Parlez Moi Blog

#SampleSunday: Free Books, Win Chocolate - Be My Valentine!

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sat, 11 Feb 2012 23:06:00 +0000

In honor of Valentine's Day, my collection of eight very romantic short stories, My Last Romance & other passions, is free for Kindle Sunday, Monday and Tuesday of this week. Plus don't forget to register to win two pounds of Nuts.com yummy chocolates in the Valentine Blog Hop. Just click here and you can register to win and be entered to win jewelry and gift cards from Book Lovin Babes!

Product Description

The perfect Valentine for your Valentine: Eight stories with a common theme---the wonder of finding love---sweep the reader into sensuous worlds where ordinary people discover, or rediscover, love. Foolish love, forbidden love, married love---even murderous love, each story is a seductive jewel populated with characters that seem like someone we could know---or someone we could be. Each of the stories in this collection is an exquisitely rendered portrait of people from a broad range of ages each proving that passion and love are eternal, regardless of life's far-ranging challenges.

My Last Romance - Back in the day Silvio Santini was the hottest dance band leader in the South and Ruby was the voice that drove the men wild. It's a lot of years later when Ruby chances upon a vintage copy of their biggest hit. Memories come flooding out and with them comes a stunning revelation.
Asa - When you are over eighty and have loved the same man all your life it doesn't do to dwell over-much on the measures you had to take to keep him yours.
Damian - She was an artist, he was a fisherman. Together they were magic, regardless of the cost.
Danse Avec Moi - She loves her sophisticated husband for his elegance and charm. Then he takes her back to his bayou home and teaches her how to dance.
The Haven - She never planned to fall in love with her husband's childhood hero. She could never have believed how loving him would alter all of their lives.
Waiting for Lindy - On a rainy, wind-swept Cape Cod night, a shopkeeper waits for his lover spending the time talking with his son about life, loss, and the mysteries of love.
Flynnie and Babe - Whenever Babe needed a shoulder to cry on Flynnie's was right there. It took her long enough to realized that Flynnie was right there, too.
Treat Yourself To The Best - Fifi just doesn't get it. She spent her entire life running away from home and now her adorable young husband just can't get enough of going back there.

Meetings with Remarkable Writers: Skye Alexander

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 10 Feb 2012 18:30:00 +0000

The other day I got an email from my friend Skye Alexander who used to live here in Gloucester but has since moved to Kerrville, Texas. Last summer she told me she was writing a book about the myth and lore of mermaids and she asked if she could use a quote or two from my mermaid books. Naturally, being a writer, hence eager for publicity, I said “yes” and told her to take her pick. In her email Skye attached the image, it will be in her new book. I am so thrilled with how beautiful it is I am nearly speechless.

I've known Skye for close to 20 years. We met when I first moved to Gloucester and she and 2 other friends were discussing forming a small publishing company. At the time they were thinking about publishing erotica but the project didn't quite work out and Skye moved on. She then formed a partnership with writers Kate Flora and Susan Oleksiw to create Level Best Books, which publishes an annual anthology of crime fiction by New England writers. Over the years the editorial staff has changed but they are still going strong. To date I have had three stories published in their anthologies.

Skye, however, has published far beyond any one genre. I am continually stunned by her output and her versatility. She is best known for her metaphysical books particularly as an astrologer. Recently she has published a number of books on meditation, health, home improvement, clutter control (which I should commit to memory), and other contemporary issues. I recently bought her book Angels Among Us which includes some astonishing photography of angelic-appearing apparitions including one that I was a part of. What struck me as I read Skye's commentary in the beginning of the book was the depth of knowledge and scholarship that went in to the creation of it. This is not your light'n'fluffy angel book, this has depth and substance.

One of the joys of being a writer is having the opportunity to commune with other writers, to exchange ideas, and to share how we think. Whenever I have the opportunity to talk with Skye I'm continually amazed by her range on interests – from angels to erotica, from tarot cards to baseball. I've always believed that one of the best parts of being a writer is that it gives you an excuse to pursue the study of subjects you might be chagrined to study otherwise. After all, writers need to know about all kins of things in order to write.

After seeing Skye's beautiful angel book I am even more excited to see her mermaid books which is scheduled to be released this spring.

In addition to writing Skye also paints, you can see some of her work on her web site. She also makes a mean apple pie.

