My guest today is Elaine C. Pereira. Hello, Elaine! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

I Will Never Forget:  A Daughter's Story of Her Mother's Arduous and Humorous Journey Through Dementia is the title of the book. I Will Never Forget is my debut book. It came out just last year, in May 2012. It is available through Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, the publisher iUniverse bookstore, and through my web site at www.IWillNeverForgetBook.com. My memoir chronicles my mother's tragic but at times also funny journey through dementia.  

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

My mother’s is a story that needed to be told. She was a kind, brilliant and talented lady who was transformed into an agitated, paranoid person as dementia moved in consuming bits and pieces of her memory. Rapidly Mom dissolved into a delusional, dependent and nearly incoherent woman no longer capable of self-care tasks as Alzheimer’s insatiable appetite for brain cells pretzel-twisted her gray matter.  

Sadly her story is not unique as Alzheimer's cases continue to increase and rob us of our loved ones. My mom was a great mom, not unlike all great moms except that she was mine! It was critically important that my mother be remembered for the amazing persona that defined her and not the dementia ravaged victim that ended her.

When did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours? 

I have never journaled; I'm more of a talker, especially for stress release.  Given mom's rapid decline as she slipped farther into dementia's dark haze, her communication waned as well as her alertness.  During my reflective time driving out and back as well sitting quietly in her room, I started writing down the flood of ideas bouncing around in my head about every event I had enjoyed as a child growing up.  What probably began as a cathartic expression of both love and grief over her impending death, eventually evolved into a finished memoir.  

So, do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

During much of the writing process I camped out in the kitchen near the heat vent and juggled my lap top as my affection-starved kitty negotiated for some coveted lap time too.  Some days I wrote furiously all day and sometimes I stared at the blinking arrow and gave up.  

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice?

Given that this is my debut book and writing one has never been on my bucket list, the best I can do to advise aspiring writers is to write what you find passionate, what speaks to you. Thriller? Romance? Survivor Story? If you find that something intrigues you, pursue that line and see where it goes.  

Good advice, Elaine.

Well, readers, here is the blurb for I Will Never Forget.  

I Will Never Forget is the exquisite story of the author’s kind and talented mother Betty’s extraordinary and sometimes humorous journey through Dementia. Through superb stories of Elaine’s childhood, from her controversial name, tales of smokin’ dragons, the feisty teenage years and a near paralyzing accident, her mother’s wonderful character is revealed.  As their mother-daughter relationship evolves and a new paradigm is formed, Elaine begins to witness bizarre and irrational behaviors in her mother; paranoia, flashes of hostility, illogical thinking and defiance. Eventually Elaine witnesses an explosion of events over something as innocuous as a drapery rod that affirms Betty’s unquestionable need to be moved into a more secure environment.

Despite a strikingly brisk decline, Elaine relishes in Betty's dazzling visions of her own mother and witnesses her stunning rally to take control of her own destiny. After an unsuccessful but masterful Houdini-like escape, Elaine accompanies her mother down a one-way journey as her brilliant mind is slowly destroyed by Dementia's insatiable appetite for brain cells.

And here are some selections from I Will Never Forget.

• My mom was planning to stay at my house for three nights, December 23—26. The first clue that things were a little amiss was when I saw her rummaging through her suitcase. She was “looking for something”, but couldn’t tell me what. I saw that she had packed six bras and maybe eight pair of underwear but no extra socks.

• We finished the rest of the cooking project together. I was becoming very conscious of the fact that she could not read and execute a direction any longer. It was mind numbing! This woman had taught high school calculus and now couldn’t read a simple amount like “a half cup of milk” and know what to get out or how much to pour. Later I also noticed that she could follow only one verbal direction reliably. When it came time to set the table, she was fine if I only asked her to put out the plates or spoons.

• Mom had gotten lost going to her dentist’s office, which was only one mile west of her apartment. She had wandered perhaps twenty miles in the opposite direction. She wrote nine checks to her car insurance company because she couldn’t remember writing even one. These were not just quirky, odd behaviors but bells and whistles, signs indicative of my mom's very real, very serious underlying dementia. I was finally starting to really see, hear, and step up to handle the problems.

• In October 2009, the monthly lunches ceased when Mom stopped driving. Mom e-mailed me that she and her college friend weren’t getting together for lunch anymore, but she never explained why. It would be a few more years before I would learn the whole truth.

• Unfortunately, I was part of the problem. I saw my mom as a glass half full, mostly together except for some episodes of disorientation when, in fact, she was more half empty with fleeting moments of lucidity. I wasn’t seeing the day-to-day blunders, errors in judgment, outbursts, confusion, obsession, and paranoia, just to name a few.

• But as the adult, the nebulous abyss of being a parent to your parent is a delicate responsibility. Balancing respect and autonomy and naturally expecting them to be accurate when they tell you, “I’ll be fine” is a daunting challenge. Somewhere deep down, you know it’s not true. They are no longer “fine.”

