Read an Exchange with Author Anthony McManus (@Deepcaster)

Anthony McManus (Tony, I call him ) is an author who lives in Chiang Mai, a beautiful part of northern Thailand I had the pleasure of visiting years ago.

We connected after he read one of my books, and have been friends since. As in the serendipitous world of the social network, he also happens to come from my provincial birthplace of Quebec. Small world.

Please welcome Tony—a diligent writer, a man of many talents, and someone worth knowing. Continue reading

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Music for Memorial Day ~ Fortunate Son

It’s Memorial Day in the US … Putting politics aside, this is a  great song  with a strong history.

Fortunate Son by CCR

Some folks are born made to wave the flag
Ooh, they’re red, white and blue
And when the band plays “Hail to the Chief”
Oh, they point the cannon at you, Lord

It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no Senator’s son
It ain’t me, it ain’t me
I ain’t no fortunate one, no …

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Read an Exchange with Author Angus Vieira

Angus Vieira is an author I met by way of mutual friend, screenwriter/poet Wally Lane. We read each other’s books and connected on Facebook. To say that he is an ‘interesting’ man would not do him justice. He is a unique blend of sexy and sassy, raunchy and sagely, and someone who does not mince words.

See what I mean by reading more about the one and only, Angus Vieira. Continue reading

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Author Jay Finn releases Fastian (@JayFinn32)

Good friend and author, Maria Savva, introduced me to a new author from Ireland named  Jay Finn. I’m happy to highlight his debut fantasy novel Fastian. He has also penned two short story collections Looking Back and Beneath the Darkness.

Here is how Jay describes himself:

The deeper, isolated and sometimes darker side of the human psyche has always fascinated me. It doesn’t make me a dark or morbid person but I’ve always loved stories that reflect that side of human nature. I try to do the same in my own writing.

Learn more about Jay and connect to him on all his networks!

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Fastian

Buy links: Amazon US | Amazon UK

The Nation: A sadistic and cruel empire that has ruled Edgeweir since time beyond memory. But under the tutelage of Alabaster Shanks, a group of disparate rebels have come together to fight back and stand up to the Nation’s rule.

Amongst them is Fastian; dark, dangerous and with an eye for vengeance; and Jacob, a boy and the newest recruit, who possesses a skill craved by the rebels. 

Now they come together to undertake a mission that could be the beginning of the end for the Nation. But with Fastian’s mind ever on the past and Jacob’s eye firmly on his future, will they be capable enough to ever see it through?

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Connect to Jay

Jay Finn

Blog | Twitter @Jayfinn32 | Facebook

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Music Monday with David Bowie

David Bowie inspired a story I wrote recently, so it’s only fitting I feature his song. If you missed the story, it’s still here.

Enjoy,

~eden

*** Sign up to my mailing list to receive notification of my new releases. Just hit the red button to your top right & input your e-mail. Thanks! ***

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Read an Exchange with Author E.N. De Choudens (@ENDechoudens)

Author E.N. De Choudens, whom I call Efrain, connected with me some years ago when he fanned my Facebook page. We chatted about so many things, including books. I learned he wrote in numerous genres: erotica; poetry; science fiction; and horror.

Coming from a Spanish background, I knew English was not his first language, but that never stopped us from having the most charming conversations. You will discover that for yourself in his responses.

Please welcome Efrain and find out more about this dedicated and talented man. Continue reading

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The Final Countdown ~ My story for @RBwood’s Word Count Podcast

You can also hear me read this story on: Episode #40 of R.B. Wood’s “The Word Count” podcast.

The prompt asked that we use THREE words in our stories: 

Glass | Bed | Bow

Special acknowledgement to David Bowie for inspiring my tale.

*  *  *  *

My eyes click open mechanically like a ventroliquist’s dummy, like a cheap plastic doll you win at an amusement park. They stay open, staring at the ceiling. That god awful beige, the same color as the walls, the color of sick, which I am.

Wait. I’m not sick. I’m dying. Let’s not mince words here. I prefer not to delude myself.

