Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Jacqueline Howett interviews guest author Louise Wise

I'm happy to announce we have author Louise Wise as our guest here today.

e-book is only $2 from Amazon. Click on book to buy.

Q. Where do you come from? I come from Northampton in England, the same place where the late Princess Diana lived.
Q. What made you write this book? I love reading chick lit. Funny things naturally happen in life, and I wanted to enforce that. Life is funny, and I enjoy writing about people rather than the actual romance.
Q. Which authors have had a significant influence on your writing? Melissa Nathan. She was the first chick lit author I read and I absolutely fell in love with the style. I have read all of her books, sadly she died in 2006 with cancer (she was only 36!!). Through her writing she has shown me that life is funny and delightful as well as scary and heart-breaking.
Q. Do you like to listen to any music while you write? I like background noise, and because it can get a little solitary tapping away on the keyboard I like to hear another human voice in the background as well as music, so I listen to the radio. Radio 2 with Jeremy Vine and Steve Wright are my favourites.
Q. What do you think of the changing world of electronic books? Fantastic from all points of view, I think. The unknown writer can get his or her work read, the reader can pick up next to nothing books and the environment is cleaned up! Who invented them? Got to have been a woman!
Q. Do you have any other books you can talk about that you’re writing? My first book, Eden, is a romance/science-fiction book which is out on Amazon and Smashwords at the moment. I enjoyed writing that – I just let my imagination run riot! The book I’m working on now has the working title Miss Anthrope. It’s a chick lit with the theme depression. I know, it sounds odd writing a fun book about depression, but my character has problems that she doesn’t know she has. She dreams about them, and wakes up and promptly forgets them. It’s her minds way of protecting her, but sub-consciously she knows something is up and thus is depressed. In her words about her friends: “I feel like a normal person stuck in a chick lit novel.” Everyone/thing around her is light-hearted, fun-filled and happy and she’s grouchy, bitchy and money-pinching. I love her!
Q. If there were three books you could only take to a desert island what would they be? Tolsoy’s War and Peace – after I read it I could burn it for fuel. I’m boringly practical like that.
Wilderness Survival by Gregory Davenport – for obvious reasons.
Twenties Girl by Sophie Kinsella – seriously impressed by this book.

Q. What advice do you have to offer other aspiring authors out there?
Know the difference between an editor and a proofreader.

Q. Is there anything else you would like to say about yourself and your work? My work is branding myself as a comedy writer. I never realised that; I thought becoming a writer was all about thinking up stories and putting them down on paper, and that’s it. So, what I’d like to say is that writing is only half the battle. Branding, networking and marketing is the other half. And I speak for the traditionally published as well as indies.
Thank you Louise for visiting with us today.


Q. How can readers find you and follow your progress?
Here is a free excerpt from the novel of Louise Wise, A Proper Charlie.
Excerpt:
Charlie watched as he fell back onto her settee, and then straddled his lap. Oh my God! What was she doing! She was having an out-of-body-experience, she thought. Only she wasn’t dead. She was alive. Very much so. She wriggled against him wonderingly and excitement flared in her body as his own rose to her teasing.