• The Italian side of my husband favored family caring for family. It was admirable but misguided in this situation. My mom talked openly about quality-of-life issues. Although she embraced Catholic values and would not advocate proactive measures to end her life, she was adamant about not prolonging it either. I, on the other hand, would have preferred a shot of heart stopping Digoxin rather than endure the confusion and terror that Mom was yet to experience.

• I couldn't help but consider that her dementia-riddled mind was trying to assemble a puzzle, without a clue as to finished picture, from random pieces belonging to a thousand different puzzle boxes.

• My thoughts were like ping-pong balls smashing at lightning speed, ricocheting against the inside of my skull with contradictory ideas.

• When Mom wanted something from the local store, she wouldn’t wait for a driver. She was so adamant about her independence that she walked the mile-long round trip to Walgreens, maneuvering around the massive road construction equipment. Somehow, she managed to find her way back to Friendship Village but then couldn’t get inside the building. She crawled through the shrubs and banged on the windows until someone let her in.

• Mom would never get better. All I could do was be there for every step of her journey through hell and pray that was enough. She deserved better; everyone did. She deserved to go out with her boots on, not have her mind chipped and chiseled away piece by piece.

• Dementia is devious, indiscriminate, and ruthless, invading the mind and distorting fiction into one’s reality.

• Not long after New Year’s, I was reviewing with Mom the 2011 calendar and the girls’ impending birthdays on January 14. From out of nowhere, she said, “I told God I was ready to go anytime.” Her frank comment had me scrambling for an appropriate comeback. “And what did He say?” I asked. “Oh, you know, He doesn’t really answer you.”

• It had been a genuine honor for me to give back to her after she had given so much to me. Just as my mom had said “I have no regrets” about the care she selflessly provided to my dad, I was proud to say that I had no regrets either. “The dead are not buried in the ground but in our hearts. They will be there for you when you need them.”(Paraphrased from The Count of Monte Cristo by Alfred Dumas. Read at the memorial service on November 26, 2011, in Rochester, MI.)

UNIVERSAL READER LINK:  https://books2read.com/u/47OwWN

 

Author Bio

Author. Speaker. Certified Dementia Practitioner & Caregiver

The experiences, both tragic and funny, and lessons learned during this journey of compassion led Pereira in her early retirement years to write a book on the experience. Others stepping up to the same challenge will benefit from the insights she gained.

• 2012 Finalist Best New Non-Fiction USA Book Awards & The Hollywood Book   2013 Finalist LuckyCinda Book Contest

  Twitter:  @Elaine Colette

  Audio Interview: Jerry Kenney interview WYSO Ohio    4/27/13

  http://mariashriver.com/blog/2013/04/the-story-behind-the-poem-elaine-pereira

• Subtle Signs of Mother's Dementia on The Alzheimer's Reading RoomBest of Aging Review:  http://www.bestofaging.com/article/the-best-of-the-best.html

• http://www.alzheimersreadingroom.com/2013/04/subtle-signs-of-mothers-dementia.html

• Maria Shriver   The Story Behind the Poem

• http://wyso.org/post/i-will-not-forget-author-recounts-mothers-journey-through-dementia

• Other Links:

• LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=108838785&locale=en_US&trk=tyah2

• Website:  www.IWillNeverForgetBook.com  

• 2013 Winner of The National Indie Excellence Award in The Aging Category

• Pereira earned a BS in Occupational Therapy in 1974 from Wayne State University and a Master of Arts in Family and Consumer Resources from Wayne State in 1980.

• When not working and writing, Pereira enjoys travelling, golf, sewing, cross stitch, handcrafts and gardening. She spent six weeks backpacking in Europe and Israel, and has travelled to Australia, Seoul, Korea, Hong Kong, Italy, and Wiesbaden, Germany.

• A native of Kalamazoo, Michigan, Elaine and husband Joe have lived in Southeast Michigan where they worked and raised a family of five. Pereira was an occupational therapist for Taylor Public Schools where she was responsible for the assessment and therapeutic intervention of identified special needs children, working to improve perceptual fine motor skills, self-care abilities, handwriting, and sensory issues. Before working for Taylor Schools, Elaine was an OT for Northville Schools, Oakwood Hospital, some 10 years in Home Health Care, and private practice. After 30 years as an OT, she retired in 2010.

• Within a few years author Elaine C. Pereira was forced to cope with the deaths of her father, sister-in-law, brother and mother.  But the most difficult challenge of these live-changing events was the time spent as a caregiver when her mother struggled with and eventually surrendered to dementia.

 

What a heartbreaking, but amazing story, Elaine. Thank you so much for your time with us on Writing in the Modern Age.

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age guest article here.

How to Make Your Characters Believable:

a guest post by Stefan Vucak

 

 

People are quirky, unpredictable, emotional, and often cannot be relied upon. Governed by the environment within which they live, knowledge accumulated over years of learning, whether formal or through personal endeavor, and simply interacting with others, an individual is a complex matrix of what it means to be human. Above all things, people are self-centered, always looking for that angle which will make them come ahead—that quick fix to bypass the necessary hard work in-between. That’s why we gamble.

