, la carne absorbía esa emulsión y al servirse con una porción de pasta, pan y vino tinto ya no eramos estudiantes de una universidad pública, eramos sicilianos encarcelados, eramos la estrellas de rock que cocinaban y comían con todos los lujos del caso.

Pero a quién engañabamos eso nos había costado semanas y semanas de almuerzos. Pero había valido la pena. Por una vez en la vida estabamos probando los manjares que Scorsese alguna vez nos había confiado.

Hoy más que revisar las cámaras de Michael Ballhaus, la excelente actuación de Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, Ray Liotta, Lorraine Bracco, más alla de comentar los títulos de Saul Bass, la edición de Schoonmaker o la música organizada por Christopher Brooks. Hoy más que nada, recomiendo en las clásicas pelis de Scorsese ponerle atención a las recetas de las comidas y tratar de rehacerlas lo más parecido posible. Usar ingredientes frescos y de buena calidad. El resultado cada vez que se repitan las escenas la sensación va a ser erótica, va a ser inigualable. Las descriptivas escenas de Scorsese y una boca cebando esos misteriosos sabores del Mediterráneo.

I’ve reached a point in my life whereby the near entirety of things that I lust after are a little too pricey to expect to have them bought for me.  It is for this reason, this year, that I have asked for something that is not extravagantly expensive, but is something that I would be unlikely to purchase myself.  See for yourselves:

Despite this, my mother described it as ‘decadent’.  I think decadence is underrated!

Some of the photographer’s images are simply breathtaking: the work of Rebekka Guðleifsdóttir can be found here.

A friend of mine bought his girlfriend a birthday present over two months ago. The present was to be a completed paint by numbers picture. Unfortunately, she has yet to receive the completed painting. Last I checked, the painting was about 25% done and the man swears his girlfriend will get the completed gift by Christmas. We’ll three months late is better than never. In all seriousness, aren’t there times in our lives when even the most straight forward projects get placed by the wayside in favor of the day-to-day tasks vying for our attention?

Along the lines of waiting for “things” – I myself have recently experienced a few delayed starts. For example, I recently bought a new computer bag which had to be immediately returned due to a malfunctioning handle. Cutting to the end of the story, I ended up saving an addition sum of money on an already discounted bag because the bag was reduced an additional 10% between the first and second purchase dates. Similarly, I finally decided to buy an external hard drive to back-up computer files, etc. but when a friend braved the “black Friday” crowds to purchase one for me, he was told they were out. Upon his return home (around 5:30am black Friday) he went on line and found one for less money and with a better warranty.

As we near the end of 2009 it’s true, some of us have not obtained all that we would have liked this year. For some (like my friend’s girlfriend) it’s a gift. For others it’s a need such as a new job to replace the one lost due to the economic downturn. Yet for others, it’s something in between a gift and a need; such as a new computer bag. So what’s to be made of all this? What can we deduce when we did all we could to paint inside the lines but despite our efforts, did not get the result we wanted? Conversely, what if we took a chance to paint outside the lines, taking a risk and trying something new, but still failed to obtain the goal?

Well, as best as I can see, good things do truly come to those that wait. Economies have life cycles to them, change has its seasons, and the race is not always won by the swift. So what’s this mean for us all? I’m going to go out on a limb and say that our good things are coming, we’ll pay less for them, and they will be what we should have when we should have them. To that end, I’m happy to announce that I’m going to extend my discounted life coaching offer through the end of 2009. While I can not predict when the economy will be in full swing again or when your new computer bag will arrive, I can safely say that by taking the time now to ensure you maximize your skills and talents, you’ll be well positioned to fill it with life’s blessings.

To learn more about this topic contact Dr Marilyn at www.DrMarilyn-EAW.com

KATHY GRIFFIN D-LISTED CONTEST

Facebook: Kathy Griffin DlistedNyc

GET d-listed!!

If you LOVE Kathy Griffin and love “Sex and the City” this one is for you! NealBinNYC (www.nealbinnyc.wordpress.com) and On Location Tours (www.screentours.com) are looking to see who the BIGGEST KATHY GRIFFIN FAN is out there! We are looking to see who can upload the MOST CREATIVE KATHY GRIFFIN FAN VIDEO.  Yes, it can be outrageous, -but it has to be FACEBOOK appropriate!