So, as always, I'm thrilled to be included in one of Skye's projects. She is one of the most fully creative people I know. I'll be sure to let you know when her mermaid book is released and, in the mean time, check out her other books. I'm lucky to have her as a friend and we are all lucky to have her as a writer.

Thanks for reading.

Reviews from the Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Wed, 08 Feb 2012 01:03:00 +0000

A wonderful review on a book blog for The Old Mermaid's Tale!

Reviews from the Heart: A MUST READ: THE OLD MERMAID'S TALE by KATHLEEN V...: I have read several short stories by Kathleen Valentine, and I have enjoyed all of them. This is the first full length novel of hers that I have read, though. When an author is successful as a short story writer, I always wonder whether they can sustain that level of writing in a full length book. It is with great joy that I found that Kathleen Valentine is a wonderful success at both. In fact, this book will definitely be on my top books read in 2012 list. I was discussing the book with a friend, and we both agreed that this is not your typical romance book. In fact, we both felt that it is not really a romance book at all, but is instead a captivating love story. Being one of the best love stories that I have ever read, I cannot imagine a lot of other books overcoming it. Read the rest...

#SampleSunday: Guy Falls in Love - or something from "Waiting for Lindy"

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 02:58:00 +0000

Continuing with a selection of samples from My Last Romance and other passions, what could be a more perfect Valentine than this collection of eight love stories? On February 12, 13, 14 this collection will be free for Kindle. It is also available in a lovely little paperback and at $10.20 it's not much more expensive than a card and packed with romance! And don't forget to enter our Valentine Blog Hop and register for prizes -- candy, jewelry and Amazon Gift Cards!
____________________________
Waiting for Lindy is one of eight stories in My Last Romance and other passions. In this Guy, a 50-something widower has given up fishing and open a tourist shop in a small town on Cape Cod. He's reconciled to his lonely life until a lovely woman walks through his door:

The big question is what does a woman like her see in an old fart like him anyway? It’s his favorite question to torment himself with ever since the day she first walked into his shop and knocked him off his feet.

The first time—well, that was easy to understand. It was Spring and the air smelled like desire. She was indulging herself in a weekend getaway—meandering down the street in a loose white shirt that fluttered in the sea breeze. And those kind of strategically tight and faded jeans that made men glad to be alive. He noticed her first when she stood looking in the window of the batik shop across the street. He must have been impressed—he spilled iced tea down the front of his pants and was swabbing idiotically when she entered his shop. She looked at him sideways, smiled slightly, tossed her hair. Of course she tossed her hair—she had to have. Well, even if she didn’t, in his mind she tossed her hair and that was good enough for him.

"Pretty clumsy," he mumbled, "grown man and still spilling things all over myself."

She laughed but it was a sweet laugh. She was the sort of woman who knew how men reacted to her and loved them for it. He tried not to be too obvious watching her as she moved around the shop picking up seashells and turning them over, tracing the swirls of a nautilus shell with her finger, holding bits of coral up to the light. The breeze wafting through the harbor-side door carried the scent of jasmine and lilacs and female warmth to him—made him light-headed and giddy. When she reached up to tap the bronze wind chimes above the window the sunlight seeped through her blouse and the silhouette beneath made his knees weak. Girls like that, he thought, girls like that should be locked up—but thank God that they weren’t.

He was dying to say something witty. He was damn clever when no one important was around—down at the Legion hall he had a reputation for his quick comebacks. Right now his tongue was being a traitorous bastard.

"Is this your shop?" she asked turning toward him.

"Yeah." He swallowed and tossed the tea-soaked tissues toward the waste basket. Naturally he missed. "I quit fishing when my wife got sick a few years back. After she passed away I opened this place—never felt much like fishing again." Well, that sounded pathetic—now she’d think he was a love-lorn old fool.

"That’s too bad," she said.

"Oh, it’s been a good enough living—lots of tourists these days."

She smiled softly. "No, I meant it was too bad about your wife."

"Oh." Christ. "Well, that was awhile ago. Are you on vacation?"

"Sort of—yes." She picked up a curtain of mussel shells and held it up to the light. "I live in Arlington. Woke up with Spring fever this morning and just called in sick and got in the car." She turned toward him. Her eyes were teasing. "Sometimes you just have to do something crazy, y’know?"