His lips parted on a groan, and his Cadbury eyes blazed. She was rocking on Ben Middleton’s lap like she was in a third-rate porn movie. Rocking on the man of her dreams’ hardening lap.
A criminal’s lap.
She had recognised him the instant he pulled up beside her in the Audi. The hair curling around the ears, the way he held the angle of his head, the slight slip-up on the stupid Scottish accent. Oh, yes, here at her disposal was Ben Middleton. And boy, was she going to see justice done!
But then he kissed her.
She felt her body relax like she had been steeling herself against this passion but had now given up. His tongue entered her mouth, and when she met it with her own she knew she was lost. The kiss was explosive and volatile, and suddenly she was lying on the settee and he was on top. His hands were in her hair, as his tongue explored the moist softness of her mouth.
She wasn’t setting him up in a honey-trap, he wasn’t an abductor or even Ben Middleton. She wasn’t a pretend prostitute, a journalist or Charlotte Wallis. They weren’t even people anymore. They’d melted and fused in a tangle of passionate chaos.
She felt his hand mould around her breast; her jacket was open at the front revealing the plain white T-shirt. He pulled it up, clumsy and impatient in his desire, and this power she had over him drove her wild! Her flimsy bra was no barrier as her breast came alive under his inquisitive fingers. She moaned and arched towards him. That she’d hate herself afterwards; that he’d hate her didn’t seem to figure in her enflamed, glazed mind.
Their unchecked passion was frightening. And all at once, he was on the floor and she on top, mouths still together, hands pulling at one another’s clothes.
The telephone rang.
Charlie froze. Then all her senses came flooding back. She scrambled up, and ignoring the phone patted her jacket pockets for the knife.
‘What’s the matter?’ Ben croaked, he didn’t appear to hear the phone. He looked as soppy as she felt. He held out a hand to her. ‘Come back.’
‘Condom,’ she said, and forced a smile. She felt sick. Sick with that she’d lost control so easily. He’s a criminal, she reminded herself. He abducted Sally Readman.
She pointed the knife at him. ‘I’m armed.’
‘Charlie…?’ Ben lowered his hand. He stared from the knife to her. ‘Is this a joke?’
Charlie’s chin trembled and tears spilled from her eyes. ‘I’m deadly serious.’
Ben sat up. ‘And I’m deadly confused. One minute we were… and the next you’re holding a knife to my face.’
‘It’s a lock-knife, and it isn’t in your face.’ She moved forward and bent slightly so she was at his level. ‘This is at your face.’
Ben flinched, and Charlie swallowed. She tried to stop her tears from falling and her chin from wobbling, but she couldn’t. She rubbed her nose and almost stabbed herself in the eye.
The phone stopped ringing and the answer machine kicked in. ‘Hi, Lottie, it’s Andy. Just to say, I forgive you and I’ll be home by Friday. Get the beers in, eh? Bye darlin’.’
They both stared at the phone, then Ben scrambled up and grabbed her hand around the knife. Charlie brought up her knee like all girls are taught.
‘Ben Middleton,’ she said as Ben sank to the floor once again with an anguished cry of pain. She held the knife out warningly towards him. ‘I didn’t listen to the rumours about you. I believed your innocence,’ she swallowed on some emotion, ‘b-believed you. God, how stupid. I e-even felt sorry for you!’
Ben stared up at her from where he knelt; his face still contorted in pain.
‘You s-seemed sad a-and haunted by something. Now I know what it was…’ her voice broke and her tears fell freely. ‘Guilt!’
‘I don’t under –’ he began. His expression was changing to bewilderment. He began to stand.
‘No!’ she shouted. She moved towards the phone. ‘Stay where you are. I’m making a citizen’s arrest!’
Ben’s confusion was swapped with shock. ‘You can’t think I had anything to do with the abductions? Charlie, I was cleared! It was a misunderstanding, that’s all!’
Slowing standing, Ben held out his hands in a gesture of innocence. ‘OK, I know how this looks, but I don’t normally pick up prostitutes. The only reason I did this time was because I knew it was you.’
She glared at him and he coloured.
‘That didn’t come out right.’
‘Sure didn’t.’ She looked away to reach for the telephone and Ben moved in, quickly grabbing the wrist that was holding the knife. Charlie yelled angrily and brought her knee up again, but this time he was ready, catching her leg between his own.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Poetry excerpts from Amorphous Angelic, Selected Poems by Jacqueline Howett

 My Poetry E-book is free this weekend from Smashwords. Grab a copy while you can!

 
THERE I SEEK YOU ALONG YOUR WAY

There I seek you along your way,
A troubled heart, no longer say,
You did your best in those dread times,
And now you rest in heavens chimes,
Gone has the wind of yesteryear,
Far in the echoes that you seer,
Another hand awaits your love,
Through passing clouds appears a dove,
With a message from above.


Copyright © 1983-2011 Jacqueline Howett


A NEW LIFE BLOOMS IN HEAVENS LIGHT


A new life blooms in heavens light,
Across horizons, love takes flight,
Eternal brightness, loves kindness,
Your heart moves amongst the righteous,
New songs you sing and act the part,
With divine presence in your heart,
With all nobleman, kings and queens,
Shine your presence in their esteem,
Heavens powers your life redeems.