One grand prize WINNER will live life on the D-LIST!  The winner will receive TWO FREE TICKETS for the Official Sex and the City Hotspot Tour (http://www.screentours.com/tour.php/satc/) and have their video appear on a DVD we are sending to Kathy G. and her people!  The tour of Sex and the City Hotspots includes more than 40 locations from the hit TV show and movie!  See where Carrie and Co. live, shop, drink and dine.  Locations include Magnolia Bakery, Charlotte’s art gallery, and the bar owned by Aidan and Steve in the show.

To enter you must be in the New York City area and also have Facebook to be eligible.

Contest directions:

NealBinNYC (www.nealbinnyc.wordpress.com) and On Location Tours (www.screentours.com) are looking to see who the BIGGEST KATHY GRIFFIN FAN is out there!

We are looking to see who can create the MOST CREATIVE KATHY GRIFFIN FAN VIDEO.  Yes, it can be outrageous, -but it has to be FACEBOOK appropriate!

On your Facebook page, please upload any original videos (you can enter as many as you like) explaining why you’re the ultimate Kathy Griffin Fan and why she belongs back on the D-list in New York City!  Tag “Kathy Griffin DlistedNyc” in your videos.   The winner will be judged on who has the most creative video.   The judges will be staff members from On Location Tours as well as Neal B.

The contest will ends MONDAY, DECEMBER 7, 2009 at 8:00 pm EST.  The winner will be contacted that night no later than 9:00 pm via their Facebook e-mail and also the winner will be announced on the Kathy Griffin DlistedNyc  Facebook page.

D-LIST IT UP!

Guess where Pamela, Kathryn, and I were last night? Here are some hints to the answer:

Look at the pretty holiday decorations, the funny sign, this all points to… the team at McNally Robinson Booksellers!

Yesterday, Shane Peacock was invited to talk about his Boy Sherlock Holmes series at McNally Robinson Booksellers. The store has a book club for children and they had just finished reading Eye of the Crow (some were almost finished reading Death in the Air too). This was a great opportunity for the club members (and their parents) to ask Shane some questions. He brought in his laptop and we hooked it up to the projector to show his book trailers.

Shane did a dramatic reading from each of his books after showing the individual book trailers. Below, Shane reads an excerpt from Vanishing Girl:

Thank you to the book club readers and their parents for coming out to meet Shane Peacock. Thank you once again to Nicola and to the wonderful staff for making the event a success!

Note from Tundra: We hope people are happy to see pictures of themselves on Talking with Tundra, but if you would like your photo removed, please contact us at tundra@mcclelland.com. Thank you.

Our Thanksgiving was great. We hope yours was too.

We had too much to eat, as planned. We visited and the children played.

Here I am with Sal Jr as he’s checking out the bird. He did a great job!

Here’s the guest of honor. He didn’t look like that for long.

Here’s Zoey enjoying our Thanksgiving toast. (The children toasted with sparkling cider so no one was left out of the toast)

We had a wonderful day!
K

Happy Black Friday!!!!! If you are not from the U.S., it is just like Boxing Day in Canada.

For the Maze, I can’t really explain it so here’s the map.

Step 1: Go to the Ski Village

Step 2: Click the Red Button

Step3: Click the Red Button to show the Map.

The Map will look like this:

How to get the Yeti Costume:

Step1: You will need to find the end of the maze

Step 2: Go inside and it will look like this

Step 3: Walk over to the Big Bin That Says Prize

How to Get the Blue Pom Pom Toque:

Go to the Ski Hill

Click on the Big Bin That Says Free

This should come up, Click “Yes” and you now have this item.

New Sleds

Snow And Sports Catalog Cheats:

Click the Green Penguin’s Face for the Green Hockey Jersey

Click The Lime Green Penguin’s Face for the Green Goalie Gear

Click the word Ice in Ice Skating for the White Pom Poms

Recently, I discovered the fascinating author, Donald James Parker, who writes wholesome romance filled with inspiration,  and wanted to share his work with my readers.  Feel free to stop by Don’s site at  http://donaldJamesParker.com  - where readers can download his ebooks for free and where they can link to his blog and many other sites dealing with reading and writing.