 

Standing on a busy street corner, waiting for the lights to change so I can cross, I am bemused by the sight of pedestrians hurrying, dawdling, or completely distracted with faces buried in a smart phone crossing the other way. There are tall people, skinny ones, some not so, Caucasian, Asian; all sorts. Some are wearing smiles, while others scowl, and there are those who seem to be stooped like they are bearing the load of the world on their shoulders. The teens skip gaily, chatting to each other and laughing, looking on us oldsters as incomprehensible cubes, wondering what all the fuss is about.

So, what’s with the philosophical sideline? Believe it or not, there is a point. Purse your lips and ask yourself if you have really looked at a stranger lately, and simply from his appearance tried to work out his personality, social status, mannerisms, identifying marks? If you can see them, does he have brown eyes or blue ones or green? Is his face round, square, long, gaunt, plump? Does he walk with confident strides or is he hesitant, his eyes darting suspiciously as he pushes through the crowd? Is he carrying anything? If so, what is it? Does it help you identify him? On an instinctive level, do you like him or do the hairs on the back of your neck tingle at the sight of him?

Are you starting to get the broader picture? Do you observe people or does the mass of humanity simply slide past your consciousness as you hurry across the street, your mind focused on whatever it is you need to do? Finishing that chapter you’ve been struggling with, perhaps? The struggle caused because your main character, and maybe the whole cast, is somewhat two-dimensional, a nobody, and you cannot quite figure out why? Then again, you might be thinking: I don’t need to describe my characters; the story is good enough to carry them. You could be right. You could also be wrong, you know.

Deciding how to portray characters in your writing can be a contributing factor in producing a great book, or something that’s okay for a once off read. Every book has two basic components: action sequences and characters who do the action or have action done unto them. Many books rely on action alone, and some do it with superb craftsmanship. Others get into a character’s mind and never let you leave it. That can be entertaining and enthralling—if done well. But how can you tell whether your characters are genuinely alive and real? Simple, really. Think of a recent book you have read and ask yourself this. Do the characters stand out? If so, why? Or are they cardboard cutouts who cannot utter a coherent sentence? It is an instinctive thing anyone can spot. Unfortunately, many writers can spot it in someone else’s book, but are unable to see it in their own writing.

All right, how do you make your characters believable? Before you even start writing that epic, you need a detailed outline, a story skeleton on which you’ll hang the words. Part of writing that outline will require that you line up your cast and stare at them, then pick those that will star in your book. Think of a casting director for a movie. Your cast will be determined by the type of book you are writing. Is it a love story, a techno thriller, a murder mystery, a convoluted spy thriller, a tearjerker? Are you looking for action men, sleuths, hard-boiled gumshoes, sleazy womanizers, or just mean guys? What does this process do for you? Whether you realize it or not, and you should, you are taking a first step toward making your characters believable. You are thinking of them as individuals with personalities.

To make every member of your cast a living person, you need a police profile that goes something like this:

- Height

- Weight

- Complexion

- What color eyes

- Does he chomp his food, or is he a dainty gentleman

- Does he swear

- What is his normal behavior: tense, relaxed, awkward, sharp…

- Special mannerisms, use of phrases, habits…

I think you are starting to get the idea. Why such a profile you might ask? For one thing, it will crystallize that character in your own mind. Whenever you write about him, the character will always behave consistently, true to himself. Any deviation will not be looked on favorably by your readers. There is nothing more irritating than reading on one page the character is five foot ten, and later, he is six feet two, or something like that. You may never employ all of the character’s profile in the book, so why bother? What this does is makes the character live, which is the important thing. He becomes a close friend, or an enemy. You will like him or you won’t. Either way, you will know this character, and so will your readers. If someone asks you to describe your sister, brother, mother or friend, you can readily spew out the words with hardly a pause. In the same way, you must be able to handle your characters in your writing.

Remember that cardboard cutout? He is a cutout simply because the writer doesn’t know him. He is a complete stranger, and he comes across as such to readers. That’s all there is to it. Well, there is a bit more, of course. That more being the dialogue.

You cannot handle a novel with a character not having to say anything—unless he is a Robinson Crusoe. Since there are no more unoccupied coral islands where someone can get away from it all and clam up, your characters will have to say something sometime. What they say and how they say it will go a long way toward making them real and believable, or two-dimensional cutout dummies. Some writers can handle dialogue with natural skills, while others agonize. How do you master dialogue? Grab one of your favorite books and check the dialogue. Why do you like it, and does your dialogue come anywhere close? If not, what can you do about it? That’s simple, but involves some sweat on your part. You are a writer, right? So, practice writing dialogue until it becomes second nature. Never mind about what, just write. Think of the last conversation you had with someone and write the ensuing dialogue. When you read it, does every aspect of that episode come through? And I am not talking only about what was said, but how it was said, what emotion was displayed, gestures, tone of voice, hidden meanings. If what you have written doesn’t match your memory, you obviously haven’t got it right. Give the piece to the person you had the conversation with and get his feedback.

If you have read this far, you are right to point out that there is much more to making your characters believable, but I hope I got you thinking and looking at your characters in a new light. By the way, get a professional editor to go over your writing. An impartial pair of eyes can do wonders for your novel.