Copyright © 1983-2011 Jacqueline Howett




A CLEAR PURE WAY YOUR SOUL NOW TREAD


A clear pure way your soul now tread,
A guiding star your heart has wed,
Your find another in God’s state,
Have ‘faith’ along the road that waits,
Heaven opens to you her gates,
Where ‘hope’ and ‘faith’ meet now your fate,
This is a new life for your sake,
To you God gives,
For man to take.

Copyright © 1983-2011 Jacqueline Howett


NOW LOVE HAS BLOOMED IN HEAVENS LIGHT

Now love has bloomed in heavens light,
Happiness prevails, future flight,
Know and reap spiritual delights,
Mortal men that praise in your sight,
Immortal blessings amidst flesh,
Spirits hold power with life and death,
To hold Gods love is your request,
Rise to a higher consciousness.

Copyright © 1983-2011 Jacqueline Howett





HOLD FAITH WITH SOULS AMIDST THE VASTNESS

Hold faith with souls amidst the vastness,
Waiting to be comforted through being,
A movement contemplates human kindness,
Bringing Gods powerful plans to rejoice,
With the bliss of heaven who comforts,
Stars explode to bring ripples of news to human ears,
And the universe delights.


Copyright © 1983-2011 Jacqueline Howett


Added note: Saturday 13th August. This E-book is free at Smashwords this weekend in most formats.

Here's the link:

I hope some of you can review my book and give it your star rating at Amazon, to  balance things out with the present 5 graffiti comments I can't seem to rid of for the moment. I can't unpublish the book, due to it being published in soft cover prior. However, I do hope to solve this soon. Thanks guys! J.H.





Ebook Description

Amorphous Angelic, selected poems by Jacqueline Howett are metaphysical poems of wisdom, death, rebirth, the inner workings of the souls journey. Love, inspiration, wonder, visions, hope, faith &, connecting to the higher self. They speak of the sad & strange, and elevating out of darkness to reveal the mystery of life. Written in England, before Howett moved to America.
Thanks for visiting. Jacqueline.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

                                             It's not only rock 'n' roll! It's rock wisdom.


             All You Need is Love:
 And 99 Other Life Lessons From Classic Rock Songs.

I love this book, All you need is love by Pete Fornatale and Bill Ayres, and give it 5 stars. There are so many little gems inside. I use it as a daily mantra by flipping through the pages and opening to just one page, find a nugget of wisdom for the day just for me from the message it gives. Try it, the feedback it gives really works like magic with this book. I find myself re-reading so many of them. It's deep, cleverly written and inspiring. You also re-learn a lot about the history of classic rock and musicians in a very light manner. You can make this kind of book a friend. Its also the perfect gift for someone special. Although first published in 2000, it reads as a timeless master-piece for your library shelf.   Sure hope to see an e-book in the future.  Enjoy!


http://www.amazon.com/All-You-Need-Love-Lessons/dp/0684845296/ref=cm_cr-mr-img



Product Description
It's Not Only Rock 'N' Roll! It's Rock Wisdom It's the insights and messages that come to us from 100 of our favorite rock songs. Love and marriage, family, friendships, self-esteem, spirituality, and community are just some of the themes explored in these healing and uplifting meditations, based on four decades of classic rock by artists like the Beatles, James Taylor, the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Carole King, Bruce Springsteen, the Beach Boys, and dozens more. You'll also find background information on the songs and artists, as well as suggestions for applying these nuggets of rock wisdom to your everyday life. All You Need Is Love is a visit to our past and a companion for our present and future.

About the Author

Pete Fornatale is an award-winning broadcaster who has been a fixture on the New York City radio scene for the past forty years. The author of Simon and Garfunkel's Bookends, he can currently be heard on in the New York area on WFUV radio's Mixed Bag.

Also just to read up on both these guys via google is quite an experience.

