15 Years Ago Today

source

I was lying face down in my own vomit in cardiac arrest, moments from death. In a little while they would be cutting open my stomach to remove the 7 month old infant that was living inside of me. The body that had been her sanctuary for 7 months was failing and if she wasn't removed, she would certainly die. All 2 lbs of her was taken from me within seconds, but it would be six more weeks before I even knew. 

Six more weeks of she and I both fighting for our lives.

Six more weeks of waiting and uncertainty.

Six more weeks of my 1 yr old son asking, "When Mommy was going to wake up?"

Six long weeks. 

Summer is rough for me. Lots of memories. My son was born in June and my daughter in August. Today. It makes me wonder what type of young adults they have become. No longer are they the little beings that live in my memories. They have thoughts and opinions all their own and I wonder what they are.

It's been almost six years since I last spoke to her. Since I last heard her laughter. Since I last wiped her tears. I don't write about them to gain your sympathy or to make you feel sorry for me. I accept the consequences of my actions and I wait for the day when she is a mother herself and maybe a bit more understanding. I write so they know I didn't forget them. I never stopped loving them. I write so one day they'll have something tangible to look at and know that even though miles and oceans separated us, they never left my heart.

Petals of Flesh

Petals of flesh pulled from bone

Cast aside in the darkness of frivolity

Left alone to wander through the wasteland known as life

But for some it seems more like a death

Slowly she watches the world from within

Eyes unmoving, breath unceasing

From within her sanctuary

She watches and waits

She waits for the time  that is hers to bound forth and consume her

She waits for the moment without knowing

So she grabs each and every one that passes by

Hoping

Yet it never is

so she lets it slide through flesh that covers the bones

Another one cast aside

This was written based on a prompt for the 100 word challenge at Velvet Verbosity.

Free Almost

Free at last!! I can't believe it!! Finally I'm free!! This summer has been difficult to say the least.There were floods and no elec and computer deaths, but I survived because someone threw me a life preserver. So now all of the things I have wanted to do but couldn't I shall do. My  bondage has been broken. My silence unleashed. I know my words. My voice is unafraid. For now it is free.

It's Ramazan (or Ramadan depending on your accent) for us now. For those who may not know what that is, it's a month on the Islamic calendar where muslims from all over the world fast from sunrise to sunset for 30 days. I will be honest about it. I don't fast. At least not in the traditional physical sense. I have sugar probs and other health issues which keep me from doing so, but the reality of Ramazan is much more than abstaining from food and drink during the day. A lot of people including muslims don't know that if you back bite, gossip, become angry, and/or tell lies then your fast becomes void and you might as well go ahead and eat and drink because the only thing you'll find at the end of it is thirst and hunger.

Whenever I see people "celebrating" during the month of Ramazan it saddens me because the true meaning and spirit of the month is slowly becoming lost. It is suppose to be a month of reconnecting to your spirituality. A month of cleansing yourself of toxins and other bad habits that have made your body and spirit impure. It is a month to center yourself. To find the parts of you that get lost throughout the year. A time to slow down and reflect upon all you have. A time to remember there are those without and a time to give and share with friends. However for the most part I don't find this anymore.

People are too busy staring at the clock waiting for it to tick over so they can gorge themselves on special treats and foods only served during this time of year. Then they promptly forget about the thirst and hunger that filled their bodies throughout the day. Sometimes I just want to tell them there is really no point in fasting in the day if you're behaving like that one clock tick after sunset but it's not my place. Not my judgement.

I worry about me. Trying to find myself. I have much to be grateful for this month. Much to remember and many pieces of myself to gather. As the month goes on I'll be posting things. Things you may or may not know and trying to give perspectives that you might otherwise never see. Feel free to ask any questions about anything and I'll do my best to answer them.