 

Guest Blogger Bio

 

Stefan is an award-winning author of eight techno sci-fi novels, including With Shadow and Thunder which was a 2002 EPPIE finalist. His Shadow Gods Saga books have been highly acclaimed by critics. His political thriller, Cry of Eagles, won the coveted 2011 Readers Favorite silver medal award, and his All the Evils was the 2013 prestigious Eric Hoffer contest finalist.   

Stefan leveraged a successful career in the Information Technology industry and applied that discipline to create realistic, highly believable storylines for his books. Born in Croatia, he now lives in Melbourne, Australia.

Links:

Website:  http://www.stefanvucak.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/StefanVucak

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/stefanvucak 

 

Shadow Gods Saga:  Series Link

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is DJ Swykert. Hello, DJ! Welcome back to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here again.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

My new book, The Death of Anyone, introduces readers to a DNA search technique not in common use here in the U.S., Familial DNA. A lot will be written on this subject as the real life trial of Lonnie David Franklin, The Grim Sleeper, unfolds in California this year. The book also introduces a new character for me, a female homicide detective. It's not the first time I've written from a female POV, but she's the first in this role. I’m hoping the book will appeal to an even broader audience than Children of the Enemy, or Alpha Wolves. There is a romance along with the mystery in the plot and some real science.

The Death of Anyone was released by Melange Books in Minneapolis the end of February. It’s available at: Melange Books, Lulu, Amazon, and Bookwire.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

I first heard about Familial DNA Searches while working as a 911 operator in 2006. It came up in a conversation with officers. I thought at the time it would make an interesting premise for a book. I began writing the mystery some three years later after leaving the department. I had just finished editing a first draft of The Death of Anyone in the summer 2010 when news of The Grim Sleeper’s capture in Los Angeles was released. I read with interest all the information pouring out of L.A. regarding the investigation and the problems confronting prosecutors. All of which are explored in The Death of Anyone.
 
This sounds fascinating!

So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I don’t know if I ever actually 'decided' to be a writer. I remember the first thing I wrote, a bad poem to a pretty girl, I was a teenager, and Tennyson’s "Flower in the Crannied Wall" gave me the idea to try my hand at poetry. I still recite Tennyson’s poem. I think my desire to try writing novels came from reading them, in particular Hemingway and Fitzgerald, and when I was younger, Mark Twain. I simply enjoyed the storytelling, and think I inherited a little storytelling ability from my grandfather, who was really good at spinning a tale. 

My grandmother did the same thing.  LOL. 

Do you have any favorite authors?

I’ve already kind of answered this; Tennyson, Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Mark Twain. You can add Byron, Auden, Chekhov and Annie Proulx to the list. Oh, hell, there’s a host of great writers, my list could go on for pages. But these always have stuck in my head. 

I know what you mean.  I have WAY too many to count.  

So, do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

Currently, I write mornings on a desk in the garret, as my girlfriend calls it, on the third floor of our townhouse. But I’ve written just about anywhere I can find something to write with, even on a bunk in the Houghton County Jail, er… that was just once, for a short while on a traffic violation. 

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers? Any advice?

Keep typing, and submitting. I believe in the old Hindu saying: Given enough time, coincidence is inevitable. There is a measure of coincidence in finding a home for your writing. You have to have skill, a good story, but also some luck. You can improve your odds by applying The Law of Large Numbers, which allows prey species to survive by reproducing in large numbers. Your writing can survive in the same way, get it out there, and keep putting it out there. Be productive. And keep your fingers crossed.

Good advice. 

So, readers, here is the the blurb for The Death of Anyone.

Detroit homicide Detective Bonnie Benham has been transferred from narcotics for using more than arresting and is working the case of the killer of adolescent girls. CSI collects DNA evidence from the scene of the latest victim, which has not been detected on the other victims. But no suspect turns up in the FBI database. Due to the notoriety of the crimes a task force is put together with Bonnie as the lead detective, and she implores the D.A. to authorize an as yet unapproved type of a DNA Search in an effort to identify the killer. Homicide Detective Neil Jensen, with his own history of drug and alcohol problems, understands Bonnie’s frailty and the two detectives become inseparable as they track this killer of children.

Here's an excerpt from The Death of Anyone. 

Benham arrived first, no sign of Russo or Jensen. She got a table and told the maitre de to send them over when they arrived, and that there would be a third party, a Detective Lagrow. As he seated Benham, the maitre de informed her, “The show starts at about 12:30 pm. We have a couple of new dancers."

Benham screwed up her nose, gave him a curious eye. “Dancers?”

The maitre de nodded. “Yes, belly dancers. We have a new one I’m sure your friends will appreciate. She’s very good-young, friendly.”