Another book that came out in 2010 just by Pete Fornatale was titled, Back to the garden. The story of Woodstock and how it changed a generation. This I haven't read as yet.

Here's the link.



http://www.amazon.com/Back-Garden-Woodstock-Changed-Generation/dp/1416591206/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_1


Here's the link to Pete Fornatale's websites: http://www.petefornatale.com/

http://www.mixedbagradio.com/AboutUs.htm

http://www.mixedbagradio.com/

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

Anyone for Wimbledon Tennis? More Nostalgia and childhood by Jacqueline Howett




Wimbledon tennis, the famous windmill, and top left was the pub in Wimbledon village - my local Sunday teen Pub where we sit on the green drinking cider.

The windmill on Wimbledon common and tea house.
Nr golf course and Queens-mere pond.
Whenever Wimbledon tennis is on the T.V. it always brings nostalgia to me, but also reminds me of the passing years. I'm now fifty seven. It was in Wimbledon, a suburb of London where I was brought up as a child. I could hear the audience from the tennis courts clapping from my home whenever a tennis game was on. I was blessed to be living in this better part of London suburbia, I might add. It was much like a Hollywood of its day with its mansions and movie stars, and actors like Sean Connery- James Bond. Its tennis courts, parks, trees and commons, the windmill and famously named Queens’s- mere pond, and Kings- mere pond. The fashionable elite Sunday walkers or horse-riders who could well afford to stable a horse in Wimbledon village, or play cricket, crocket or golf. There was also the prim and proper eccentricity of village life that still holds today a certain style to reserved fashion, high tea and timeless pubs. And all this is just fifteen minutes from the heart of London.

From elementary school, I grew to love the world of books and go to the library after school. It was also my haven for peace and quiet as my parents didn’t get along, and soon separated. They divorced towards the middle years of my secondary school from Mayfield comprehensive high school for girls on West Hill, Putney. I was also the games captain, and so I was often down at the track running in Wimbledon Park.


me as a small child.
As a child I loved to listen to the children story hour on the radio. The radio show started out the same; ‘Are you sitting comfortably?”  I lay with my belly on the carpet, and with my elbows on the floor holding my face. ‘Yes,’ I would say out loud with a delightful smile. Then the radio announcer would say, “Then we shall begin.” I held on to every word like a treasure. I loved reading stories to my little brother, and my mother promted me to read to him more as she couldn't read very well in English. Before long, I started writing poetry, short stories and kept a diary. I wasn’t the greatest speller, but I was fair. I sometimes wonder if it had anything to do with being taught Greek at such an early age, then French at school. My English teacher told me I had great ideas but had to pay more attention to my grammar. I was also quite a dreamer, looking out the window up at the trees and sky. ‘Pay attention Jacqueline,’ I heard a lot. But I was listening; I was just a deep thinker and processed my information differently. My Art on the other hand always graded me with A+.
     My (latent) mother who passed away in 1996 was Greek, and she worked in fashion all her life in the heart of London. She spoke to us in Greek at home. My father, an English countryman had met my mother in Greece in the R.A.F.  A fervent Artist and wood craftsman who took on various jobs, mostly in sales in those early years. Eventually he remarried and returned to the English countryside, near Cambridge with his English bride. However, if my mother and father never had much in common they both loved ballroom dancing. And looking back on the happier times as a child, travelling to Greece each year for our summer holidays to visit my Greek Grandma and relatives in the world of olives, grapes, and siesta days of swimming, and doing as we pleased- many counted me at school to be so lucky.

