I love live theater. What I don’t love is the cost to see a
performance. With that in mind, about the closest I’ve been to a production in
recent years has been to watch the Tony awards on TV. In years gone by I would
keep up with news of the latest plays and especially the musicals. (In another
life I will write Broadway musicals.) But I’d even given that up so as not to
fell the anxiety associated with not being able to afford such luxuries. However, the other
day while glancing through a local paper, I saw an article about Berkeley Rep's
production of No Man’s Land, by
Harold Pinter. That normally would not have caught my eye –but the cast did.
Ian McKellen and Patrick Stewart, two of my most favorite actors, wouldbe live on stage, and not in San Francisco
but right here in my hometown. I immediately
went online to purchase tickets, but of course everything was sold out. The Berkeley
Rep site advised me to stay tuned to Facebook and twitter for the possibility
of available tickets. I tried that a few times and then decided I would call
the box office. A lovely gentleman
answered the phone and told me that some single seats were actually available. I
couldn’t believe my luck and waited breathlessly while he leafed through his calendar
and found a matinee ticket. I’ll take it,
I said. He began to tell me where the seat was located, which I didn’t really
care about, so happy was I to get a ticket. And since he hadn’t said front row, for an additional second I
assumed it would be affordable. Or maybe not. I stopped him and asked the price.
My heart sank when he told me it was $90. For some stupid reason I hadn’t even
considered that of course there would be no such thing as a cheap seat for this
play. I thanked him for his time and effort and rang off feeling quite sad. The two perfect
men are in town, and I could be seated just a few feet away and listen to their
lovely words. But it’s not to be. Downtown Berkeley is rather small and I bet I
could run into the boys out having a coffee. But that won't happen either. One day I will be able to purchase theater tickets whenever I want and never even have to ask the price. Or at least that's what I've been telling myself for the longest time. At least I did experience about ten seconds of sheer joy thinking that I had beat the odds and scored a seat to watch Mr. McKellen and Mr. Stewart perform. And it does feel nice just knowing that they are in town.
It’s in the town
of Costa Contente that you’ll experience all kinds of marvels, and what’s more
marvelous than kindness and beauty? Come to the town where you’ll meet both helpful
neighbors and obliging parrots. Be sure to stop by the tavern for a cold beer
and maybe a game of dominoes.It’s a
place where the sweet sea air mixes with the fragrant tropical blossoms, and
where the sweetest oranges are there for the picking. The people of Costa
Contente will welcome you into their homes with fresh ground coffee and
homemade peach brandy. And if there is ever a problem, you can always find a
potion or two that will ease the pain of a broken heart or a sore back. Stoll
through the town square in the warmth of the evening and listen to the lovely melodies
of a guitar seranade. Or walk along the palm tree lined shore in the early
morning and wave to the fisherman. Yes, Costa Contente is there to welcome you.
My new book has just been released on Amazon. Below are the first two chapters.
air streamed through the open bus window as it raced along the poorly paved
stretch of road, butdid little to lessen the
heat engulfing Solange. It was hot; so hot that the birds didn’t sing, the
lizards didn’t move, and even the shadows on the ground drooped with
fatigue.She sat as still as possible,
hoping that it would help keep the heat at bay. Luckily, at this pace, the trip
would soon be over. On the other hand, they could break down again and she
might spend another full day sweating in the uncomfortable, worn-out seat.
really only been three days since she had wandered into the bus station and,
after calculating how much she could afford, purchased a ticket to one of the
coastal towns on the map? Aside from the discomfort and heat, it had been an
uneventful trip; no one had seemed to notice the young girl of sixteen, seated
in the middle row on the right. Solange had spent most of the journey staring
out the window and trying to imagine the sounds of the ocean and the feel the
sea air in the faraway town of Costa Contente, on the South American
stepped off the bus onto the dusty, deserted street, suddenly realizing that
she had no idea where she was or what she was going to do next. The bus rumbled
off, leaving her to stare at the shop in front of her. The Casa de Everything
& Anything, clearly empty of customers, had a closed signhung across
its open door. Walking up the wooden steps and onto a planked sidewalk, she
stowed her bag under the outside bench. She turned around and looked out across
the wide street and onto the town square.