Benham just shook her head. ”I’m sure they will,” she said as she sat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

Whoa, the brake in her head told her. You know you, you know your history. You know what a slip can do to you. Doctors, psychologists, treatment, rehab, counselors, AA, each and every one of them flashed across her head as her mind absorbed the offer. “Just a coke, or, actually, would you just bring me a black coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Benham sipped her coffee and looked through her brief notes of the case. They were very brief, there was little to put in them. A young girl, perhaps ten, dead, strangled, almost for certain assaulted, lying in an alley for a few hours. And it had only been a few hours—Pierangeli seemed pretty sure she hadn’t been there long. She was found at around nine-thirty am, so she died maybe around eight am. She lay there, choked, defiled, beautiful, and dead, and nobody was looking for her. She had to have been taken pretty early this morning, so it’s been about five hours she’s been gone, and nobody loves her enough to miss her. Benham could feel the anger rising from within, from the source where feelings come from, from deeper but inclusive of the stomach, from the birthplace of emotion.

A hand touched her shoulder and startled her. “Me and Jensen are here, bring on the dancing girls,” Dean Russo bellowed, joyous almost, and that irritated Bonnie a little. There was nothing to be happy about this day.

“You’ll get your wish. The belly dancers will be here in a few,” Benham said, with a bit of obvious disdain that Russo picked up on.

“You picked the place.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bonnie answered, feeling a little sorry now she sounded so disapproving. “Yeah, I picked it. Didn’t think about belly dancers, but, hey, we’re here, and I love pastitio, and they have the best. Sorry if I sound pissy, it’s only because I am. Once you see the girl, you won’t be dancing in the street either.”

Russo quit laughing. “How long you been in homicide, Benham?”

Bonnie could see she rubbed something, “A couple of months.”

“You were in narcotics?”

“Yeah, I was in narcotics. I was in it and it—I was narcotic.”

There was a pause. Jensen looked across at Russo, glared a little, trying to shut him up with a look. And out of the corner of his eye let Bonnie know he saw her, too. He wanted her to keep this cool.

But it was a little late, and Bonnie was a bit volatile. “You know fucking well I was in narcotics. And you fucking know why I’m in homicide. I got myself transferred out for becoming more narcotic than narc. Quit beating around the bush. What’s your point?”

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/4A52gA

 

Author Bio
 

I’m a blue collar person from Detroit. I’ve worked as a truck driver,dispatcher, logistics analyst, operations manager, and ten years as a 911operator, which was the very best job of them all. I write stories like you’d watch a movie and put them down on paper. I have written in different genres; crime, romance, literary and The Death of Anyone, which is a
mystery/suspense story with romance and science in it. 

The last sentence in my writing bio is always: He is a wolf expert. I am not a biologist. I raised two arctic hybrids, had them for eleven years, and have written two books in which the wolves join the other protagonists. 

I have been fortunate enough to have my writing appear in: The Tampa Review, Monarch Review, Sand Canyon Review, Zodiac Review, Scissors and Spackle, Spittoon, BarbaricYawp and BULL. The other books I have written are Children of the Enemy, a novel from Cambridge Books, and Alpha Wolves, a novel by Noble Publishing.

Links:

Blog: www.magicmasterminds.com

Facebook:  http://www.facebook.com/david.swykert?ref=ts&fref=ts

LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=193494247

Other Links:  http://www.gypsyartshow.com/2013/03/the-death-of-anyone-by-dj-swykert.html

http://www.omnimysterynews.com/2013/01/please-welcome-novelist-dj-swykert.html

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

Hi, readers! We have a real treat in store for you today, a poetry spotlight. In these poetry spotlights today and in the future, we will be showcasing poetry by some very talented poets. These poets have graced us with their presence.  

With us today is poet CJ Heck. Here is a little taste of her poetry and her views on gentle sensuality.

 

When It's Over, You Just Know 

You don't always know
how you know, 
it comes slowly, the awareness. 
With the certainty and final resignation 
of a child learning there's no Santa Claus, 
you just know.

The breakfast table, once a venue 
for long dreamy stares 
and coffee-flavored kisses, 
awkwardly becomes a silent stage 
for reading the news, 
eating breakfast, and 
you just know.

The smell of his shirt 
when you'd bury your face there, 
the feel of his hands on your body 
as if they had a life of their own, 
all silently slip to a place 
wherever memories go 
to gather dust, and 
you just know. 

You miss the nights, 
how his body and yours 
breathed and moved as one. 
Maybe it's those nights 
and how they were 
that give the knowing life, but 
you just know. 

Like ocean waves upon the sand, 
love recedes 
with all the other yesterdays 
and you would trade 
all your tomorrows 
to have it back, but 
you just know.

 

 

We Need to Get Away

 

Have I told you lately

how good you smell

when the shower

spits you out?

I can't recall

the last time, but

it wouldn't surprise me,

considering what time

we actually have to spend

alone together these days.

I do know, I remember

how intense it used to be.

We need to get away,

just the two of us,

before we grow any ruts

in this lovely road …

 

Let's go somewhere now,

before talking dirty

really means:

"You doing a light load?

Can you grab my pj's

from the hook

on the bathroom door?"

 

Before wanna catch a quickie?

really means:

"I'm pooped.  Wanna take a nap?"

 

Before Oh God, I'm coming!

actually means,

"Don't nag me, I'm almost ready!