My fathers side, on the other hand, was more like having an English Grandma like the Queen Mother in her English rose garden. Funny, she really did look like the Queen  Mother. Cups of tea and petite four sandwiches, clotted cream and jam scones were held with your little pinky in the air, and to preferably say ‘no thank you’ to a second helping. And we were never to talk at the table, ‘little children should be seen and not heard.’ It was always at the back of our minds- act proper. Quite often I was talkative and sent to my room with no supper for saying something derogative. I didn’t care for food much as a child, only puddings which my mother sneaked into me.  You know that song from Pink Floyd, ‘you can’t have any pudding if you don’t eat your meat? Well my meat was always thrown under the table. It was also the Beatles era and George Harrison’s first wife lived across the way from my English Granny.
     My father left home when I was twelve. At fifteen I told everyone I was going to leave home as soon as I was of age, and that I intended to also write my autobiography. When I completed my comprehensive education I left school and went to work, and tried to help my mother in making ends meet like my older brother and sister, so I worked as a typist for a time. My mother didn’t care too much for my art and writing notions. She told me, in reality I had to work and make money first. It was also not easy for my mother to deal with me without my father around. Continued education was not an option living at home. I needed my father and I blamed my mother for her Greek ways that made him leave. She had dealt with prejurdism quietly from the English, let alone my father, and then her own children.
My father when he lost his temper would call her a Greek peasant, and then we as children found it so easy to emulate my father and hurt her that way too. I remember playing in my room as a very small child with friends, and I'd step outside into the kitchen and tell my mother, ‘when you come in my room with snacks, don’t you dare talk in Greek and embarrass me in front of my friends. You must talk in English.' Being Greek or an Italian was as taboo as being black. I was only half English and it made me feel like an outsider at times.
As I grew up, I vaguely remember signs in windows in town, ‘No rents to blacks.’ It disturbed my social outlook. Don’t get me wrong, I of all people encouraged having black friends, and I did. I even inherited more black dollies in my doll collection than I had white dollies, given to me by the only half black family across the street. I believe I knew there had to be a reason I had black dollies in my push cart, and I knew my little friends noticed as much too. (By the way, the girl that gave the black dolls to me, I heard threw herself off a thirteenth floor condominium building later as a teen, when her brother died of an over dose of drugs).

Then at my first year in secondary school, when I was about eleven or so, I remember there was a black girl in my class no one ever spoke to. I on the other hand was very popular, so one day I walked into class and put my arm around Ruth, the black girl, so the whole class would witness this, and I talked and joked with her, and told her not to be so shy. Then each day I walk into class saying, hi Ruth. She would smile and be so happy, and I could see her cheeks flush and tell her so. What followed was a shower of hi Ruth, hi Ruth from the whole class each day, and suddenly everyone was her friend. I felt proud of myself for breaking the ice.
     My Mother was on occasion maliciously told by a few  English to go back home to her own country, then one day she dyed her hair blond and everyone thought she was French. She laughed and played along when it suited her. For some reason the French were a permissible race, maybe due to their air of suave fair or that certain manner when they spoke with such intellectualism, or maybe it was  French bread and their cheese, caviar, champagne and high fashion, or maybe it was their fine Artists. Whatever, it certainly helped along in my mother’s understanding with how to fit into society with her own method for survival as a single working mother- way back in those days.
    At sixteen I decided to join a ballet that was advertised travelling Europe. That was the beginning of my own life. By eighteen I was married to my Greek Seaman and travelling the seven seas so to speak, I even tried to become a Morse code operator on ships just to be a little closer to my husband. At Morse code school in London, they asked me at my interview if I was a women’s Lib. I asked them, what has women’s Lib got to do with being a Morse code operator? They replied, “Well we just don’t have any women before serving in that position.” It set off alarms in my head to the days of the suffragettes I heard about in school. They threw themselves under the horses and killed themselves at the Darby races in order for Women’s rights. I distinctly remember every hair on my body rising when the teacher told this story. And somehow I knew what being a woman was coming to feel like as I ventured out alone. It seemed to fit into the same category as being black, just for being a woman.
What I looked like just after
my divorce- in my early twenties.
 My first novel, ‘The Greek Seaman’ was written much from my experience. My husband died early of a heart attack, much to the effects of his experience at sea, and many others said my divorcing him during his break down years and the loss of our child that was still-birth probably added to it. But his life was lived in paranoia that someone was always trying to kill him after our experience at sea together, and he was in and out of mental hospitals and given electric shocks to try and forget. I was told he died uttering my name on his last breath- even though we had long since been divorced.

