Give a little bit (or a lot) to help The Dogs Trust—thank you!
And another writerly friend has just come out with a book; this time, it is nonfiction and religious/spiritual in nature, regarding a person’s transformation (that part sounds like spec-fic, though, doesn’t it?!). In any case, writers, y’all are rocking 2017. Keep it up!
Jack Flacco is pleased to announce his latest book WHEN FORGIVENESS IS ENOUGH: MAKING SENSE OF GOD’S CALLING is now available to purchase:
When the apostle Peter asked Jesus how many times he should forgive his brother, Jesus answered seventy-seven times. This was to illustrate God’s forgiveness is boundless, without end. A week after that conversation, God gave his only son as a sacrifice to save many from the penalty of sin.
What would it be like to forgive as God forgives? Is it possible to erase from memory someone else’s slight, in spite of the lingering bad feelings brought on by bitterness?
God’s calling to forgive one another is just the beginning. His desire is to overwhelm people with his spirit so that a hardened heart may melt to become loving and generous. Above everything else, God wants a relationship with every person who hears his word. In this…
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This scary-story anthology has multiple authors, character arcs and themes. What could be better in the month of magic, mischief, and, sometimes, mayhem?
NEW for HALLOWEEN and FREE today on Freebooksie!
A scary anthology from me and my bestseller author friends plus stories from rising stars!
FREE TODAY ONLY!
When I looked we were the 3rd one on the front page!
GET YOUR COPY NOW!
Please Like and Share and reblog and Tweet and all the things!!
Buy a book of stories and help a great cause: to end malaria. The price goes up 15 October, so order soon and often, as the holiday season is coming and these make fine gifts!
Fancy a trip to Pluto? Or a fearful drive along a stretch of country road? Unless you prefer to go to church with a strange woman in green tights, her hair alive with electricity. Here you have 34 stories, each one a journey, whether funny or frightening, real or figurative, shared or dreadfully alone. ‘They had a long journey ahead of them’ was the prompt: the writers here, from award-winning authors to exciting new talents, took it and made it their own. Sit back and enjoy the scenery, then, as the stories open your eyes to destinations you’ll want to go back to again. Bon voyage!
The 2017 Book a Break short story anthology is available for pre-order now on…
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Not my book, but that of a good friend and wonderful poet . . . support your favorite independent writer(s) and artists, Independence Day or anyday!
Today, 14 December 2016, marks one of the most devastating days I’ve ever personally experienced within the range of “modern” American history. As I prepare to go volunteer in my child’s first-grade class today, I will be extra-mindful of the six dedicated teachers/staff and the 20 bright and promising children who were murdered at Sandy Hook in December 2012. And I will be doubly thankful for the educators and staff who still are preparing our children for meaningful lives. If you can, on this day or any other, please consider volunteering for or donating to these organizations:
Sandy Hook Promise (http://www.sandyhookpromise.org/)
Americans Against Gun Violence (http://aagunv.org/)
Coalition to Stop Gun Violence (http://csgv.org/)
The Brady Campaign to Prevent Gun Violence (http://www.bradycampaign.org/)
or another anti-gun violence organization of your choice
I will not forget, and I hope you don’t either, so that we may improve as a nation and as human beings. Following is my humble offering to commemorate those 26 souls (the poem itself is a January 2014 reblog).
“All Our Horrific Realities: A Dirge”
Leigh Ward-Smith, ©2014
“The family drew cupcakes . . . on her tiny white casket.”
Setting: Here, now.
All our horrific realities
are all horrifically ours.
Sublime in the glint of the scythe,
six-and-twenty sorrows stream into our consciousness.
Salt upon the pane.
I rage against the sloping reality
of the dying twenty-six lights.
Soon enough, the grief heaps up, pushing up mountains in the mind:
Belted welts upon the already bruised back of the world.
Somewhere, suffused cirrus,
pregnant with hopes flung out
and the iciest of cyclic horrors.
And now, cracked-lip murmurings yet shunt, quick to the chest,
our hell-shocked fare-thee-wells.
I write so I can live
with the reality of our human race, this place:
We are damned, dirty apes–with angers dangerously ablaze.
Can saved Graces now retrieve the six-and-twenty,
plucked pennies from air-strings…
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If, like me, you’re a devoted fan of speculative fiction (horror–fantasy–sci-fi–weird–uncanny), you owe it to yourself to pick up Hugh’s new collection of short stories. At a mere $7.99 paperback (plus any tax/shipping), it’s an utter steal with 20+ Twilight Zone-esque stories to sink your brain into.
Stop by Hugh’s blog, too, as he posts spec-fic (and lots of other fun stuff) from time to time there.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am delighted to announce that we have lift off.
Glimpses, my first book, is now available to buy as a paperback.
Glimpses – The new book of some of my short stories. Publication Date: Paperback: Now Available. Kindle: Tuesday 6th December 2016.
If you would like to order a copy, then please click on the link below and you’ll be taken to the Amazon site in the country you are based. Where Amazon is not available, you’ll be taken to the UK site.
If you would like a copy signed by me, the author, then leave me a message in the comments section and I’ll get back to you. Amazon doesn’t offer paperback versions in all countries, so I’d be delighted to sell and send you a paperback copy.