I’m in bed. It’s probably nine, ten in the morning. I can tell James has been in the room. The curtain has moved. A fringe is in a different place from yesterday before I fell asleep—my marker. I know every tiny movement of everything in this room. That’s all I can do—look around and take note of minute changes.

Time drags, but that’s okay. It should slow down at this stage. We rush our whole lives to get here, and when the end comes, we’re not ready.

Not me. I’m ready.

It takes all my strength to lift my body enough to elevate my head. The room spins, so I shut my eyes. Behind the lids, silver lightning bolts pinwheel and shoot out in different directions like fireworks.

Zing! Boom! Bang!

I scrunch my face and squeeze my eyes tighter. I wait for the noise to quiet down, for the lights to stop flashing, and for the time bomb in my head to stop ticking. It only ticks to tease me because it has yet to explode. I’ve waited for it to explode, even sat in front of the mirror, (when I was still able to sit up), staring at my reflection, eyes bulged, pressure building in my head, counting down my time like … like …

10-9-8 … Ground control to Major Tom … 7-6-5-4 … Commencing countdown engines on … 3-2-1… Check ignition and may God’s love be with you … Lift off …

No. No lift for me.

The pressure builds and builds and then it’s like someone pricks a pinhole in my balloon of a head and the pressure eases.

I think it would be great to see my head explode. If the last part to burst could be my eyes so I can see that final image of myself intact, that would be great—one hell of a way to blast off.

That’s what I thought last month anyway. Now … I’m not so sure. I can’t even get out of bed anymore. Oh god, a different sensation, rising from my stomach.

I roll to my side and say hello to my bed companion.

“Hello, spit bowl. Don’t you look shiny today? Are you ready for me?”

I pull the glass dish toward me and drop my head over it.

“I have something for you. It’s coming, I feel it coming up.”

A few seconds later, I hork up a phlegmy gob and immediately feel some kind of relief.

A teaspoon size dollop jiggles like lime-green silly putty in the bowl.

Lime green, better than beige anyway. Must be an infection.

My time is near.

To know this, to have the luxury of feeling death take hold of me is a gift really. I’ve had time to reflect, to have the choice to die at home.

I’m a lucky man.

Uh oh. Queasiness.

The bile rises quickly. I can’t catch my breath. I grab the bowl again (thank god it’s a deep dish) and gasp air in short, quick breaths. The first expulsion jettisons liquid into the bowl and up its sides. There’s a bit of splash-back on my face, but not much.

No lumpy pieces this time. No surprise. I haven’t eaten anything solid in days.

A second hurl (there’s always a second) ratchets up my abdomen. Another splash into the bowl, though not has plentiful as the first one. My heart beats like a jackhammer. My empty gut gurgles.

The stench of stomach acid curls my nose. I push away the bowl and flop on my back. I suppose I’m one of those crazy people who enjoys vomiting. It feels so good when you stop, and you can’t know that good feeling without the agony before it.

Yeah, the logic is a bit twisted, but blame that on the brain tumor.

A packet of cough drops lay by my pillow. I pop a cherry-flavored lozenge and suck it against the roof of my mouth. Useless things. It gets rid of the awful taste in my mouth anyway.

A knock on the door. James, my trusted servant of more than a decade walks in to greet me. He bends at the waist in his usual gesture of reverence.

“James, I can’t believe you still bow down to me after all these years.”

He sits on the edge of my bed and adjusts my pillow. “Until the day you die, Mr. Chancellor.” With a wet cloth, he wipes around my face and mouth.

“That could be today, you know,” I say.

“Yes sir. That could very well be.”

“By the way James, you know I’m leaving you everything I own.”

He applies a warm compress to my forehead. “Yes sir, and I’m forever grateful. I will miss you, Mr. Chancellor.”

I close my eyes. It’s time. “I’m going to sleep again, James.”

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Chancellor.”

I hear him walk around the bed and pick up the bowl on his way out. In my head, the countdown begins again, for what I hope is the last time.

Thank you for reading.

Feel free to leave a comment or question. Feedback, whether good or bad is always welcome.

You can find more stories in my book of flash fiction and poetry, Hot Flash. 

My mystery novel is due out Summer 2014, and I will announce all details leading up to it here.