Go ahead, start the car."

 

Let's go somewhere now

while Baby, that was fantastic!

still means more than

a Sunday Scrabble win.

 

It's not too late ...

I remember.

  

 

A Box for Goodwill

 

As a friend, I had come to help

yet one more time

and I watched as she set

the cardboard box on the floor.

It was labeled for Goodwill,

penned in large block letters.

From deep in the closet,

she brought out an old blue suit.

It had faded over the years,

but I saw in her eyes

the memories still had not.

Softly, she smoothed the sleeves

that dangled flat and empty.

Then she stroked the slack trousers

on the smooth wooden hanger.

Gently, she brushed

the dust from the collar and lapel,

and then I heard her sigh.

Her resolve had melted away.

Again we talked and remembered.

We spoke of long ago,

how the sleeves encircled her

in warm secure hugs,

and the trousers had covered

lean muscular legs,

legs slightly bowed,

legs that loved to dance,

and what she missed the most

--the heart that beat below

the lapel of the old blue suit,

the heart that beat with love for her.

For over forty years,

the suit had stood sentinel,

loyally guarding both her

and those memories,

and I watched as she carefully

replaced the suit and closed

the closet door.

Through quiet tears

she asked once more

how all of that could ever fit

in a box for Goodwill.

 

 

A Poet for a Lover

 

Oh Lord, give me a poet for a lover,

whose words stroke me like velvet hands.

Word-tender caresses more reaching

than the caress of a mere mortal man.

 

A poet's light touch is so gentle.

Word-fingers probe deep every time,

arousing me, haunting me, wetting me,

seducing me, body and mind.

 

Oh Lord, give me a poet for a lover!

Lust and fire burn deep in his heart.

A silver-tongued devil whose words make me ache

to be on my knees in the dark.

 

Word-foreplay making me want him,

only mind-loved, I want to be free

to feel just one time, my poet inside, where only mind-lust up to now has loved me. 

Poet Bio  

CJ Heck is a published poet, writer, blogger, and the author of three children's books, a collection of short stories, and her newest, a poetry book for adults. She is also a Vietnam War widow.

CJ has three daughters and eleven grandchildren. She lives and writes in Florida with her partner, Robert Cosmar, who is also an author.

For book excerpts, more information, interviews, or to invite CJ to your school, or organization, please call 352-299-5634 or visit her website, Barking Spiders Poetry.

Links:

LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/cj-heck/17/312/b76

Twitter: https://twitter.com/CJHeck60

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cj.heck1

https://www.facebook.com/CJHeckAuthor

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/C.J.-Heck/e/B000APRMC4

Blogs: http://memoirsfromnam.blogspot.com/

http://cjswriterthoughts.blogspot.com/

http://knowingwhispers.blogspot.com/

Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/user/cjheck1949/videos

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5308345.C_J_Heck

Shelfari: http://www.shelfari.com/cj_heck

Books:

Barking Spiders (and Other Such Stuff)
Barking Spiders 2 (sequel)
Me Too!  Preschool Poetry 
Bits and Pieces (Short Story Collection)

Anatomy of a Poet

My Etsy Shop for Autographed Books:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/CJHeckBooks

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

My guest today is Steve Christie. Hello, Steve! Welcome to Writing in the Modern Age! It’s such a pleasure to have you here.

Can you tell us a little bit about your latest book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
  

It's a crime thriller titled Good Deed. It was published at the end of last year. It introduces DI Ronnie Buchanan, an intelligent and astute man with a wry sense of humour. The story starts with a normal girl who made a bad choice, a stranger doing a good deed which he will regret and two inept, opportunistic thieves who steal something which they are ill equipped to handle. Add an upset crime lord, his unscrupulous fixer Vince, then sit back as the mind games begin, the twists unfold and enjoy a breathless tour around Scotland as DI Buchanan tries to solve the case.

It's available as an eBook on Kindle and Kobo and on paperback from Amazon. It is also available at The Book Depository, Ringwood Publishing and from all good UK Bookshops.

Is there anything that prompted your latest book? Something that inspired you?

The old adage "no good deed goes unpunished". Every now and again you'll either pick up the newspaper or watch the news and see some story where some Good Samaritan helps someone out of a sticky situation only for it to come back and, pardon the phrase, bite them on the arse.

LOL.  So, when did you know you wanted to write? Or has it always been a pastime of yours?

I've always fancied giving it a go. I used to write short stories for my kids when they were younger.  They seemed to enjoy them and now that they've grown up a bit, I thought I'd get my teeth stuck into something a bit more substantial.  So I wrote Good Deed, my first novel.

Do you have any favorite authors? 

Loads. Lee Child, Patricia Cornwell, Ian Rankin. I've recently been getting into George R.R. Martin. I'm currently reading through his A Song of Ice and Fire series.

Do you write in a specific place? Time of day?

I work long hours, I seldom get home before eight p.m. each night, so I usually don't get around to my writing until about 10 p.m. Once my kids are settled down Ill put on some music, on my iPod of course, I don't want to waken any one up! Then I'll usually write for maybe about two or three hours. This, of course, means that I end up going to work the following morning looking like a crack addict! LOL.