Up close he realized she wasn’t as young as he had thought—late thirties maybe. Possibly forty. And the Spring fever was contagious. The fever was rushing through him and pounding in his head. Pounding in a lot of places.

"Like that?" he asked as she toyed with the shells hanging from a long, slim piece of driftwood strung with fishing line. "The Wampanoags make those. They’re good in windows—give you a little privacy, make a nice sound when the wind blows, and turn the sunlight blue."

"Wampanoags?" She tilted an eyebrow—she was damn good at that.

"Local Native tribe," he said relieved they were finally talking about something that didn’t make him sound like a moron. "‘Course these days they make more money with their casinos than crafts. Interesting people. I like hearing their dune lore stories."

She smiled as she put the screen on the counter and opened her handbag. "Dune lore? What’s dune lore?"

"Sorry," he said finally managing to smile back at her, "I don’t tell dune lore stories on company time. You have to be out in the dunes after dark for them to get the effect, y’know?" What the hell, he thought, there’s no fool like an old fool and he’d been down this road before.

She lifted an eyebrow—she could kill a man with that eyebrow. "That so?" The rest of the conversation was hazy after that eyebrow trick but the point was he had wound up offering to take her for beer and cuyhoags and a walk in the dunes that evening. Her name was Lindy which had a lovely lilting sound on his tongue.

He knew she was just looking for adventure. Well, he thought, if she was looking for adventure he wasn’t above letting her use him for that purpose. He’d misused himself for worse purposes. Read the rest....

"The Old Mermaid's Tale" and I thank you so much for your beautiful words...

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 01:50:00 +0000

In the past couple of months The Old Mermaid's Tale has gotten some incredible reviews on Amazon. I appreciate these so much!

5.0 out of 5 stars One of the most beautiful stories I have ever read. A MUST READ!, February 3, 2012

Lyn Meadows (Danville, CA USA) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)

This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Paperback)

I have read several short stories by Kathleen Valentine, and I have enjoyed all of them. This is the first full length novel of hers that I have read, though. When an author is successful as a short story writer, I always wonder whether they can sustain that level of writing in a full length book. It is with great joy that I found that Kathleen Valentine is a wonderful success at both. In fact, this book will definitely be on my top books read in 2012 list. I was discussing the book with a friend, and we both agreed that this is not your typical romance book. In fact, we both felt that it is not really a romance book at all, but is instead a captivating love story. Being one of the best love stories that I have ever read, I cannot imagine a lot of other books overcoming it.

The characters in this book are superbly developed. Each one has a uniqueness that draws you into their lives and sweeps you along the story line. In fact, I cannot even pick out a favorite character from the book as I loved each and every one of them. The book is set in the 1960's along Lake Erie and focuses on one city where the majority of the residents are connected to the Great Lakes maritime trade. With the combination of her wonderful characters and the beautifully written prose in the book, Ms. Valentine not only makes her love story compelling, but makes the world of these people come alive for the reader. Here are a couple of my favorite quotes:

"You can write down your dreams, make pictures of stars but that does not preserve the magic. Nothing captures those gorgeous glimmers of eternity. Yet love, like dreams and starlight, returns again and again in defiance of fears and foolishness"

"Perhaps, I think, it is our longing, and our willingness to see beauty in the most humble of places, that makes us so irresistible to God. "

I am now a steadfast fan of Ms. Valentine and look forward to reading more from her. If they are all as good as this one, I am certainly in for a treat.

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5.0 out of 5 stars engaging. emotional., January 25, 2012

Anonymous - See all my reviews

This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Kindle Edition)

After reading two prior works by this author, the subject matter of the Great Lakes greatly interested me due to growing up near Lake Superior. The author engages the reader and pulls at heart strings as you come to empathize with each character. I couldnt put the book down.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Blissful, January 22, 2012

Dolores Sierra - See all my reviews

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This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Paperback)

I didn't want this book to end. I loved the characters, the stories, the history, the mythology, the story. Engrossing, absorbing, enchanting and lovely.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Loved it, January 3, 2012

clueless - See all my reviews

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Wonderful book I did not want to put it down, very interesting it made me want to visit the town. Great love story.