To make sure you don’t miss the details, please subscribe to my blog (by email or via RSS feed).

Thank you. ;)

~eden

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A POISON TREE by @JohnDolanAuthor launches!

One of my favourite people, English-Thai author, John Dolan has released the third book in his Time, Blood and Karma series.

I had the great pleasure of reading A POISON TREE and have posted a review below. You will definitely want to buy it.

But wait …

There’s more …

To celebrate the release, John is hosting a giveaway on Goodreads. Win a paperback copy of a A POISON TREE by entering here.

Pretty amazing, right?

But hold on to your hat …

There’s even more …

and it’s not Ginsu knives!

John’s first book in the series, EVERYONES BURNS is FREE STARTING TODAY for a limited time on Amazon—a wonderful and generous gesture!

To show John your appreciation, help him celebrate the launch of A POISON TREE by getting your copy today!

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apt

“You kill my wife and I’ll kill yours.” You must admit, as a proposition, it has an alluring symmetry to it.

It is 1999, and as the Millennium approaches, old certainties wither. For family man, David Braddock, his hitherto predictable world is undergoing a slow collapse. The people closest to him seem suddenly different. As desires and aspirations tangle around each other like parasite stems, betrayal is in the air.

And so is murder.

Fans of Braddock will finally learn the sequence of events that drove him into exile in Asia, while for new readers, A Poison Tree is the perfect introduction to the ‘Time, Blood and Karma’ series.

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My 5-star review for A Poison Tree

A Poison Tree, the third book in the Time, Blood and Karma series for author John Dolan is actually a prequel. It tells the story of how the main character, David Braddock came to be in Thailand.

It is also my favourite of the three books so far. I know I’m giving away a lot here. It’s akin to choosing a favourite child—you’re not supposed to do it, but …

Everyone Burns kicked off the series and captivated me based on a strong protagonist in an exotic land. Hungry Ghosts continued the trend with more shenanigans and provided further insight into David Braddock’s mind.

In A Poison Tree, the setting has moved from Thailand to England. We are taken back in time (1999 – 2001) to where David Braddock grew up, got married, and led a ‘normal’ life before something happened to him, causing him to flee to Southeast Asia. That something is revealed in this book. The tale is fascinating, twisted, and unpredictable.

The intricate story of David and his wife Claire drew me in from the start. It was a complex relationship of secrets and lies, but in the end, it was a love story. I’m a sucker for a love story. I challenge anyone not to be when it’s written with poignant detail, yet never spirals into over-sentimentality.  If you don’t feel your throat clenching or your heart sinking while reading some of the passages, I’d suggest checking to make sure you still have a pulse.

With colourful characters and a criminal element dished out in subtle narrative, A Poison Tree is an angst-filled journey guided by cunning misdirection. For lovers of mystery and thriller novels, there is plenty of intrigue and moments of “I DID NOT see that coming.” What’s more, the atmospheric pace counterpoints perfectly with noir-ish undertones.

Even though each of Mr. Dolan’s books stands on its own, I loved reading them in the order he wrote them. He drew me in so cleverly with his first two books, and A Poison Tree answered the outstanding questions.

What a joy to discover a series that only keeps getting better.

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Don’t forget Everyone Burns is FREE on AMAZON for a limited time only. Grab your copy TODAY!

Buy from Amazon:   US  ~  UK  ~  CA

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JD 3 book series

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Jim Fosse’s Expense Claim is FREE until John starts charging for it.

It’s a great short story with a peculiar connection to A Poison Tree.

Buy from Amazon: US ~ UK ~ CA | Smashwords

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JIM FOSSE'S EXPENSE CLAIM

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Seek John out at all his virtual homes

john dolan

Blog – Galericulate | Twitter @JohnDolanAuthor

Amazon: US ~ UK  |  Smashwords | Website

Goodreads  | Facebook | Google +

John was originally interviewed here Jan. 2013.

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Music Monday with First of May

It’s not the first of May, but it’s the first Monday of May, and this song by the Bee Gees brings back old memories.