with trees and benches encircling an open area, it looked much like any other
small town plaza. Dead quiet and empty at the lunch hour, with the exception of
an occasional bird or monkey chirping in a tree, it nonetheless gave the
impression of a place often filled with people. Five smaller roads branched off
from the main streets around the square. Like Casa de Everything &
Anything, each of the small shops facing the square had stairs leading up to a
wooden walkway that ran along the entire block. Awnings jetting out from the
buildings created a shaded path against the heat of noonday sun. Un-shuttered
windows let in the breeze while their owners were on their midday break.
inside the Casa de Everything & Anything, Solange saw shelves and tables
jammed with kitchenware, buckets, sewing supplies, light bulbs, small tools,
pens and pencils, and just about anything you might ever have a need for.The only sounds came from the large
grandfather clock on the side wall, its loud ticks filling the quiet air. It
was only one in the afternoon, which meant everything would be shut down for
before Solange had stepped into that bus depot and purchased a ticket, she had
seen a picture of the sea. Instantly, she had known that that was where she
belonged. She had never questioned why, being born so far from the coast, she
should have such an attraction for something so foreign, but she did. During
her journey, the bus had occasionally swung by the shoreline offering a glimpse
of the magnificent waters, but it had been all too brief. Now that she had finally
arrived, it was time to set eyes on the water she had travelled so far to see.
across the empty street, Solange stood at the edge of the town square and
slowly spun around until she faced the road that would take her to the ocean.
She set off along it and soon reached a foot path branching off to the right.
long, Solange began to hear a repetition of sounds that she had never heard
before; a mighty roar followed by a large splash. She continued along the
trail, aware of the small breezes rustling the palm fronds overhead and sifting
lightly through the branches of trees that lined the dirt road. Onward she
went, following the path through tropical foliage, the bends in the road
obscuring what lay ahead. When her feet finally left the dirt and landed on the
sand she stopped, bent down, and picked up a handful of pure white graduals.
Warm, smooth, grains caressed her fingers and toes, trickling through her hands
to form little piles of sparkling beauty on the ground below. She stood there
for several minutes, playing with the new sensation before continuing on.
she finally stepped around the last turn of the path she froze, staring out at
the blue waters that lay before her, trying to understand what she was seeing
and hearing. Pictures of the ocean, or glimpsing
it from a bus window, were not the same as being in its presence. She kicked
off her sandals and walked on to the water’s edge in a daze of disbelief.
water lapped over Solange’s feet as she dug her toes into the moist sand,
delighting in the feel of the waves rolling in and out. Hiking up her long
skirt, she took a few more steps forward until the water splashed against her
knees sending a few droplets all the way up to her face. Her mind remained
empty; no words had yet formed to explain this new experience. She was aware
only of an inner calmness that comes from knowing you are in the right place.
her hand into a receding wave, Solange scooped up a handful of water and
brought it to her lips. Tentatively, she stuck the tip of her tongue into the
wetness. What an odd taste; sweet and salty, and not anything she could have
stood like that for several minutes - or was it an hour? She had lost all track
of time gazing out upon the mesmerizing surf. It wasn’t until she reached up to
swat a fly off her bare shoulder, which was now burning hot and moist with
sweat, that she realized it was time to leave. For a moment she worried that if
she turned her back on the sight it might disappear and be lost forever.