Vampires Rule You Drool

It's me again Margaret!! I had big plans in August. Things were going to change. I was going to be able to start posting again. I even announced it to the world which was my first mistake because the universe just laughed at me and said "Oh yea? Really? Let me see what I can do to change that" and it did. Sigh. I meant to post this last week. I had a whole series of posts lined up for last week. Their drafts sit in my unpublished folder. Waiting. Like me. Maybe September will be the month that I return. Shh!! Don't tell the universe though. So until then here is a great guest post from Kasi. She was originally published by Harlequin but  has jumped onto the Indie train. She has two books out, Vampires Rule and Crushed. You can read more of her shaningans on her blog, Ghost Writer. Thanks for stopping by Kasi!!!

It's All About Control

When I was asked to write a post on my experiences in self-publishing, I didn't know where to begin.  This is my fourth attempt.  The last three were dry, boring, and all over the place.  I finally decided to narrow my focus.  Today I want to talk about control; specifically, who has control over your book?

If you go the traditional route, which I did several years ago, you have to sit back and watch control slip through your fingers as other people take your book on as their project.  In some ways this is a good thing.  When I published with Harlequin, I had a team of editors going over my manuscript line by line.  That alone will give you real peace of mind, but you have to give up control.  It isn't just your baby anymore.

On my first book, the title was changed to something that makes me cringe even now.  I tried to offer my editor a list of new titles, but she was set on the one that I hated.  In the end I gave into pressure, half-afraid my book wouldn't be published if I didn't let them have their way.  On the second book, almost every single aspect of it was changed by the editors.  First, they wanted me to change my main character's name to something they liked better.  Then they wanted me to get ride of her family, move her out of town, and basically rewrite everything.  I think the only thing they liked about the story was the idea of it.  To this day the book feels like it is more theirs than mine.

But now I've self-published a book called Vampires Rule, a YA Urban Fantasy with a unique twist on the whole vampire thing.  I have total control over this book, which isn't always a good thing.  There were a few times when I wasn't sure if I should leave something in or take it out.  I asked a friend and she said, "It's your book."  Then one day the truth of it hit home.  It is my book.  I am totally responsible for how it turns out.  Not only do I have to make sure it's edited properly, I have to create the cover, format it as an ebook, and do all the marketing. 

It's been kind of rough to be honest with you.  There have been times when I thought I should forget the whole thing and stay in bed, but the book is available on Smashwords now.  I'm hoping to have it on Amazon someday soon.  The marketing, I think, has been the worst part.  Starting a blog and joining social networking groups like Facebook has left me very little time to write.  Sometimes I feel like I am going up to everyone in the world one person at a time, tapping them on the shoulder and asking, "Would you like to read my book?"

I am learning so much about the publishing business and about marketing.  It seems like I find a new and wonderful site online to help me with marketing every day.  For instance, yesterday I found Book Blogs, and my blog followers shot up by ten overnight.  Also, a few people have asked to review my book because they saw my blog on this site. 

I love it that I don’t have to just publish one book a year like with traditional publishing.  Vampires Rule hit the cyber-shelves in April, and Crushed was released a few weeks ago.  Now I’m getting ready to put out the second books in each of those series, Werewolves Rule and Witch Hunt.  Both should be available sometime this year.

I've given up time to write, sleep, and inner peace, but I have total control over my book.  If you want to know if it was worth it, ask me next year after I've had time to promote it some more.  I'll be able to answer you then.  Hope this was helpful.          

Where you can find Kasi:

Blog   http://kasi-kcblake.blogspot.com/

Kasi's Books:

 Click HERE to read a sample chapter

To view a sample chapter of Crushed click HERE

or you can buy on Amazon by clicking the links below

                      

Eye of the Crystal Ball

One of the things I have missed the most this summer is my Writer Spotlight. I always enjoy finding new books and meeting all of the up and coming new authors. Then when they are famous I can brag about how I had them on my blog way back when. So today I am handing my blog over to T.P. She has written a guest post and you can find out more about her book, The Eye of the Crystal Ball at the end. Take it away T.P. Thanks for stopping by!!!

A lot of people ask me when I came up with the idea for ”The Eye of the Crystal Ball”, and I answer them that the story is very new, but the main character - the gypsy-girl Sara – has been with me always. She appeared in my head when I was still a child.

