.99 E-Book to Celebrate Third Anniversary of THE MEMORY BOX

Eva Lesko Natiello

WandF Wallis and Futuna

I know! I can’t believe it either. It’s been three years since THE MEMORY BOX was released into the world. So much has happened since I self-published my debut novel. THE MEMORY BOX hit the New York Times and USA Today Bestseller lists last summer, the audiobook rights were sold at auction to Blackstone Audio with the phenomenal Cassandra Campbell narrating, and right now as we speak my book has a film and TV agent working hard to take this psychological thriller to the next level! And I have even more news coming soon, so stay tuned!

To celebrate this books three-year journey, the e-book is on a thrilling discount this week for .99! It’s available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, and Kobo. It’s the perfect beach book, book club pick, plane read, and commuter book! Tell your friends!

Okay, people! I have heard…

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A Father Day’s Problem

Michael Seidel, writer

Holding onto his son’s hand, he’s walking back toward the hotel, accompanying his steps with a constant explanation. “We’re just going to the the hotel because Daddy forgot something, and so — ”

The child is pointing back toward the car. Mom is back there. He’s saying something incomprehensible.

Daddy pauses in his speech and then begins again. “No,” the son shouts. “I want Mom. I want Mom.”

“I’ll give you a Skittle — ”

“I want Mom! I want Mom!”

” — if you — ”

Mom calls, “Honey, you want to come get in the car with Mom?”

Silence falls. Dad asks, “Do you want to get in the car with Mom?”


Problem solved. I’ve been there.

As the child.

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If Only

Michael Seidel, writer

If only there was more time

If only he hadn’t had a gun

If only she hadn’t said what she did

If only he’d walked away

If only they’d never met

If only they could do it all over again

If only it hadn’t begun

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Angst Man Rides Again!

Michael Seidel, writer

I endure a lot of angst about who I am, who I think I pretend to be, and being unmasked as a pretender.

I’m not unusual. Many in western society seem besieged by angst. Writers, from what I read, endure high levels of angst that erodes our self-confidence. We’re always worried about being discovered as a pretender. I think it’s because we’re working alone so often, but also, subconsciously, we compare our works in progress with other published materials and writers. Right or wrongly, we can come out feeling like a loser because we see elements in others’ work that we don’t see in our work.

In retrospect, I believe I suffered an angst spell the other day, when editing fatigue overwhelmed me. There’s no doubt that editing fatigue afflicted me. That isn’t uncommon. I’m usually able to push through. Each of us have limits to how much we can…

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When I was 9, my friend Marcie convinced me that just because you’re a girl, doesn’t mean you have to be girly all the time. To prove her point, Marcie let loose the best Tarzan yell ever at the Mall. This was also the time I was supposed to be more lady-like to set a good example for my little sister. With her big blue eyes, curly mop of red-hair and freckles galore on her face, Marcie let loose another Tarzan yell that would have brought a tribe of apes and a herd of elephants to her side. Though we were both tiny in stature, Marcie was so totally opposite from me in behaviour and personality, that I always marvelled how we remained such good friends.

My home was a 10-minute walk to school. My route took me past Marcie’s house and we would meet up to walk the last 2…

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May 2017’s Reads of a Pedometer Geek

nbsmithblog...random digressions and musings

This pedometer geek hasn’t written much in the past month or so. Well, at least, not here on my blog. I have shared a post or two of others’ writings, but that is about it. I’d like to claim that it is due to the fact that I have really lived up to my pedometer geek status, but unfortunately, that isn’t true. On the other hand, May was an excellent writing month as several of my haiku and/or senryu and  my poems (yeah, I still can’t distinguish the nuances between the two forms.) have been accepted into journals and anthologies. To see three of the haiku/senryu, check out Mike Rehling’s Failed Haiku on WordPress for June. He does an excellent job with his monthly online journal, reading thousands of entries each month, and not just because he included some of mine, but I digress.

My step totals were down a…

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Old Things


It was a difficult decision to make–for both Hubby and I.

“What do you think?” he asked anxiously. I eyed his favourite cardigan.  I had been with him when he bought it. We weren’t married then.  The sweater was now worn and looked as if a family of field mice began nesting in the pockets. Small holes–which I had diligently mended in the past–had already reappeared, looking like some voracious alien had nibbled away at the pockets, the ribbing, the sleeves.

“It has to go,”  I said firmly. The more I examined the weary sweater, the more it seemed to disintegrate in front of my eyes.

Heaving a reluctant sigh, Hubby looked at me and said, “I’ll toss it out if you toss out something too.”

“What?” I asked, wondering what I had to contribute to the junk heap.

“How about your writing sweatshirt?  It’s barely hanging together and you…

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Writing is Centering, Like Prayer

BREVITY's Nonfiction Blog

marciabilykBy Marcia Krause Bilyk

The day after Trump’s inauguration, when Sean Spicer stood at the White House podium and declared the crowd the largest in Inaugural history, instead of scoffing at him, instead of declaring him as nuts as his boss, I was transported to my childhood feelings of rage, fear, and despair.

I grew up with a narcissistic father. Our home was suffused with his grandiosity, his exaggerations, his uninformed opinions. Mother, for reasons I couldn’t understand, didn’t contradict or question him. If I complained to her in private about his bullying, she’d say, “Your father loves you.” It felt crazy. Mother warned us not to speak of what went on at home to our friends. Dad’s rages were a closely guarded secret. There was no predicting what might set him off.

I withheld from Dad what he wanted and expected of me: affirmation, loyalty, devotion. I vowed I’d be…

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The Backpack Press

“These Summer Months” has just been named a Finalist in the 2017 International Book Awards! Look for the list of winners and finalists here: http://www.internationalbookawards.com/2017awardannouncement.html

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Doing “projects” with your partner/spouse can be a hazardous undertaking fraught with emotion. I remember my very first major project with Hubby, before were seriously considered a permanent relationship. I suppose it was one way to find out how compatible we were and whether we could work together as a team.

The project seemed simple enough.  Hubby’s house came with bilious green carpets that were so 60ish. We discovered the most gorgeous oak floors beneath the ugly carpet. To uncover this  treasure, we had to remove the olive green shag, which seemed easy enough to roll up and take away. However, the challenge was the black underlay, which had melded to the hardwood floor over the many decades with the previous homeowner. Through sheer determination, sweat and desperate scraping with various tools, the oak floors were slowly uncovered, inch by laborious inch. During the days, we worked at our respective…

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