Heading away from the water, she spun around every few paces to make sure the
sea was still there until she finally turned a bend in the path and it was all
hidden from view.
in town, Solange reclaimed her bag from under the bench, having to navigate
around a young boy and his mother waiting for the next bus, and a small dog
using her belongings as a pillow.
de Everything and Anything, now
opened for business, according to the sign, still seemed empty. Solange looked
around her not sure what to do. But if fate had brought her to this town, and
then to this particular store, she should just go ahead in and find out what
she walked in and stood in the middle of the store still seeing no sign of
anyone else. About to walk back out, she gathered her courage and called out in
a small voice. “Excuse me?”
behind a faded curtain that hung over the entryway to the rear of the shop and
the house beyond, emerged a middle-aged man of medium build and thinning brown
hair. His short-sleeved shirt hung untucked over faded, grey trousers.
help you?” he inquired.
just arrived, sir,” replied Solange with downcast eyes, “and am looking for
work and a place to stay.”
man looked at the scraggly girl standing before him. Rarely did a stranger show
up in town, and never someone so young and never unaccompanied.He looked past her and out to the street.
arrived alone?” he inquired. “Where’s your mother?”
couldn’t respond. She hadn’t thought about anyone asking her such questions.
All she could do was to look down at the sand on her feet and the damp ends of
her skirt, remnants of her walk along the shore.
it is, I suppose,” said the man, realizing the young girl must be in a
difficult situation. “Do you have a name?” He bent forward trying to get a
glimpse of her hidden face.
slowly, she raised first her eyes, and then her head.
at your service, sir,” she answered in a barely audible voice.
a well mannered girl,” the man replied, having pretty much given up on the
day’s youth who never used the proper forms of introduction. “I am Berto. Let
me get my wife.” He turned towards the curtain and called out. “Gloria, love of
my life, we have a visitor.”
can I clean your mess if you keep interrupting me?” came the irritated reply
from somewhere in the living quarters.
it for later,” her husband answered.“We
have been graced by a lovely pilgrim.”
robust woman, apron tied around the waist of her cotton shiftand clutching a dishtowel, burst through the back
curtain. She brushed away loose strands of dark, graying hair from her face,
stuffing them into the bun at the back of her head.
her husband began, “this is -”
Berto, what’s all this yelling about?” his wife cut in.“It’s not enough that that I have to prepare
beans and eggs everyday at exactly the same hour, when it’s already hot enough
to boil water without a fire,making it
even hotter, and then you won’t even give me a chance to…” It was at that point
that his wife suddenly noticed that young girl standing at the counter, looking
a bit bewildered and completely out of place.
word, Berto, why didn’t you say something?” she said, throwing her dishtowel
over her shoulder and walking over to the girl. “The poor thing has had way too
much sun, and from the look of the bones sticking out all over her body, hardly
any food.” She turned back to her husband.
just stand there, get her bag! I’ll take her to the back where she can cool
off.” She gently took Solange by the arm and led her behind the counter and
through to the main part of the house behind the store. “Come, come, my dear,
you need food and water.”
inside the simple kitchen, Dona Gloria ushered Solange into a chair at the
small table and handed her a glass of water, then turned to her husband who
stood at the door.“Oh Berto, there is
no hope for you, letting her stand there, almost ready to pass out! Men - ah!”
drank the cool water in slow, easy swallows, only then realizing how parched
her throat had really been.
you, Dona Gloria,” she said, suddenly very grateful to be off of a bouncing bus
and seated at a table in a cool kitchen.
eat,” the woman replied, laying out dishes of food. “I bet you haven’t had a
proper meal in days.”
looked at her plate piled high with rice, beans and meat; she couldn’t remember
the last time she had been offered such an abundance of food. Another plate
held fruit, sliced and juicy, dripping with sweet aromas. She took a few bites,
and almost immediately felt full.
poor thing,” said Dona Gloria, noticing that she had stopped eating. “It must
have been a long time since you’ve had a proper meal and your stomach doesn’t
quite know what to do.” She patted Solange on the shoulder. “Don’t worry; sit
here awhile and take your time. I’ll have to excuse myself to finish the
take a while, but Solange finished most of what was in front of her, thinking
that she had never had a finer meal. With her empty plate, she walked to the
Dona,” she insisted, “let me earn my meal. I can do these dishes and also the
dear child, look at you,” answered Dona Gloria, taking her plate. “How long has
it been since you’ve slept? I know those bus rides are horrifying. I don’t even
want to think about what you may have encountered, such a young girl and all
alone. If earn your food is what you want, we can talk tomorrow. But for now,
you must rest.”
unused to such kindness, was about to insist that she didn’t need to rest when
Dona Gloria gently pushed her out of the kitchen and led her out to the back
courtyard. There, she made Solange lie in a hammock slung between two, tall
guava trees, their ripened fruit sweetening the air and mixing in with an
abundance of fragrant flowers growing along the walls of the patio. Little
birds chirped in the branches of the other fruit trees that provided protection
against the hottest touches of the sun.
of course, really was very tired and soon closed her eyes in the quiet of the
afternoon. She reached down to push off the ground and set the hammock rocking.
Listening very carefully, she imagined she could hear the sound of rolling
waves rocking her to sleep.
You can purchase a copy on Amazon, or pick up a free copy July 13-15.
I recently received a Barbie catalogue and was excited to discover the Dolls of the World Barbie Collection. They now have internationally-themed Barbies from ten different countries, including Australia, China, and India. But nowhere did I see one from Malaysia. Quickly, I dug out my old Barbie and went to work.
This is Malaysia Barbie's story:
Malaysia Barbie arrived at Kate’s house as just a regular
blonde Barbie, in a black-stripped bathing suit, around 1960. Coming from a long line of tailors and furriers, it was in
Kate’s genetics to start crafting clothes for Barbie – after all, a girl needs
more than just a swimsuit. From scraps of fabrics and trims, using needle and
thread, Barbie soon had numerous garments. The stitching might have been a
little large, but she now had her own, original outfits. From there, Kate went on to sew and design many of her own
clothes, even though Barbie was now relegated to a shoebox in the closet. But
Kate never forgot that her first designs were for her doll.
Years later, Kate would travel to many exotic countries to
live and work. Generally, the first souvenir shopping trip would be to the local
fabric stalls, where she would eye the wonderful assortment of regional motifs
and envision all sorts of fantastic attire.
Recently, Kate returned to California and found that old
shoebox where Barbie had been quietly waiting all those years. Since she wasn’t
dressed properly - all of her wardrobe having been tossed out somewhere along
the line - Kate quickly pulled out some batik fabric she had purchased while
living in Malaysia. (Although there is a good chance it was actually made in
Indonesia.) Soon Barbie had a very cool outfit, inspired by the sarongs of the
Barbie is now back sitting proudly on a shelf, enjoying her
retirement in a stunning new number.
Jaz, Tall Men, & Mayhem, has just been published and is available for free Kindle download until 29 April.
The sequel to Murder, Jaz, & Tel Aviv, this manuscript had been sitting in a box for a number of years. When I realized I could now publish it directly to Kindle, at no cost, I dug it out and dusted it off. Although it is second in the Jazmine Davidson Adventure series, it can be read on its own.
From the back cover:
Not even that recent close call with a dead body, or those interrogations
by the authorities can deter Jazmine Davidson from enjoying her new life in Tel
Jaz, back on her feet
and gainfully employed in the city’s hottest new nightclub, Max’s Place, wonders why she ever
considered going back to teaching. Granted, bartending is a far cry from her
previous profession, and not exactly what some relatives might approve of, but it
beats the heck out of a classroom. Besides, where else can you find work in
Israel where you don’t have to know Hebrew?And so what if the clientele are usually drunk and the hours are
hideous? With customers ranging from pro basketball players to hip young
locals, Max’s is never dull.
But then one of those tall, ball-playing jocks dies right
there at the front door of the club, and Jaz, once again, finds herself in the
middle of a murder investigation. It’s bad enough when the cops question her,
but what is it with the anonymous threats? At least this time she has friends
to turn to.
Infiltrating smelly locker rooms, crashing high-end parties,
and eves-dropping on private conversations, could lead Jaz to the killer. Then
again, it could lead the bad guys right to her doorstep.
The Curse Breaker of Cairo, my paranormal romance, made it through the first round of the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest this year. I had high hopes of making it to the quarter finals, but got the word this morning that I had been cut.
I spent way too many hours on the computer today, waiting for my reviews to be posted on my CreateSpace page, but they finally showed up. Having never done this before, I was curious to read what these Amazon Top Reviewers had to say.
I wish I knew who wrote the first review so I could give her a proper thank you. With only a 20 page excerpt to review, this person must have spent several hours taking the time to give a detailed critique.
The first section of the review is "What is the strongest aspect of this excerpt?" She/he wrote an entire seven paragraphs - I'll post the first two:
strongest aspects of this piece, by far, are the style and pacing. I do not care
for either romance or supernatural novels…yet I inhaled this excerpt. The
descriptions are vivid and colorful without being too flowery (a major problem
in most romances), the main character is interesting and the reader connects
with her right away, and the pacing of events are well done. Even though this
setting and certainly these events are probably complete unknowns to most
readers, we are so quickly drawn into the story and have created such a
fascinating picture in our minds, that we eagerly read on.
like, “The rapid, caressing beat of the tabla drum reverberated in her chest.
Ancient melodies ringing out from the strings of the oud, seduced her body.”
Even the words you use help create the rhythm, we can hear these instruments –
even if we don’t know what they are.
Under: "What aspect needs the most work?" There were a
few phrases that could use some tightening to stay in line with the quality of
the rest of the story.
The reveiwer then went on to quote actual passages. I wish I might have had someone point these out to me before, but at least there was nothing glaringly wrong. Under: "What is your overall opinion of this excerpt?" Again, I
have to go back to the fact that a reader who is neither a fan of the genre nor
the subject matter you have chosen was completely drawn into this story. The
setting, character and pacing of this piece are very well drawn. The visual
details you’ve provided create such vivid images in my mind’s eye – but you
rarely go over the line and beat the reader over the head with details. Your
words allow the reader to fill in the blanks, interact with the story and make
it our own.
The story starts to move from the very beginning, but the
reader never feels lost or confused. This is an unfamiliar world, to be sure,
but because we can see, hear, even smell along with Tangerine…we have enough of
a stable footing to sit back and watch in amazement as the events
Also, at least so far, there is a good balance between the
mystery of the curse and the beginnings of the romance. Tangerine stays focused
(most of the time) on the job she was sent here to do, and the mysteries she
must solve. Because she is our guide, we can explore this city along with
her…and with only a few side trips into the sexual side of her nature. Depending
on where the story leads, and what your ultimate goal is for the book, that
could certainly change, but for this excerpt, the balance is well struck. *** I figured with this good a review, I needed to post it somewhere. The second review was quite different. Strongest aspect? The content
is certainly unique and one of a kind. Everything was well written and some
captivating characters are emerging. What needs the most work? A good
introduction on curse breaking or it's history would be nice. I was left with so
many unanswered questions during the first chapter that I had to reread to grasp
the narrative. And I really liked where this was going, just I did not where it
came from. Tangerine first encounter with energies and her battle blindsides the
reader. whoa...wait a minute....energies...etc etc what the heck is going on?
what weapons is she using? where did they come from? how do they work? is she
phsycic? Overall opinion? This could
be a real nice piece with a bit of work. Great idea. Great plot. Nice character
development. Just if it all could come together. *** I choose to believe the first review. Others can draw their own conclusions. And should anyone care to read those first 5K words that the reviewers saw, just click on the link above, (or go to Amazon), and click on the Look Inside banner over the kindle version. (there is actually a longer excerpt than what was reviewed.) Getting to the quarter finals would have meant major exposure of my writing and even a shot at prize money and a book contract. I will continue to believe that The Curse Breaker if Cairo will find its way onto people's Kindles or bookshelves, and maybe try to channel some of that earth energy that's rattling around Cairo. Kate
Thanks to Paragraphic Designs, I have a fantastic new book cover for The Curse Breaker of Cairo. I had been told that my previous cover did not accurately convey a paranormal romance. I think this one will do the trick.
One thousand, three hundred and thirteen copies of my books have been downloaded. So where are the reviews? I thought that running a free promo for my works would result in more exposure. Considering the number of folks who picked up copies, I guess it did. However, the point of doing it was not a simple, philanthropic gesture; I need feedback.
Is it just that people see free and grab a copy or two? Or did anyone really download one of my books to read it? I don't expect everyone to rate/review my works, but even a .5% return would be fantastic.
If you are out there, and grabbed a book off of my shelf, why not take a minute to just give it a star rating? Better yet, take three minutes to knock out a sentence.
Why can’t I sell any of my books? They’re original, interesting, people like them, and I get great reviews. But I can’t seem to get my writing noticed. I don’t need to be on the New York Times Best-Sellers list. I don’t need to become fabulously wealthy. I just need about $1000 a month. I really don’t think I am expecting too much.
Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve had stories running around in my head. All the ordinary places and situations I’d encounter seemed like they could have had a much more interesting storyline. Nevertheless, it was only much later in life that I started to put down in words my alternative view of what could be.
As much as I loved inventing people and placing them in whatever universe I chose, I knew writing could not be a career. I was a Flower Child of the 60’s; I needed to save the world. I became an educator, and that is how I have spent my life until about a year ago.
I did really love teaching and probably still do. But I can no longer tolerate all the negatives that go along with the profession. I just want to be happy, and writing makes me happier than anything in whole wide world.
My “professional” writing career started with the advent of the blog. Suddenly, I could tell stories about the people and places I encountered while working and traveling overseas. I added beautiful pictures onto a readymade template and voila, I was a published author. It was a joy to know that anyone in the world could read my words. Now that my name was out there, it gave me new hope that I could succeed as a novelist. I continued to work on my book projects.
My travel writing took a further leap forward when I became a Lonely Planet featured blogger. This lead to writing a few shoe reviews. And last fall I had an article published in a Vietnamese, English language magazine. Aside from a few pairs of shoes, I was not paid for my writing. Still, it made me happy.
I thought my dreams had been answered when print-on-demand, self-publishing, became a viable alternative to stacks of rejection letters. Finally, for a few hundred dollars, I could have copies of my murder mystery in book form, rather than as stack of photo-copied sheets. I eagerly awaited the arrival of the first batch of Murder, Jaz, & Tel Aviv, completely thrilled with my story, my cover, and the back blurb. I was sure I would be able to at least make back my investment. If everyone I knew in my life bought just one copy, and then told just one friend about it, I’d be on the road to a real career as a writer. That did not work out as planned.
Surely, my paranormal romance, The Curse Breaker of Cairo, would propel me into the ranks of self-employed author. This time there were even more ways to market myself. Following the advice of other independent authors, I joined twitter, (not that I really get it), and I contacted numerous paranormal romance sites. I sent out a bunch of books to folks who were interested in reading and reviewing both of my works. I did a giveaway on GoodReads and was ecstatic when over 1000 people entered the contest. I eagerly sent out ten books to the winners and waited by my laptop to read their ratings and reviews. Out of all the many books I have given away over the past seven or eight months, only two people have written reviews.
I’ve contacted local, independent bookstores and several agreed to take a few copies. I went by a Barnes and Noble and pitched my book to the head buyer. Although she was quite impressed with my product and was sure it would sell, they were not able to carry print-on-demand books. And last week I sat outside a coffee shop in a trendy neighborhood shopping area, box of books and sign by my side, hoping to get a few sales. Only one person even talked to me.
So what do I do, world? I worry that my travel writing has fallen by the wayside since I have been stuck in the US for nearly a year. Then again, that shouldn’t bother me since it never did generate any money and really hasn’t furthered my writing career. In fact, more people are now accessing my blog for the photos than the writing. Should I switch to photography? I keep writing, of course, but soon that will not be enough. Working full time on stories and marketing sounds noble, but it doesn’t pay the bills.
I will try to continue to believe in the stories I invent and in my ability to carry readers away to a world outside of their own. I will persevere in my marketing tactics even if they often seem pointless. I will flood the universe with positive thoughts and visions of my books on shelves throughout the land. I haven't yet given up.