*Laughs.* Oh, yes, I'm familiar with burning the midnight oil for a story.  

Are there any words you'd like to impart to fellow writers, Steve? Any advice?

Stick at the writing and learn to accept rejection and criticism. It comes with the territory.

Good advice.  So, inquiring minds want to know.  What are you currently working on?

I'm writing my second DI Buchanan novel Cold Shot. It's a dark tale of revenge set during a particularly nasty winter in Aberdeen.

Here is the blurb for Good Deed.

Good Deed is a fast paced crime novel that captures the reader from beginning to end.

Described by one reviewer as “Christopher Brookmyre on speed, with more thrills and less farce”, the gripping story of Good Deed rattles along relentlessly, leaving the reader breathless but enthralled. Good Deed introduces a new Scottish detective hero, DI Ronnie Buchanan, who is certain to quickly attract a legion of fans.

The events crammed into Good Deed take Buchanan from his base in Aberdeen on a frantic journey around all the major Scottish cities as his increasingly deadly pursuit of a mysterious criminal master mind known only as Vince comes to a breath-taking climax back in Aberdeen.

The pace of Good Deed is exceptional and unremitting. It is the kind of book that demands to be read in one sitting, but most readers will be so breathless as the saga unfolds without pause that they will need occasional rests before eagerly returning for more.

Here's an excerpt from Good Deed.

Lucy Kennedy pulled off the motorway following the road signs to the Road Chef restaurant just outside Dundee.

It was notoriously expensive but she had no choice, she was exhausted and in need of some caffeine.

She had made good time despite the earlier mishap with the flat tyre but thanks to a helpful stranger shed been back on the road in about ten minutes.

As she entered the restaurant, dazed from the long drive she failed to notice Mark and Liam sitting outside in their parked car but they noticed Lucy leaving hers and forgetting to lock up.

“Here we go,” said Liam. 

Mark and Liam were two habitual criminals who prowled the country seeking victims at roadside restaurants and other such places, they never failed to be amazed by the amount of road users who shattered from a long drive and in need of a coffee would stumble into these restaurants leaving their cars unlocked making their job so much more easier.

Once they had left their vehicle and entered the restaurant, Liam would pull alongside in his car giving Mark cover to rummage through the car to see what bounty awaited them.

On this particular day they struck gold.   

“Holy shit!” said Mark as he unzipped the tartan holdall lying in the back seat. What he'd found were two large packages of white powder well wrapped up in cling film, he knew they must contain a drug of some sort, smack, speed or coke it didn't really matter because judging by the quantity it would be worth a whole load of cash on the street. He took the packages out of the bag, zipped it back up and jumped into Liam's car “wait ' till you see what I've got here buddy” he showed Liam what he'd found.

“Check this, man, it's got to be worth a small fortune.”

“Jesus,” said Liam. “What’s a lassie like her doing carting all that shit about on her own?”

“No idea but it's our shit now, let's go.”

They pulled out of the car park, re-joined the motorway and drove off under the grey, cloud covered sky towards the centre of Dundee.

Lucy, totally unaware of what had just happened, carried her overpriced espresso to the nearest table, sat down and peeled open the small stick shaped packets of brown sugar, poured them into her cup and began to stir her coffee for an inordinate amount of time. She had things preying on her mind some bugging her more than others the main thing of course being how the hell she had gotten herself involved as a drug courier. It had started off small time, a block of weed here and there. Her flat mate Julie had convinced her it was easy money and right enough it did help supplement her meagre university grant, but then she'd got greedy, she took on bigger and bigger amounts, and now four kilos of coke.

She reminisced on how it had all started. It was a typical student's night out, a meal at the local curry house, followed by a pub crawl round Newington. They were a party of six, a strange mix of people, Lucy, her flatmate Julie, Deborah, a mature student big on size and personality, Joe and Eric two gay guys who shared a flat on the floor below and Eric, the cause of all Lucy's troubles.

Eric was a strange guy, the cool student that no one really knew much about, Jim Morrison reincarnated. He picked up the tab for everything, the meal, the drinks, even the taxi home.

She remembered thinking, Jesus this guy must have money coming out his ass, only later on that night back at her flat did she find out where this money came from.

“I deliver a few packages,” he told her as he skinned up a joint on one of Lucy's album covers, one of her favourites. “It’s easy money,” he said. "I could fix you up with the main man if you like".

And that was it, Lucy was in. No more shitty own brand label food from the local supermarket, no more eking out her meagre grant, life was looking up. Or so she thought.

Because of her straight looking plain appearance she was perfect for the task, .because she was so perfect she found herself getting all the bigger jobs. She was quite happy at first, let's face it bigger job bigger pay off. But then the paranoia set in, this couldn’t last; eventually she'd get caught. What would her family say? What if she ended up in jail? All that studying would have gone to waste.

Well, this would be the last, she wanted out and she'd tell them today as soon as she dropped off the package but she’d have to be careful how she went about it, it wasn't like packing in any normal job, a quick goodbye, a few drinks at the end of the last day and then you're off, these guys were scary so she would have to be tactful.