“When I was small, and Christmas trees were tall,
We used to love while others used to play.
Don’t ask me why, but time has passed us by,
Some one else moved in from far away …”

Enjoy May,

~eden

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Music Monday ~ I or Me and Thank You Led Zeppelin

National Poetry Month is coming to a close this week, and I’ve been talking about “poetic license” in songs. It’s the last Monday to highlight some bad grammar.

I grew up being taught never to say “You and me.” It should always be “You and I.”

Hmm … a friend and I had a discussion on this last week, and we all know the English language is full of exceptions.

Take, for example, the incorrect use of “I” in Paula Cole’s song “I Don’t Wanna Wait.” Her song begins with:

So open up your morning light // And say a little prayer for I …

Really? That is just bad.

Or how about Bryan Adams’  “Run To You”?

She says her love for me could never die // But that’d change if she ever found out about you and I …

Again … incorrect. It should be you and me.

And the way to figure it out is easy. In Bryan Adams’ song, just remove the the “you and” in the phrase, isolating the “I” and see if it sounds correct.

In his case, it would be: “But that’d change if she ever found out about I.” 

When you read it like this, it’s much easier to tell that it’s wrong.

Led Zeppelin got it right with their lyrics in “Thank You,” so I’m happy to highlight their song this week. Enjoy,

~eden

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If the sun refused to shine
I would still be loving you
When mountains crumble to the sea
There would still be you and me …

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Read an Exchange with Author Laurie Smith (@L27wsmithSmith)

Laurie and I connected via our blogs sometime ago, probably through our love of music.

Having worked as a police officer and in the prison system, he’s the writer of three novels (so far) in the “Death” series.

All the way from the land down under, please give a warm welcome to Laurie Smith. Continue reading

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Dare to Wear Love receives great press in the @NationalPost via @Amoryn

The Dare to Wear Love Gala and fashion show took place at the Ritz Carlton Friday, Mar. 28th. This weekend, it received a two-page spread in the National Post from society editor, Amoryn Engel!

dtwl NP

Read Amoryn’s article, entitled: They Dared and They Won. See great pictures of some of the people who supported the cause. You can also follow Amoryn Engel on Twitter at: @amoryn.

Stay connected to Dare to Wear Love at:

Website | Facebook | Twitter @daretowearlove | Blog

Learn more about:

 Dare to Wear Love | Stephen Lewis Foundation

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Music Monday takes poetic license with WHO DO YOU LOVE?

It’s National Poetry Month, so I’m talking about “poetic license” in songs.

“Who do you love?” by Bo Diddley — a classic song but grammatically incorrect.

I mix up Who vs. Whom all the time, so this is a great way of remembering how to use the words correctly.

Who – refers to the subject of a sentence.

Whom – refers to the object of a sentence.

In Bo Diddley’s song, he wants to know the object of my love, so he should be asking: “Whom do you love?”

;)

Feel free to share any songs you know where the writer has taken poetic license with the title or lyrics.

In the meantime, enjoy “Who do you love?” and have a wonderful week.

~eden

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Read an Exchange with Author Bill Kirton (@carver22)

Bill Kirton and I met via RB Wood’s Word Count Podcast a few years ago.

How time flies. Bill is fun to know, and he’s a terrific writer and storyteller.

Please find out more about this talented man, and his wicked, dry sense of humour. Continue reading

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Music Monday takes poetic license with LAY DOWN SALLY

It’s National Poetry Month, so I’d like to talk about “poetic license” in songs.

A writer who takes poetic license deviates from the correct use of language to express himself/herself. Poets do this to achieve the effects of rhyme, meter, or some other desired outcome.

Did Eric Clapton and Bob Dylan, two iconic songwriters take poetic license when they misused the words LIE vs LAY in their songs? I’m not sure. These words are often confused with one another.

Clapton’s “Lay Down Sally” is grammatically incorrect. You lay down an object, but in the song, he’s talking to Sally and what he really wants is for her to lie down.

It’s the same with Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” The correct title should be “Lie Lady Lie,” though Dylan’s version rolls off the tongue much more easily.

Bad grammar aside, these songs are forever etched in my brain as they were written. I’d feel pretty foolish to sing them any other way.

Please share any songs you know where the writer has taken poetic license with the title or lyrics.

In the meantime, enjoy “Lay Down Sally,” and I hope you have a great week.

~eden

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Read an Exchange with Author Fiona Quinn (@FionaQuinnBooks)

I am so excited to have author, Fiona Quinn, on my blog. I’m a huge fan of her and her writing.

When I set out to write a mystery, her wisdom and experience were invaluable to me. In this interview, you’ll find out how she shares her knowledge with authors.

Now, let’s learn more about this fascinating woman and her book, Virginia is for Mysteries.

Continue reading

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The Locket ~ A story for @RBwood’s Word Count Podcast

You can also hear me read this story on: Episode #39 of R.B. Wood’s “The Word Count” podcast.

The prompt for this podcast is “I was walking on the white sands at Magens Bay in St Thomas when…”

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I was walking on the white sands at Magens Bay in St Thomas when an object about fifty feet away caught my eye. Reflecting the setting sun’s rays, the shiny surface of the mystery item lured me toward it. Looking to the ocean, I saw the next wave rolling in. I quickened my pace, then sprinted, dropping my flip-flops along the way, swishing up sand between my toes.

I snatched the object from the beach just as a wave rushed over my feet. Foamy salt water and seaweed swirled around my ankles. The crimson orb was dipping below the horizon. Soon night would drape over the Bay like a wizard’s cape.

I examined the silver locket while walking back to where I left my sandals. No bigger than the size of a quarter, it sat with the weight of a heavy stone in my palm. Fine swirls of engraving adorned the border of the heart-shaped pendant. The ornament’s front featured a single letter in cursive font—the initial “S.” I turned over the locket and brushed away sand residue, saw three rows of text. Some of the etching had faded, but it was still legible.

The lines read:

Forever near
Forever young
Forever in my heart

The deserted beach offered privacy as I walked back to my hotel with only my thoughts to keep me company. Somebody had lost a person precious to them. Now it seemed, this keepsake was lost as well.

The “S” probably stood for the name of the person who died. Was it a husband or a wife? A lover? A child?

I inserted my round fingertip into the indent of the locket, wished I had not clipped my fingernails this morning. I struggled to open it, even tried jamming the corner of my pinky into it. No luck. I would have to wait until I returned to my hotel room before I discovered what was inside.

The locket reminded me of my own tragedy. Steve and I were married here in St. Thomas a year ago. It was supposed to be the happiest day of our lives, and it was. With twenty of our closest friends and family, we celebrated until the morning hours. The weather could not have been more perfect.

Along with Steve’s best man and his wife, and my maid of honor and her boyfriend, we rented a three-bedroom villa. Our private bedroom was on the second floor with a huge wrap-around patio that overlooked the ocean. On our second night together, we watched the sunset on the deck. I was with the man of my dreams. We were the happiest couple in the world. Who could have predicted it would end only two hours later?

It was dinnertime. Steve was hamming it up. That was my husband. I married him because he taught me not to be so serious. He promised he would make me laugh everyday of our lives, and he would have. I know it. That’s why no one took particular notice when he fell off his chair and thrashed about on the floor.

Oh … that’s just Steve, we thought. He was joking again … but no.

A jagged chicken bone had lodged in his throat. Chaos ensued before the ambulance arrived, but in my heart, I already knew he was gone. The doctor later told me he died from a punctured esophagus. It was a horrible accident.

In two days, I had gone from being a happy bride to a distraught widow.

And so here I was, back in St. Thomas. I returned to try and recapture the joy Steve had taught me. He would have hated to know I had been grieving the past year, not even cracked a smile since he died.

Finding the locket did not help either. I had hoped instead for a happy sign.

Upon entering my room, I rummaged in my luggage for my multi-tool Swiss Army Knife, the one I always packed for emergencies, but never had to use.

Sitting cross-legged on the bed, I turned on the table lamp to its brightest setting. I retrieved the pendant from the side pocket of my beach bag. Holding the smooth red handle of my knife, I flipped out the small blade, inserted the tip into the space between the two halves of the locket. A gentle twist popped the hinge of the ornamental case.