     What followed were the Arab Oil years I had entered back in London, when Arabs were still uneducated, but were now allowed into Oxford, Eaton and Cambridge for a price. I travelled Europe living in Paris, Greece and London. Once the Arabs were educated the loose money stopped, and everyone turned around and it was the beginning of the computer era five years later. And I as a writer, I went off to buy a computer for my spelling and grammar, for my pen wrote and wrote my way out of London’s high society, as did my paint brush, creating Art which now turned to Abstract from realism.
During those years, whenever my Mother visited me my head was always under a pile of books, writing or painting and has been my life ever since.

North Wales, UK.

     Engrossed in my cocoon of creativity for many years, I now began to feel subconsciously a calling towards the working world, but I continued to shy away as I felt it to be too much to balance that reality, so I took off from London to a small cottage on a mountain top in North Wales to write for several years more from my savings from the property that I had acquired and sold in London. I could see the castle from my house. It was spectacular at night.



     In 1988, I came to America. For a long period in my life I had husbands and boyfriends that allowed me to write and paint, but a great part of me felt left out. The world again was changing fast. I in my cocooned world took on the shape much like living in a bubble. The world of workers was a far cry from my own. I knew nothing of landing into basic reality, yet I was highly intellectually opinionated.

As the years passed writing and painting, the world changed more, and an edge entered my life. It felt almost like a cliff I had to throw myself off was placed in front of me in order to enter the human race had happened when my mother died in 1996. I reached out to the world by placing more and more of my Art into exhibit.
     Being a stuck up brat/snob for so many years was not easy to shed. I was shy in public, and too much of a deep thinker. Yet, in the process the lady of letters was young enough still to be tattooed up so to speak, and could make it by herself in the world. The world was changing fast and I was propelled to catch up, and with my dreading change I was kicking and fighting much of the way. But it was mostly still only through the Art world.
I could feel a definite intense force was merging very slowly to bring my change about, but for some reason I had to let go of Shakespeare in the process, when I moved into a relationship with a man for six years who had grown up children. But then my memory to reciting all the classics went. Yet, I believe his children were somehow my mentors or guides towards my own independence and survival as they tackled their own first jobs. Being they were the children of this present era, I felt I learnt from them how to make a living in the main stream of the real world.
It was at forty nine, fifty; I had finally arrived into the working world, and I left my present abode in Maine and headed off to Florida alone, and with very little money I was ready to go to work.
      In 2002, I took on a job at first as a live in Caregiver to save for a car and apartment, and my books and art went in storage. With my not really knowing how to pump gas by myself and frightful of driving any long distances, I took my first plunge into my working life for Ms Work. Ironic don’t you think? Am I kidding? No, her name really was Ms Work. Well, I realized right then, how there was much more to this world than I could ever fathom, and it was only in my maturity that I understood it in this new light.
 I was the happiest girl on the planet. I had finally arrived into the mix of the working world. A late bloomer, but I had arrived. I was now being prepared to deal with whatever choices and challenges came my way independently. And as the years passed with these Granny’s, who I learnt so much from, my balancing a check book became clearer. I knew exactly where I wanted to be- on the beach writing my books and painting. I was now paying rent to my own place like I had just turned twenty one. And, oh- how I began living life all over again.
During this time, I began to do only twelve hour shift work earning me more money, and I began another novel- my third novel. (Somewhat of a funny book, I might add).  I wrote the notes down in my client’s garages or in my car. My car, an old 1994 mercury cougar was paid for from my own hard work and I still have it. It must be the only car on the road left with no polish. My writing life has been the most difficult thing to do, yet is still rewarding to climb. My being put to work was the most glorious thing to me in the beginning. Now years into it, I am relatively tamed, and I can say like most workers, it sucks, but a nice kind of- it sucks.
Oh yes, I have indeed arrived into this new era. So, as I deal now with further editing, my own reality show begins in my maturity. I’ve come a long way. Tired, you know it, but my mustard seed of faith is strong. I indeed did it my way and no doubt I shall survive.     
And as you see, there are small subconscious things I have carried with me from childhood. Did I want to see a black president? You bet. And yes, a long time coming…. The women’s issues- well, maybe in time the abuse will stop. But one thing’s for sure, this generation is certainly not making it too easy for a man to emulate his forefathers. Women of today are here to break the mode. And, if I could have my mother back today, things would have been different. I viewed her world growing up with such bias eyes. She was a brave and a very extraordinary woman of her time, just as so many women were.
Queens-mere pond, on Wimbledon common was a regular walk for me.
At the end of the path is a grave-yard, and behind the cemetry railings there, my mother is now buried.