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5.0 out of 5 stars A tale that captures the heart, December 29, 2011

Kiwi Tricia (Converse, San Antonio, TX) - See all my reviews

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This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Kindle Edition)

The Old Mermaid's Tale by Kathleen Valentine is more than just a beautiful story that continues to capture my heart and imagination. After the first reading on Kindle, I was completely drawn into the characters, their time and the locale. I have read it again and again and finally jotted down dates, people's ages to know and understand them better, place names and the names of lost ships as told by the seamen in their tales about the Great Lakes to start web searches. Clair is of my era and could relate to her wanting `more than this' out of life. It is Baptiste though who is truly the unforgettable man but alas he is a fiction - I would still dearly like to know though who his book cover and video images are modeled on! As an aside, I am pretty sure I caught a reference in Each Angel Burns to Baptiste and his mother a scultor often called Madame L'perdue because her son ran away to sea and she never heard from him again. Anyway, the end result was hours spent reading about the Great Lakes, the waterfront towns, the cultural and economic changes over the past fifty-two years, Native American legends, and the very real shipwrecks. Web images of the 1960's through old photos and postcards were a delight to `visit' Lake Erie of a time now past. It is a unique book that generates that much follow-up interest in me. I have `worn out' my Kindle version from re-reading the story so many times and frequently play Ms. Valentine's video on her blog for The Old Mermaid's Tale featuring the song `Parlez-moi d'Amour' sung by Charlelie Couture. I now understand what other reviewers to include authors mean by the many layers to Ms. Valentine's writing. In fact, I have just ordered a printed copy to keep with my very favorite books because this tale has so enthralled me.

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5.0 out of 5 stars Beautiful, compelling writing, December 28, 2011

D. E. Taylor (Walnut Creek, CA United States) - See all my reviews
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This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Kindle Edition)

There are two outstanding elements of this novel. The one that makes it most worth your time is the writing. This writer has managed to capture the essence of those quiet moments we all have, the compelling ones when you are sitting somewhere and what feels like a life-altering truth in all its simplicity explodes inside your being so profoundly you suddenly feel as if you have grasped the whole purpose of our existence if only for a moment. There are several of these in this novel, poetically written, and they alone are worth reading it for. The second reason to read this novel is the depth of the human characters which she has drawn so realistically you feel as if you have lived your life amongst them. One particular character has stayed with me long after reading- that of Baptiste. He is the man Clair falls in love with, the first great love of her life, perhaps the greatest as we don't get to see her whole life here (and something more is alluded to at the end.) Baptiste is a tortured soul, and as such he is compassionate and sensitive- and wise beyond his 42 years. He is generous and respectful, and wants more for Clair than she wants for herself. I was thrilled with how the author dealt with "twenty years later" because I can competely relate to where Clair was and believe I would've wanted the same. The men in this book- every last one- are portrayed with more heart and sensitivity than novels or the media typically portray men, which is a refreshing change. Clair does come across naive and annoying at times but she is young and can be forgiven her ignorance. Really, this book is excellent and anyone looking for a novel with heart should pick it up. It will surprise you! As a writer I read constantly and I only review the books that intrigue me. This one is worth your time.

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5.0 out of 5 stars You will not want to put this book down, December 28, 2011

Constance L. Slack - See all my reviews
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This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Kindle Edition)

Having received a gift card for my Kindle as a Christmas gift, I was looking for a good sized novel, not just a short story, that would intrigue me so much that I would want to finish the book during my Christmas break, making that story a part of my Christmas 2011 memories. "The Old Mermaids Tale" exactly fits the bill. Even though I am only half way through the story, I am so engrossed in the story and the characters that I had to write my review while still in suspense of the ending. Due to her youth (the story begins when Clair is finishing high school and leaving home to go to college) there is much that Clair does not understand about herself and the world beyond the Ohio farmland where she was raised. Clair is different from her peers in that she feels drawn to making life choices based on an inner need to explore the unknown rather than make the same choices of her contemporaries, who are following the expected path of marrying someone from her home area and living the same lives as those around her in the farmlands. She is strangely compelled to experience the lives of fishermen and others whose livelihoods depend on the sea, and chooses to attend a college located near the northern edge of Lake Erie. Although the college has rules about coeds staying away from the lake front, Clair finds a tourist area coin-operated telescope that allows her to begin her exploration of this forbidden area from a distance. One day, during one her telescopic travels of the lake front area, she discovers a large painted mermaid with an inviting smile on the side of a building. Just as mermaids of lore drive sailors to explore the seas, Clair follows the lure of this painted mermaid and finds a way to personally explore the lake shore area and experience the lives of these people who live under the watchful eye of the painted mermaid. Reading about Clair's experiences as she enters this unknown world and meets the people who live there is fascinating. The book is well written and the author has the descriptive ability to enable the reader to envision the characters in the story that Clair meets and become just as caught up as Clair in their lives. Since my journey through the first half of this book has kept me so intrigued that I wanted to write a review before even finishing the story, I feel that "The Old Mermaid's Tale will not disappoint. I sense a promise that the remainder of this story and Clair's experiences with the people of the lake shore will keep me fascinated until the end, and that this book will leave a lasting impression of a story well told.