I cracked open the locket and saw a man’s face staring back at me. He looked in his mid-thirties, kind eyes, a huge smile. He even reminded me of Steve, which only caused me greater sadness. Tears welled up behind my eyes.

What happened to this man? Had he died some tragic death like my husband? Was his young widow as unhappy as I was?

I ran the blade along the border of the picture to catch an edge. After several unsuccessful tries, I plucked out a small piece of the picture from under the ridge. I pressed the blade back into the handle and pried out the tweezers. Holding my breath, I gently pulled out the picture. The photograph lifted easily.

I turned it over to see if anything was written on the back, something sentimental, a date perhaps, any clue that could lead me to who this man was.

With my heart in my throat, I read the words, and then I burst out laughing.

Oh, Steve … you did send me sign after all.

The words read: Sample only. Not for resale.

Thank you for reading.

Feel free to leave a comment or question. Feedback, whether good or bad is always welcome.

You can find more stories in my book of flash fiction and poetry, Hot Flash. 

My mystery novel is due out Summer 2014, and I will announce all details leading up to it here.

To make sure you don’t miss the details, please subscribe to my blog (by email or via RSS feed).

Thank you. ;)

~eden

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Feminist Porn Awards 2014 – Photo Slideshow #FPA2014

What a night it was for the 9th Annual Feminist Porn Awards last Friday, April 4th. Outside it was pouring rain, but inside the Castlefield Event Theatre (formerly the Capitol Theatre), hot bodies pressed up against one another.

I was part of a small jury to judge the submissions, and had been diligently watching porn for the past couple of months. Tough job, but someone had to do it. ;)

You can find out more about my involvement here.

I had a wonderful time with friends in support of GOOD FOR HER, creator of the event.

Thanks to everyone who embraces sexual diversity and inclusiveness. Your acceptance made for a beautiful evening.

Congratulations to all the winners!

Hope you enjoy the slideshow.

eden

xox

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Approx. 20 photos by John B.

Photos from KristyBoyce.com used with permission (individually credited).

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Related posts:

Slideshow of 2013 Feminist Porn GALA
Slideshow of 2012 Feminist Porn GALA
Slideshow of 2011 Feminist Porn GALA

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Music Monday with Cannonball by @damienrice

It’s National Poetry Month, so I’m choosing songs I consider poetry set to music. “Cannonball” is haunting, atmospheric, and the lyrics are beautiful.

Enjoy Irish singer/songwriter Damien Rice and “Cannonball.”

~eden

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“Still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
Still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
Still a little hard to say what’s going on

Still a little bit of your ghost, your witness
Still a little bit of your face I haven’t kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can’t say what’s going on

Stones taught me to fly
Love ‒ it taught me to lie
Life ‒ it taught me to die
So it’s not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball …”

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New Release ~ The Dark Cave Between My Ribs by Poet @LorenKleinman

I’m thrilled to announce a new release from poet and friend, Loren Kleinman. Since April is National Poetry Month, this is a great opportunity to become familiar with Loren’s work if you are not already.

Please learn more about her latest book, The Dark Cave Between My Ribs.

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LorenKleinman_FlatforeBooks

Purchase from Amazon

After disaster, there is always the possibility to love again. Poet Loren Kleinman invites us to witness snapshots of a complex life-including accounts of abuse, grief, suicide, love, and loss-rendered poetic yet accessible. The Dark Cave Between My Ribs appeals to all who crave an authentic voice that is tangible, unique, and universal.