More Than Dust in the Wind

Book 2 of the Masterson Family Series – The saga of Bambi continues as the young basketball player steps up to the college level. Later, the end of his scholastic days brings new changes and challenges as he enters the playing court of adult life. He discovers his enthusiasm, energy, and talent aren’t always enough to win this game. A new friend introduces him to the Evolution debate, and Bambi begins a new chapter in his life as he becomes a truth seeker. Many novels have been written about boys sports, but girls track and cross country have been mostly ignored. These sports are featured in this book through the exploits of a delightful new character named Maria, whom readers watch growing up in this story.

Kemény Zsigmond: Politikai Szemle (A keletindiai kormányzás rendszere, és a sepoy-lázadás.). In: Budapesti Szemle. Szerkeszti es Kiadja, Csengem Antal. Első Kötet, Pest 1857, pgs 445-459. Online here

It’s our heroine’s opinion that as each novel is different, dear Reader, each cries out to be told in a certain way. Point of view (POV) is an integral part of how each is told. Knowing the difference between each of the points of view available will help you recognize which is appropriate to your novel.

Sometimes, genre locks in the choice of POV, as you will read in some of the sites below. Cross-genres are more forgiving. Agents and editors sometimes are not and may well decide that a novel written in one POV would be better in another. It’s not easy to rewrite in a different POV. One of my fears is that when I am blessed by an agent who clicks with me, that agent will require me to change the POV of my novels.

Retrofitting a novel’s POV can be more difficult that writing it in the first place. If you write genre fiction, do your research. Be sure your POV is appropriate straight away. The links below will help with that.

Killer Hobbies has an article posted by Linda O. Johnston titled Lesson Four – Point of View. As you may have guessed, it’s part of a series regarding writing fiction. This article addresses the genre question specifically and gives some examples based on the author’s writing. Take a look at the series as well to see if you can garner any little nuggets of wisdom that help you on your journey.

Hubpages post How to Use First Person, Second Person or Third Person in Novel Writing is an interesting read on the subject. Take a look at this one for examples which will help you not only choose your POV but keep it fresh. It’s too easy to become repetitive and hit a rut in a POV, especially if it’s the wrong one.

The article Another Perspective on POV posted on the Wylie-Merrick Literary Agency blog is a terrific post if you’re looking for information about point of view. I love the tone of the article and the suggestion that the writer stretch and learn to write new points of view to expand talent. Please take a look at this article and bookmark it if need be so that you can come back to it on occasion. While it may not inspire you right now, I suspect there may come a time when it could.

I’ve heard various opinions regarding which POV is desired by agents. Having been told at one point that third is the only appropriate POV, I began to doubt my instinct to write my current series in first. I gave it a long, hard look and wondered if I should change it. My conclusion was that the stories were each best told from first person with a different narrator in each book.

Was I nervous for having chosen that? You bet I was. I felt better when I was told repeatedly that it’s the story itself that counts. If the novel is well written and the POV appropriate to that story, it’s golden. Isn’t that always the case? Learning more about such things as POV allows the author to choose the details of a novel wisely when beginning a project. I strongly suggest you be open to all the possibilities. Only then can you choose among the options available.

Susan Boyle inspired me to follow my dreams after watching her on Britain’s Got Talent in 2009.

The expression on Simon Cowell’s face was priceless.

simon_cowell_the calamity girl

After his initial shock, he got this funny grin on his face, when he realized Susan Boyle was a winner!

I knew she would be, because she is determined to become a winner.

It takes persistence and hard work to reach your goals and dreams.

So never give up, dream those dreams and watch them come to life!

I’ve posted it on most of my sites, but good news!

I won!!!

My entry in the NaNoWriMo Contest is in the Winner’s Circle for 2009.

Today I received a YOU WON!!! email and a certificate stating that I completed the contest to write a 50,000 word novel within 30 days.

The contest started November 1, 2009, and within a two week period I hand wrote and typed up the rough draft for The Calamity Girl – The Promotion.

I entered it on Monday November 23, 2009 and was sent the email on Thursday November 26th, telling me that I was a winner!

I woke up feeling pretty crappy today so this was welcome news.

I had worried about this manuscript entry for the past month.

It’s the first novel that I’ve written for a contest.

I have another novel but I didn’t enter it into the contest last year when I participated in NaNoWriMo in 2008.

At the time, I wasn’t aware you could register for it.

This year I found out more about the program and participated in it.

Now for the next 2 months, were supposed to complete revising the novel and then send it out to be published in the spring.

I’ve kept this book fairly easy with some travel spots in it.

