I wrote a book. Which is no big surprise, at least not to me. But the reason I bring this to your attention (and at this point it’s probably the singular ‘your’) is because it is now available on Amazon despite its many imperfections.
Click the pretty suitcases for a free preview.
It’s an eclectic collection of short stories, some longer–much longer–than others. Some are realistic, some are dreamy, others are speculative. We have a movie actress struggling with her impending fame, friends who find themselves flung into early 19th century England, a witch or two. By eclectic, I mean eclectic.
There are nine stories in all, and the e-book is going for $3.97 USD. I think it turns out to be pretty reasonable for friends and readers in Canada, the UK and Europe.
One thing I have learned from a lot of tooling around on places like Etsy, Ravelry, and DeviantArt is that when it comes to things like self-publishing it’s best to keep the Self part in the forefront. The cover is from a watercolor I painted a few years ago, from a photograph I took one spring morning.
I hope you enjoy the stories. I am planning to update with more illustrations someday. I love books with illustrations! Remember; read, review and comment!
Recently we took a wee weekend trip to rural Massachusetts, just to get outta Dodge. We stayed in a not-too-expensive Bed and Breakfast about half a mile from the town. In between the B&B and the town was one of those iconic New England churches with a graveyard behind it.
I love me a graveyard. Usually the Catholic ones are the most interesting, but this one had some unusual gravestones in them. There was a run of Celtic-themed markers that I don’t think I had ever seen before in a small town like that.
Another gorgeous marker. The detail of the motifs is amazing. Below is a close up of center medallion.
Now this one just made me chuckle.
I didn’t have the presence of mind to photograph the epitaph so I don’t know whose grave this is. Scrooge McDuck’s? Maybe the symbol has other, more esoteric meanings than simply the US Dollar–I haven’t tried to research it.
Since I love visiting and photographing graveyards, I may follow this post up with more of the same. I know it’s not Halloween or anything like that, but it still gets dark at night.
When posed the question, “What is your favorite book?” I have a ready answer. In fact, I have two ready answers; A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway.
Hemingway’s Passport picture
Sara Crewe and her Papa
The authors have little in common that I know of besides being dead long enough for many images associated with them to be in the public domain. And I don’t really care for any of their other works except these two.
I did enjoy The Secret Garden just enough to read it twice, and other than this one work, I find Hemingway insufferable.
Do we really want to go into a synopsis of each book? Both are famous and in print. A Little Princess is out of copyright so it can be read online free of cost and guilt. It traces the childhood of Sara Crewe from the age of five when she is the much beloved and spoiled daughter of a very wealthy young man, to a penniless and overworked orphan back to her original state of love and wealth.
But the real spark of the story and the character is her unflinching belief in herself and the world. A belief I share which was directly formed by the many readings I gave this book as a girl. My belief in myself and the world, however, is perhaps not as unflinching as Sara’s.
My grandmother gave me a very beautiful edition illustrated by Tasha Tudor which I loved. The last time I saw it my sister’s half-grown puppy had chewed it to shreds. (Another reason I don’t like dogs–they have no appreciation!) Tasha Tudor hasn’t been dead long enough for her work to be out of copyright, but there are some of the illustrations here, about halfway down the page.
It’s been a while since I read A Moveable Feast. It’s probably time to pull it off the shelf again. It has less of a plot than A Little Princess, and the regret of man near the end of his life is palpable and luminous. It was published in 1964, about three years after he committed suicide.
The “Lost Generation”–Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, James Joyce, dos Passos–are brought to life. Aleister Crowley even makes it in there according to Wikipedia. (I really am going to have to read it again soon.)
And, of course, the titular character, Paris. I went to Paris almost 10 years ago, but I didn’t make it to any of the parts he describes. I’m starting to regret it, though not as much as letting ten years go by without going back.
Read these books. Better yet, re-read them. Then, if I see you in Paris, we can talk about them.
Oh, why not. Here is a little-known picture of the beast himself (allegedly).