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Read the Reviews

Loren Kleinman’s poetry is staring you dead in the face and daring you to blink. Not much so stark, has ever dared to be so cleanly beautiful – the lines crisp, the silences their own loud singing. Nothing lets you look away; lets you be left alone. Roger Bonair-Agard
, Cave Canem fellow
, Two-time National Poetry Slam Champion, 
author of Tarnish and Masquerade

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Loren Kleinman’s poems in The Dark Cave Between My Ribs are explorations of love and loss, longing and passion. Kleinman peels away at the scrim we try to hide behind so we don’t see our own scars or the scars we have inflicted on the world. Her universe is filled with images of the terrible atrocities of concentration camps as well as the one-on-one betrayal of rape. The poet struggles are often rendered in nightmare landscapes, which she runs through in order to reach some semblance of safety and peace. This book is an amazing achievement. Maria Mazziotti Gillan
, Winner, American Book Award 
& Barnes & Noble Writers for Writers Award from Poets & Writers

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In this beautiful collection, Loren Kleinman writes about longing and loving, touch and loss, truth, absence, and ultimately, the soul. The poems are moving, the sentiment naked, and the language irresistible. I’m grateful to have been invited to into this writer’s mind and heart and world. Beverly Donofrio, author Riding in Cars with Boys

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Loren Kleinman’s The Dark Cave Between My Ribs is as much a keening behind the destructive nature of assault and addiction as it is an instruction for survival itself.  These poems build a raw and unflinching collection that travels across the individual lens to the unspeakable human wreckage of Nazi Death Squads in Lithuania.   The speaker in these poems refuses to dodge grief, to look away. Instead, she proclaims: “Somehow, I’ll know what to do. /touch the skin of this world. /Peel it back.” It is in this stark and brave examination of the physical world that Kleinman reveals a necessary truth for us all. Sean Nevin, author of Oblivio Gate

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These poems are an intimate look into the heart written with such power.  The Dark Cave Between My Ribs is beautiful, sad, intense and will grab the reader and not let go. Loren Kleinman’s poems capture the dark side of things that happen in life but yet, show such courage in the writing. “I’m  broken winged, a fallen bird on the road” can sum up many of these poems, but that bird survives, rises up and flies. Gloria Mindock, Editor and Publisher, Červená Barva Press

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Every now and then fate introduces me to a poet whose poetic work captures my attention. Such is the case with regard to poet Loren Kleinman and her new collection of poetry entitled The Dark Cave Between My Ribs. In a world where there is a plethora of published prose poetry, this collection stands out in my mind. I say so because beginning with the first poem, the collection gathers strength, as if a tea kettle filled with water gathering steam. Once the whistle blows, you know you have water ready for tea. I am confident readers of this work will walk away having been emotionally impacted by this collection. More importantly, it feels like it has award-winning quality. That is my hope for this powerful work of poetry by poet Loren Kleinman. Emmett Wheatfall, author of Bread Widow

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About Loren Kleinman

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Loren Kleinman is an American-born poet with roots in New Jersey. Her poetry explores the results of love and loss, and how both themes affect Loren_NYC-11an individual’s internal and external voice. She has a B.A. in English Literature from Drew University and an M.A. in Creative and Critical Writing from the University of Sussex (UK). Her poetry has appeared in literary journals such as Nimrod, Wilderness House Literary Review, Narrative Northeast, Writer’s Bloc, Journal of New Jersey Poets, Paterson Literary Review (PLR), Resurgence (UK), HerCircleEzine and Aesthetica Annual. She was the recipient of the Spire Press Poetry Prize (2003), was a 2000 and 2003 Pushcart Prize nominee, and was a 2004 Nimrod/Pablo Neruda Prize finalist for poetry.

In 2003, Spire Press (NYC) published her first collection of poetry Flamenco Sketches, which explored the relationship between love and jazz. Kleinman judged the literary entries for the book Alt-History: New Writing from Brighton published by QueenSpark Books (UK). She was also a contributing editor/writer for the Cancer Dancer by Patricia San Pedro. Kleinman is also a columnist for IndieReader.com (IR) where she interviews NYT bestselling indie authors. Many of those interviews in IR reappeared in USA Today and The Huffington Post.

Her second collection of poetry, The Dark Cave Between My Ribs released in 2014 (Winter Goose Publishing). She is the author of Indie Authors Naked (IndieReader Publishing, 2014), which was an Amazon Top 100 bestseller in Journalism in the UK and USA. She is also working on a literary romance novel, This Way to Forever.

Kleinman co-founded National Translation Month, a month long celebration on the craft of translation that publishes essays and poetry translations during February.

She has an author interview series on The Huffington Post Books community blogs section.

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