Where did she come from? Well, my parents actually. It is kind of strange I admit, but I think it is part of the reason why I have such a great imagination still as an adult. The thing is, my parents (mostly my dad – but my mom didn’t contradict him) used to tell me that I wasn’t their child. According to their story I was left on the doorstep at their house as an infant. They found me there in a small basket with a note on the pillow telling them to take good care of me. They told me I was a gypsy girl and that my real parents were going to come and get me one day soon.

I know it sounds like a horrible thing for parents to say to their child, but it wasn’t like I was young enough to really believe them. But I loved the story, and it made me very interested in gypsies and whenever we went on vacation to the South of France – where we always went because we had an apartment there – I would always go out looking for gypsies and try to get in contact with them. I didn’t believe the story – but I think maybe a big part of me wanted to. And that is where I think my love for storytelling began. My dad would tell me vividly about the gypsy way of living (in order to prepare me for when I had to go back, he would say while winking his one eye) and I would get drawn right into these stories of the dark and mysterious people from distant and exotic places. Stories filled with music and dancing and fluttering skirts. And my new best friend became Sara, the gypsy girl in a long red dress that would dance in my mind and make me dream of being different, or at least something else than the pretty ordinary girl from a middleclass family in Denmark that I really was.

As I grew up she followed me. I knew in my heart that I would one day write her story, and after having written four mystery novels, three in Danish that are published in Scandinavia and Germany, and one in English, I finally realized some time this spring that Sara had returned and she was getting ready to go on a dangerous quest to find a cure for her little brother’s strange illness.

I told my parents that I had written the story and they laughed a lot about it. So did I. To their defense I can tell you, that they told my older brother that he came from the monkeycage at the local Zoo, so I would prefer my story anytime over his.

But to be honest I loved that they gave me a world of imagination and they made me believe that I could do anything. Even fly. Yes, you heard me. Fly. My dad told me that he could teach me how to fly and every weekend for a long period of time we would practice in the driveway. My dad would put me on our garbage can outside and then he would have me jump towards him while he yelled: Flap your arms, flap!

And I jumped, of course, and flapped firmly believing that I one day would fly over the top of the roofs and look down at the small world underneath me. Some small part of me still believes that one day it will happen. As long as I keep flapping … and believing.

Who is T.P. Boje?

T. P. Boje is a mother of two, a stepmother of another two and a hardcore cartoon lover, Tim Burton enthusiast, and enjoys any movie the Coen Brothers have made (with the big Lebowski being her favorite strongly followed by Burn after Reading). She is also a Y/A fantasy and mystery-writer. She is originally from Denmark but currently living in Florida, USA. Her books are translated into several languages.

To learn more follow her on Twitter, visit her fansite on Facebook or check out her web-page: http://www.tpboje.blogspot.com/

Synopsis of The Eye of the Crystal Ball:

When Sara was newborn her parents left her at the doorstep at Mr. and Mrs. Schneider’s house.

When Sara was ten she discovered she was telekinetic. She began to move stuff around when she got angry just by her will alone.

When Sara was twelve her real parents came for her and took her with them to live like the Gypsy that she was – or Romani as they like to call themselves. They told her she was going to fulfill a prophesy. That it was once said that out of the Romani people the greatest sorceress who had ever lived would be born.
When Sara was thirteen she had a baby brother and when she was fourteen he got very sick with a strange illness.

To save her baby-brother Sara sets off on a quest to find his cure – well knowing that it will cost her dearly.
Soon Sara finds herself going through the Singing Cave, crossing Wild Witches Valley, talking to a ten foot giant snail, rescuing the Beads of Souls from the Hell-hounds, escaping a spell in Vamila, the Forest of Vanity, visiting the king at the City of Lights before she finally reaches the Black Castle where she is told the Eye of the Crystal Ball can tell her how to cure her brother’s strange illness.

But nothing is free in this world - and as Sara soon will know - everything has a price.

Get The Eye of the Crystal Ball on Amazon: