Objects May Appear

Originally posted on In Transition:

Objects may appear closer than they appear:

She sits on the side of the road~

arms wrapped around her knees,

head bent,

shoulders heaving.

The white Cadillac idles on a side street,

passenger door propped open~

the driver walks to the road,

steps gingerly towards her,

arms outstretched in supplication,

as they grow smaller

in my rearview mirror.

©annettealaine 2014

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Author Spotlight with Eva Lesko Natiello

Originally posted on Kristen Otte:

TMB headshot

Today I am excited to welcome Eva Natiello to the blog for an Author Spotlight. Eva is the author of The Memory Boxa dark, psychological thriller (think Gone Girl). Eva writes in a genre that I normally don’t read, but I picked up her book because we share a copy editor. I couldn’t put the book down, and I’m excited she is on the blog today.

Let’s start with a brief introduction. Tell us a little about yourself your novel The Memory Box.

Let’s see, I grew up in New York and went to school at SUNY Albany where I studied psychology. After I graduated from school I moved to the Bahamas for my first job as a singer. Eventually I moved back to New York and worked in the cosmetics industry as a communications and p.r. executive. It was never in my master plan to write…

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A Pair

Originally posted on From the Laundry Room:

If had a sister, she would be taller than me.

And older, I’d be the curvy one.  She’d be the long legs, straight up and down one.  Her hair would be darker, longer and not as thick as mine.  Her eyes would be rounder, bigger, with more green, actually her eyes would be green.  She would love her feet and have an obsession with Chapstick and bracelets.  My sister would hate the rain.  She’d have a dimple too.

If I had a sister, she would have a party laugh, love cheese, and always eat the olive first from her martini.  She would have a foul mouth just like me, but she would try to control it.  Just like me. She would sit on the counter too much and tell painfully long stories.

We would dance.  Talk our ears numb, people watch, bitch and hug.  She would like the movies, but different movies than me.  We would tell each other all the things everyone…

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Wedding Dress

Originally posted on From the Laundry Room:

I’ve been married 18 years as of last weekend.  For some reason this year hit me.  It just seems crazy that I’ve been married to the same man for 18 years.  For a lot of people that seems perfectly normal.  I mean after all you do get married to stay together forever, right?   Apparently I’m not a lot of people.

I never expected to get married, let alone stay married.  I sort of fell into it.  So, when people ask me after all these years of marriage, “What’s the secret?”

I usually have no clue.  I normally say, “It just works and we still like each other.”

Not very romantic or helpful, I know.

I always feel like I should say, “The moment I met him, I just knew we’d spend the rest of our lives together.”  Sounds great, but I had no idea.  When I first met him…

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When Mars Meets Venus

Originally posted on chocofigbee:

This was a former Red Room comment posted January 2013  and reposted with a few minor changes. Thank goodness for Mars and Venus–their differences definitely makes for a more lively existence. . .

Men and women think differently. I didn’t just figure this out. I knew this fact when Hubby and I were dating. We went through a lot of stuff before we were married. I like to think of it as a test–sort of a compatibility test. Come to think of it, we’re still testing ourselves, even though we’ve now been married over 18 years. You know that book, “Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus?  Well, that’s how Hubby and I approach problems and solve them. Amazingly, we usually arrive at the same conclusion, but one path is slightly more convoluted and I won’t say whose.

Hubby is a detail person. This translates as a man who…

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… gossamer bridges and palaces …

Originally posted on Course of Mirrors:

I’m a terrible hypocrite. I can’t stand spiders in the house, but I adore them in my garden, where their bridges and palaces are now quivering everywhere, only visible against the sun or by the rare leaf suspended in mid-air … exquisite.

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A leaf floating free

From stem and branch – inholding

The ever-tree myth

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Once more nature translates its lore to the soil, carrying patterns of relationships to new settings.

We do the same, daily and all year round, translating our experiences to ourselves and others … our cells, bodies and minds continuously changing, never the same, despite appearances.

I wish for grace in waiting, the hibernating towards re-membering afresh the cyclic occurring wholeness in new formations.

And I wish for the patience and good humour of my tiny Buddha.

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The Other Side of Amazon: How my Self-Published Thriller got Downloaded 27,452 Times in 3 Days

Originally posted on Eva Lesko Natiello:

photo by Judit Klein

photo by Judit Klein

The week before the release of my first novel, the Hachette/Amazon debacle exploded. It was difficult to avoid the pleas from traditionally published authors to boycott Amazon. Harder still was it to escape articles about how Amazon’s passive/aggressive tactics were affecting writers’ careers. The timing couldn’t have been worse. This was one of the companies I’d chosen to publish and sell my book. Must this happen now?

I immediately empathized with the authors, many of whom I’m fans of. They’d toiled away at their craft, perhaps for years, doling out copious amounts of blood, sweat and metaphors. They’d finished their manuscript, queried agents, accepted representation, sold their book, released it, and now, after all those unquestionable triumphs, at the exact time they expected to celebrate, they were met with a brick wall from their biggest retailer.

Simultaneously and separately, I’d been anticipating the onset of euphoria…

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Sanctuary: Tempio di San Michele Arcangelo

Originally posted on Writer's Cramp:

If you are of a spiritual or religious nature you might have a favorite space…a sanctuary of sorts, where you find a certain kind of peace. I think that it is nearly impossible to put the nature of that peacefulness into words. You know it when you see it…or, rather, when you experience it.  Sometimes, maybe, you can recapture part of that peacefulness by reflecting back on that special place even though you are far away from it. Being out in nature might be a special place for some people. Maybe a library or a church works for others.

DCF 1.0A little over ten years ago I encountered such a place on a trip to Italy. My daughter was spending a summer semester in Perugia, in Umbria, and my wife and I went over at the end of her term to visit and help her move back home. We stayed about six…

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Matchstick Jeans

Originally posted on From the Laundry Room:

Jack usually picks up a stick on his walk.

It started on the first or second walk and now he does it most of the time.  He finds a stick and carries it in his mouth all the way home.  Sometimes it’s a little twig, other times it’s big and covered in growth or dirt.  We recently had a lot of rain, so he thinks some of the exposed roots are sticks, but eventually gives up.  I’ve even seen him trade up a couple of times and change sticks mid-walk.

The first time he did it, it was such a surprise.  A lovely, sunrising, just the two of us, surprise.  I saw it as a glimpse into his burgeoning personality, something unique and special.

Jack brings home sticks.

This morning we were on the walk, he went for a stick and I said, “Oh, that one?  I’m sure we can find a…

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Touched by a Cemetery: the National AIDS Memorial Grove

Originally posted on Cemetery Travel: Adventures in Graveyards Around the World:

The heart of the National AIDS Memorial Grove

The heart of the National AIDS Memorial Grove

Mostly when I visit a cemetery, I can separate what it represents from the beauty and peace of the place.  I don’t see cemeteries as depressing, unless they have been vandalized.

Last week, though, I struggled.  I’ve wanted for a while to write about the National AIDS Memorial Grove in San Francisco, but even though it’s one of the loveliest places in the city, I felt such anger and sadness that I had trouble finding words to express them.

Twenty years ago last month, my friend Blair died of AIDS.  The speed of his illness was breakneck and terrifying. I was honored to stay at his house during the last week of his life, administering morphine every 20 minutes around the clock with a handful of his friends and his husband Jeff, my best friend.

Blair reading the Chronicle

Blair reading the Chronicle

Blair was 28 when…

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