Anything Goes discussion

The minute our eyes met, I knew what to do: so I stopped in the middle of what I was doing, which was dusting off the glass shield over the ice cream buckets, and stacking up waffle cones here and sugar cones there. From the counter I grabbed a bunch of paper tissues, and bent all the way down, like, to pick something from the floor. Then with a swift, discrete shove, I stuffed the tissues into one side of my bra, then the other, ‘cause I truly believe in having them two scoops—if you know what I mean—roundly and firmly in place--

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I kissed him, so sweet and so long

Janice Spina is copy editor and an award-winning author with nine children's books. She writes poetry and novels, the first of which is Hunting Mariah. I am thrilled to discover her review of My Own Voice:

A Heartbreaking Search for Love and Acceptance!

This is the first book I have read by this talented author. My Own Voice is a powerful story of love, lust, betrayal and loss. Anita is the main character that cannot find herself. With a mother who is tough on her showing her little love and a harsh home environment that she cannot escape from, she meets Lenny, an older man one day with whom she quickly becomes smitten. Unbeknownst to Anita this older man is only looking for a replacement for his beloved wife who has Alzheimer's. Anita just happens to look like Natasha.

The author writes through the slang and uneducated voice of her main protagonist which touches the reader with its simplistic style. She makes the reader care for this poor soul and her search for love and acceptance.

An enjoyable but heartbreaking journey to read that I would recommend to all.

Get ★★★★★ MY OWN VOICE:
#Kindle http://BookShow.me/B013TA3FBS
#Nook http://tinyurl.com/voice-nb
#iTunes http://tinyurl.com/voice-appl
#kobo http://tinyurl.com/voice-kobo
#Smashwords http://tinyurl.com/voice-smsh
#audiobook http://www.amazon.com/dp/B013TA3FBS/

Spring is almost here, a time of blossom, a time to start something new... So I thought I will give you a flavor of three snippets from each of my books in the series Still Life with Memories. They bring with them a bit of the fragrance of this time. Taste them, feel them, let me know if they awaken something new in you--

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Start a new series this spring: Still Life with Memories

Next morning I’m sent home empty-handed, while my baby must stay at the hospital a few more days, to get something called colored light therapy, ‘cause like, he’s been diagnosed with jaundice. But does anyone care? Hello there? I try to call home, for Lenny to come pick me up—but as usual I end up just managing, somehow, to get back on my own. 
I open the bedroom window, and feel warm spring air coming in, blowing gently into my face, which feels like a promise.

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Warm spring air coming in, blowing in my face

Have you ever listened, I mean, really listened to the lyrics of 'Twinkle, twinkle'? The words can truly take on different meanings, which is something I explored in moments of despair and moments of hope in my novel

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A Mother's Lullaby

It ripples all around him, wave after wave. I can tell that it’s starting to sooth him. It’s so full of joy, of delight, even if to him, it’s coming across somewhat muffled. Like a dream in a dream, it’s floating inside, into his soft, tender ear--

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The nature of motherhood

And she told me to stay put, to wait for her, ‘cause she had something crucial, something real big to tell me, like, about the future. I reckon she saw some clue of what was coming—but didn’t quite grasp it, not in full, anyway, ‘cause the next thing you know, ma went out, came back a second later, picked the empty beer bottles, and took them with her. Along the way she gave me a peck, smack in the middle of my forehead, which surprised me--

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I reckon she saw some clue of what was coming

For a while I leaf through this book, which Lenny’s bought me. I bet he’s real excited. He so looks forward to becoming a father, the second time around. I can just see him in my head, like, holding the baby’s hand, guiding him already in his first steps. Then, letting go, he’s gonna take a step or two back, and hold his breath, waiting there for the little one to walk into his open arms--

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Enjoy #FathersDay together: read My Own Voice

✨ Start the summer with a bang: Here are three excerpts, specifically chosen for their impact, from each one of the novels in my series, Still Life with Memories: "That morning in training camp it was not the sound of loading, nor was it that distinct ping that alerted me to danger, but the whisper of blades of grass tearing asunder, falling with a whoosh left and right as the bullet came flying straight at me. Like a thunderbolt, it hit my shoulder--"

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Start the summer with a bang: Still Life with Memories

I can hear a noise of some kind, clicking awful close to my ear, on the other side, I mean, Lenny’s side of the bed. I try to stay still, because of this dull pain, and because of wondering if, somewhere deep inside, my baby can feel it, too.
Then I turn my head—just a little—and take a peak over my shoulder--

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Ain’t them three sisters gonna curse me, like witches do?

It’s awful nippy here, inside and out, even though this is only mid-fall. Shut tight in front of me is the glass door, which I can’t hardly open, on account of being tired, and a bit wobbly on my feet. Even so I can hear a sound, a muffled sound from the other side, out there on the balcony. From this angle I can spot him, kinda: at least his outline, bent over the desk, and the slant of the shoulders--

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I don't want to hear no lies and no long stories either

Suddenly I catch sight of someone else, someone standing way over there, in the distance, behind him; behind the curtains, even. Except for her hand, which is caught in the light, it’s hard to even notice her, ‘cause at first she’s like, real shy, even modest, and keeps herself in the shadows, out of the spotlight--

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That was where the nightmare found me

And so he held me there, a long, long time in the dark. And me, I got to touch his lips, and that crease up there, on his forehead, and we swayed back and forth: I clinging to him, he—to that one girl, the girl he used to know--

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And so he held me there, a long, long time in the dark

Tonight—the first moonless night of this winter—I can sense a change in Lenny, which starts, for me, with the scent of his aftershave.
It’s Aqua Velva. It’s been a long time since I’ve caught it on him, and I can get a bit tipsy just by tipping over, like, to take it in. He grips the faded armrest and gets up, with some effort, from his corner, and puts on his fingerless leather gloves, with which he can type, especially on cold nights. Then he goes out to the balcony, and I can see him fumbling for something there, in the drawers of his desk. Finally he brings back a handful of tapes—I hope none of them is mine—and the tape recorder, which he sets up across from me, on the floor next to Beethoven’s bust--

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I sense a change in him, which starts with his aftershave

My author friends have joined forces with me! We bring you amazing stories, narrated by great voice actors, just in time for Father's Day. Join us for a chance to win prizes!

Listen to your heart...



✿ Here's what you can win https://uviart.blogspot.com/2017/05/l...
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I rose to the tips of my toes, feeling the touch of his shirt and the pleat of his pants, right against my bare skin. And I placed my hands on his shoulders, and felt his hands on my hips.
And so he held me there, a long, long time in the dark. And me, I got to touch his lips, and that crease up there, on his forehead, and we swayed back and forth: I clinging to him, he—to that one girl, the girl he used to know--

To read more, and listen to the beautiful narration by Heather Jane Hogan, click here:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2018/02/i-...

The way she looks at me is severe, critical, even disapproving. I bet it’s because the laugh lines have dimmed with time. But then, her eyes! Oh God, they’re so clear, so full of pure, glorious light; which, for a moment, brings me close to despair. I’m in awe. Look, I have goosebumps! The two of us look the same, just like sisters—but oh, how I wish I could be more like her!
Me, I don’t have nothing more I want to say in my defense—except to ask you again: put yourself in my place. How can a girl like me ever claim to be innocent?

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How can a girl like me ever claim to be innocent?

At such moments I find that I miss being with my ma, who threw me out of her place long ago. I miss her, because inside—where no one else can see—I’m still a child, and because with her I’m at ease, and I don’t have to torture myself, and I don’t have doubts about nothing, ‘cause she makes things cut and dried, even if she has to slap me for it--

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Make it all rise up in smoke