As I’ve been participating in a bloggers discussion on Pro Bloggers about writing to your readers and not writing “at” them.

In short, we are supposed to have the reader participate in the novel, by stimulating the imagination and making them feel like they are there in the story with our characters.

I know how to do that but I kind of got side tracked with writing names of places that my characters were visiting but didn’t really describe what it was like to be there.

I’ll have to work on using the 5 senses to describe things in a better light.

I am looking forward to doing this chic lit because it’s a short project, compared to The Munroe Series that I’m working on.

That one is 15 books in total, and I’ve only completed book one of the series and still need a professional editor to look over my work and help me fashion it into a gem of a book.

I decided I’m going to start working on getting my chic lit books published first, then I’ll bring out the series.

One’s more serious then the other so I’ll bring out the light hearted stuff first.

nanowrimo_2009_winner_Linda Michelle Randall The Calamity Girl - The Promotion The Idea Girl Says

     Dear Hubby and I will be staying close to home.  As in, we aren’t going anywhere today.  DH will sit in his lounge chair and watch TV with Patty.  Gavin will snooze in his chair.  Yes, Gavin has his very own chair.  It’s behind my desk chair so he can be close but not trying to get on my lap while I work. 

     What will I do?  Between running the dogs out whenever they decide that they must go.  (Yes, the dogs are in charge.)  It’s a perfect day to curl up with a good book—or write one.

       I look forward to a full coffee pot and meals on paper plates so there are no dishes for me to do.

     I spent too many years in retail to consider going anywhere near a store today.  I no longer have the patience to deal with rude people, imbeciles, and screaming lunatics. 

     If we’re extremely lucky, the neighbor’s idiot kid won’t spend the afternoon gunning his car for hours on end and we’ll have a quiet day.  They rent, we’re looking forward to the day they move.  In fact, when that happens we’ll have a party to celebrate.

By DaVinci Volpe

The winter came early that year, and stayed late.
Do you remember?
The snow fell softly. There was something tender in it.
The nights were still, save the crunch of boots on snow.
The sky was blue, the moon was bright, and we saw the whole world through breath like white smoke.

I was coming out of a long deep sleep. You were just falling into a winter’s nap. I was watching you walk away, with one final glance over your shoulder. You smiled, drenched in sunlight, and I knew that everything would be alright.

How long has it been?

Sometimes I sit by the fire, and count the years, rolling bright liqueurs in a glass that catches the flickering hearth light on the half-moon of its rim.
That was some year. Sometimes I hear the first few strums of a guitar-playing street performer.
An old man with gospel in his fingers and rhythm and blues in his soul. And I wonder, will I ever see you again?
And then for a moment the man plays and you are smiling up at me, the light soaks into your hair, captured, every seventh strand turns to silver, every eighth strand is gold.

There is a grace in a the lines of a woman’s face that only the sinuous winding of rivers, only the tenderest curves of a young tree’s limbs can match.
And there are moments, when the tilt of woman’s head and the shadow of the locks of her hair intersect with the circle of eternity and the vector of time.
The shadows dance with the light, and life becomes art. There is a music in the air, a music without sound, and that which lies between a man and a woman comes to life.
It is a thing like water, clear and bright, it can be touched and felt but is much more difficult to capture and keep.

You were saying something to me. Something that made you smile. Was the world ever so warm as when you smiled at me? Will it ever be again?

A coin spins in the air and lands in the performer’s guitar case. He looks at me through square-shaped sunglass ands nods without so much as a quiver of his salt and pepper mustachioed mouth.
He never speaks, his mouth is an instrument. And I walk on by.

I sit in a dark corner, on a late night in the café sometimes. The broad expanse of a blank newsprint canvas is like cream colored sheets.
I take my pencil, gently, in my hands and sculpt you out of shadows.

It stormed that night. And we stayed in. The lantern light was yellow-orange. It was warm and deep, a light to fall in love by.
Your body was warm in white sheets, your breath tickling my neck, one leg draped over my waist; your hair a coffee colored river running across my chest and neck and a thousand sonnets on butterfly wings running across my heart and soul.
Outside the wind was howling, flinging frozen rain across the whitest sky I ever saw. The earth was angry. But you sighed and rolled over, squeezing me tighter.

I’ve seen you laugh, and I’ve seen you cry. One was like swimming through champagne, the other like walking through fire.