She bought another coffee to go, got her car keys out of her bag and returned to her car to complete the journey.

When she got to her car her heart skipped a beat, shit!, it's unlocked, panicking she looked in the back seat, the holdall was still there, she caught her breath, tried to calm down a bit and got in her car and headed on her way.

Universal Reader Link:  https://books2read.com/u/bMwN6A

 

Author Bio

A Real Ale Loving Scottish Crime Writer. Originally from Aberdeen, now residing in Edinburgh. This is my first novel, available October. Im currently working on my second novel featuring Ronnie Buchanan, working title Cold Shot.

Links:

Find out more...http://about.me/stevechristieauthor

Check out the video on Youtube!  http://youtu.be/nRjrh74zDXE

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/steve.christie.167?fref=ts
Twitter:  @schristieauthor
LinkedIn:  http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=143876790&locale=en_US&trk=tyah
Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6458799.Steve_Christie

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.

Hi, readers!  We have a real treat in store for you today, a poetry spotlight. In these poetry spotlights today and in the future, we will be showcasing poetry by some very talented poets. These poets have graced us with their presence.  

With us today is poet Pam Handa. Here is a little taste of her poetry and her views on love.

 

 

Stupid Cupid

 

Mortals have believed in you right from the start,

Because tiny Cupid you're such a sweetheart.

Your golden wings are a wonder and delight;

Your solid arrows quite impossible to fight.

Who can resist your loving piercing darts

Which strike at random vulnerable hearts?

When you come down racing by to strike,

Men and women who each other could like,

There's no running away from your absolute power,

Or trying to evade your earthly love shower.

The ignorant may call you stupid Cupid

But the wise know you're love's child little Cupid

 

Love

Love, the most unique

Of all human emotions,

To a million folks,

Is a million notions.

 

Simply holding hands,

Or lying on the sands.

Whispering sweet nothings,

Or many other things:

 

A hot, fiery kiss;

Or someone you miss.

A big sacrifice;

An infatuation in disguise.

 

A fleeting smile,

Lasting quite a while

A life-time passion,

Or a strange obsession.

 

For some, it’s a dream

As bright as a sunbeam.

Or a reality stark,

Consuming one like a shark!

 

Whatever one thinks,

Whatever one feels,

It fills one’s very being,

And from what I’m seeing,

 

It brings a special feeling

That sends the head reeling.

Taking away the strife,

Of this earthly life.

 

Making one’s ordinary existence

Full of joy and excitement

An extraordinary resistance,

And mental enlightenment!

 

The Queen of the Heart

 

 The young lady was still in her early teens,

When love came by in a tinsel dream.

 “Would you like to be my queen,” he promptly asked.

 “Oh yes,” she replied, “If forever you will last.”

 “Let’s sign a bilateral pact never ever to part,

 But to stay alive in each other’s heart.”

 

“That’s fine by me,” replied the jubilant teen,

“What about the times when life is not so serene?”

“Why worry about what we may never see?

Let’s dwell on that which will surely be.”

“That’s fine by me, I’ll do my little bit.

What happens to us when old age does hit?”

“Think of all the good times we’ll have enshrined,

In our photo-albums on the side-board lined.”

“If you say so my dear, I’ll gladly believe,

But, promise me this, there’ll be no sigh to heave.”

“When we’ve seen the cliffs of Dover,

And it’s still not quite over,

I promise we’ll retire to where we belong.

In that corner of my heart,

Where I know we'll still be strong.”

 

 

Poet Bio 

 

My name is Pam Handa nee Kochhar. I was born in New Delhi but have spent most of my life in Ghana and the UK. I graduated from the Sacred Heart College Dalhousie, in India. I received my Masters degree from the Punjab University as well as a gold medal for coming first. I started my teaching career in the English Dept of the same university. I married Dr Prem Handa, a Paediatrician, in 1968 and in 1972 we emigrated to Ghana. Today, I am the author of two books recently published by Trafford in the USA. 

Of Kismet and Karma, my first novel, is a cross-cultural blend of fact and fiction, based on my personal experiences in India, Ghana and the UK. My anthology of poems is entitled Wings of the Heart. Both books are available on Amazon.com, as E-books and in all Barnes and Nobles shops. The EBOOKS are really cheap. Get hold of them and spend time on going back to all that stirs the very soul!

Links:

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/PAM-HANDA-NEE-KOCHHAR/121487404694554
Twitter:  @handapam

Book Links:  https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17246306-wings-of-the-heart

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17240630-of-kismet-and-karma

http://www.ebookmall.com/author/pam-handa-nee-kochhar

Miscellaneous:  http://thevirtualbookcase.wordpress.com/2013/06/02/of-kismet-and-karma-and-other-books-by-pam-handa-nee-kochhar/

Youtube Videos:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5VECPWY6qUI 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rjrt6Dm_mx8 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6gjwPYwDws 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOgfateng1A 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsHEVRVo90w 

 

Check out our latest Writing in the Modern Age blog article here.