Saturday, June 25, 2011

I have been writing Paranormal and didn't know it.



Of late, I have been re-reading through my second and third novel in progress, and have noticed as if for the first time a strong Paranormal element runs through them. The thing is, I am now debating if I should cut these scenes out completely, at least from my second novel.

- Hmm, so much to think about as the second book is more about discovering this power as part of growth amidst fear, where as in my third novel it reveals the awareness of having  and knowing this power, and recognising the power in others with a certain amount of wisdom, so the paranormal seems to be what makes the third book.

I was telling everyone how i was writing about the interaction of angels in human affairs, that enter the body of every day people in the process of one's circumstances, or life story, as well as the opposite- with demons in the human form that creep in and out, let alone various playful muses.  For me, its never been ghosts or vampires. Mine is more an interaction, or rather to the understanding or awareness of our psychic world as humans. I didn't really notice until now, that I was actually able to brand my third novel Paranormal or Paranormal romance, until I began reading various novels in the Paranormal genre. Some Paranormal novels are so out there, or highly exagerated that I didn't want to be among this catogory, but when there is a psychological element- it changes everything.

I must say, it has actually helped in understanding my own process. Its interesting how sometimes it takes a while for the penny to drop about one's own work, and what one is writing or has experienced through life. And for that reason alone, it is why its so important to read from a broad spectrum of writers and genres. Sometimes you have to put your work away for a long while, to know what it is you have written all those years. Anyway, it's nice to have had this finally pointed out to me. Dah! - However, I shall be sure to get a second opinion. Then again, some times it really is about a state of maturing, not only as an author, but as a soul in order to understand the paranormal state.

So what is Paranormal? Here is a link I found online that explains this briefly.
http://www.milwaukeeparanormal.com/What-IS-Paranormal.html


Also see: What is Paranormal romance.  Written by various paranormal writers.

Paranormal romance -wikipedia



Seeing that I'm talking so much about paranormal, here is a free e-book available for a very limited time by Debra L Martin and David W. Small on Amazon. Grab a copy while you can.


Abraham "Ham" Jones, a cripple, and Zia Slate, a tomboy with an attitude, find themselves unlikely partners in this post-apocalyptic tale of survival. It is decades later since the world blew itself apart. Life is harsh, gangs rule the streets, the system cops keep the peace anyway they can. Being a kid in this world isn't easy, being a cripple is about the worst sentence handed down. Being a girl with no protection is only slightly better. 

Ham and Zia's lives are irrevocably changed when they meet a mysterious old man bearing gifts - a cane for Ham and a knife for Zia. But, nothing is as it seems. Everyone wants something and no good deed goes unpunished. Forced into a desperate encounter, they must fight for their lives when it's discovered they now have possession of two of the legendary memory weapons, the very weapons that ultimately destroyed the world.





Note: I have taken The Greek Seaman down from Amazon and Smashwords.
To all those awaiting for the new release of The Greek Seaman, by a second Editor, I'm sorry you have had to wait so long. I hope to have the grammar re-checked soon- when funds allow. As of today, I have taken The Greek Seaman down from Amazon and Smashwords, and posted this also in the side-bar. 


I noticed The Indie Spotlight posted up my interview finally on June 12th with The Greek Seaman novel. However, I gave them this interview way back in March. There is an alternative excerpt from THE GREEK SEAMAN I noticed  posted over there, if you want to see a little more into the novel while at sea click on the link. Anyways, I have decided to also place their logo up in my sidebar.



Lunch on the beach is still fun to do, but the weather is crazy hot right now here in Florida. 95 degrees and humid, so it's not pleasant outside, but there is outside cooling fans that help.


Have a great week.

Jacqueline.