The Kindle version will be available from 6th December 2016 and is available to pre-order.
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I’ve been busy writing and promoting. My ‘soft’ horror story, “Muzzling the Monster,” is out in book form with some other excellent
hobbits’ people’s stories.
But in the meantime, a sort of narrative manifesto in the form of a palinode.
Palinode: According to the Poetry Foundation, a palinode is “an ode or song that retracts or recants what the poet wrote in a previous poem.”
And now, in response to the world today and in homage to WordPresser and poet Robert Okaji, whose much more deft and studied poetical works you can find here . . .
If I Were a . . . (defiant animal/goddess/dolphin/force)
for Robert Okaji
If I were another kind of defiant animal than me, I think I’d choose to be a well-kept black cat. I’d be haughty about my rich, luxuriant fur and take every opportunity to let the sun follow my lead, basking in its admiration like the goddess I clearly am. Continue reading
As they say, and now for something (not completely, but) a little different! An attempted poem; the first in a while for me. [And no, it’s not related to green pools at the recent Olympics!]
Green Swimming, in Summer
Eyelines: and when
is exactly even
with the pool’s sagging caldera,
crocodile wisps, drifts
and it is
we could leap
into the jade organic
and skiff the silks aside,
maybe use toes to play with the tassels,
splitting the husks with our own
Here, there are no
wheelbarrow—a collective noun like
a parliament of owls or
murder of crows—
No wheelbarrows either. They are shut
But there are ducks nearby:
And closer still, neighborly chickens:
one of whom folds a neurological neck
at a break-beak angle.
Damaged in the egg,
(Aren’t we all?)
He is named, but, sadly, I do not
So I christen him
Nothing’s barbaric about him,
As for me—us—the jury’s
out. Out there, somewhere.
Hiding in a star nursery.
Sir Yawp javelins pill-bugs and
snags gnats mid-air.
Corn flies, mistaken for sweat bees,
are no match for the
feathered Mr. Miyagi.
For now, all things
pushed out of human consciousness.
And out far, if you chance
to snatch a glance
Archaeopteryx, a transitional
preening the sky
or sentinel on a wire,
a vulture strutting
to the strummed frets
of a grisly gravel feast,
stay back. Let
your mind make
required, etchings on the facades
of the flat dust.
Let it say:
I have passed by
here and seen.
At the end of the summer (here in the Northern hemisphere, anyway), I have been inspired by many things. One of those is poet Robert Okaji’s participation in the 30/30 Project, wherein a poet writes 30 poems in 30 days to benefit the publisher Tupelo Press. If you appreciate poetry—modern or otherwise—you might very well enjoy the fare offered in this project. Several donor incentives remain for sponsoring Bob, although the sand is getting finer. If that’s not enough, Bob links to the Tupelo site with each of his evocative daily poems; that site boasts work (much of it also as stunning, I must say) from eight other participating poets. I hope you’ll partake of some poetry today, before August (like summer 2016) pulls up roots and leaves us with . . . leaves, of course!
Fortunately, bad things sometimes
come to an end. Even allergies!
In my sitting-about over the last week and a half or so, I have come to some salient conclusions about life (and maybe the universe and everything). So, I’m thinking, why not share my
willy sisdom silly wisdom with the world.
Thus, I offer you my brief-ish spin, in list form, on being under the weather, which I hope you’ll find amusing. Goodness knows, the world needs a smile or two these days.
12 Signs You’ve Entered the Allerpocalypse
- Even your allergic shiners have allergic shiners.
- Provided you can still speak, you have gone from falsetto to baritone in one day (without experiencing puberty).
- You have enough balled-up tissues in the trash can to fill a life-sized R2-D2 every hour. (RIP, Kenny Baker.)
- It is very possible you’ve watched enough cruddy television to detach twenty retinas and wipe multiple minds of intelligent thought.
- Your head feels both curiously full and egregiously empty. It’s as if Lizzie Borden has given your skull 40 whacks but has left the axe blade there on the last one, like you’re some 20th century Phineas Gage.
- Speaking of skulls . . . at this point, you are 100% willing to undergo skull trephination to let out the evil spirits (lovingly dubbed Mucodon and Sneezmodeus).
- At one point you’re so delusional you imagine you’re George R.R. Martin and accidentally almost kill yourself with a pen.
- You hallucinate that your neck has started filling with bilgey ocean water (including all the plastic crap therein) or else it’s split open and the top of your head’s fallen off.
- Like Logan, all you’re seeking is sanctuary. Freedom from mucus is a human right, by your reckoning!
- You realize tears are just fate’s way of reminding you you’re not dead yet (hope springs eternal).
- It’s possible, you think, that you’ve invented a new ‘holistic’ treatment modality— 21st-century cupping—wherein you drape a towel over your head while putting your face in a steaming hot cup of tea (or toddy or whatever works for you). And unlike Bill Clinton, you did inhale.
- All in all, the important thing dawns on you: At least it’s not a/the Trumpocalypse.
With that said and done, I hope to begin visiting and commenting on all of y’alls blawgs that I’ve been sad to miss during my involuntary absence. Keep up the creativity! 🙂