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5.0 out of 5 stars I felt I was living this book as I read it, December 14, 2011

AmeliaAT "Apostrophistica" (Pennsylvania, Endless Mountains) - See all my reviews

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This review is from: The Old Mermaid's Tale (Kindle Edition)

I loved this book. It was a coming-of-age story of a young woman in the early sixties. Kathleen Valentine evokes so well all of the changes that the character, Clair, goes through in the years between preparing to leave her home for college and returning about five years later. She gives a nuanced view of the characters, even ones who don't have a lot of "page time," such as Clair's mother.

This book captures echoes of the love and loss that we all experience in our lives to such a degree that it felt real to me. I felt like I was reading about people whom I had known and grown up around. I became emotionally absorbed in the story.

Kathleen Valentine's writing is often subtle, saying a lot in very few words (the reference to "the Fitz" towards the end of the book had all kinds of implications for the reader that it couldn't for the characters -- yet), and many passages are beautiful.

It's hard to sum up this book in a review, except to say that it far exceeded my expectations and I know I will read it again.

Vintage Photos of Hammond Castle

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 19:35:00 +0000

Today Hammond Castle posted a portfolio of vintage photographs of the castle on their Facebook page. They are wonderful old pictures though no date is given. I've spent a lot of time there.I've attended concerts and a dance. I shot some of the photos for The Mermaid Shawl there and the scene in The Old Mermaid's Tale when Baptiste takes Clair to a Christmas Eve dance was set in the "Winter Castle" which I modeled on Hammond Castle. Below are a few of the photos but to see the rest go to their Facebook page.

Below is the atrium where Baptiste takes her and tells her that he wishes he could give it to her.

Thanks for reading.

10,000 Books In January

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 16:57:00 +0000

Never in my wildest dreams, when I began publishing ebooks, did I ever think I would sell 10,000 books in a year! So selling that many in a month just takes my breath away. I had read that all predictions indicated that ebook sales would skyrocket after Christmas 2011 because over 4 million e-readers had been shipped as Christmas gifts and I suspect quite a few of them came with gift cards. Beginning Christmas Eve I saw the sales figures climbing. November and December had been good sales months anyway but on Christmas Eve the sales figures went ZOOM!

My custom is to check my sales figures every morning and then try to ignore them for the rest of the day but when I logged on Saturday morning and saw how close they were to 10,000 I admit I spent much of the day checking and re-checking until about 4:00pm when they hit the magic number – 10,000. That is over 16 titles but the title far in the lead is The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic. Still it is fascinating to me to see what other books are doing well. They top five sellers of my books are:

The Crazy Old Lady In The Attic: a 15k word novelette that is listed under both horror and psychological thriller. There are people who have taken issue with those categories but I tend to think they are people who are accustomed to reading more gruesome and brutal horror stories. To me the story's horror is in the gradual, slow realization that Mattie comes to as she uncovers secrets from her past. By the end her sense of her history is completely shaken by the realization that what she thought was a cute, funny comfort was, in fact, something cruel and unimaginable. As a lifelong fan of Shirley Jackson and Henry James that is the kind of horror I aimed for in writing that story.
Ghosts of a Beach Town in Winter: a 20k words novella it is a ghost story set in the off-season in a beach town. I thought this a very dark, disturbing story as I worked on it. Neither of the two main characters are very stable people. Layla is a lost soul trying to be what her husband wants her to be and Joel, her husband, has aspirations as an author but it may well be he wants to be an author more than he wants to actually write.
The Old Mermaid's Tale: a 132k word novel that is, I think, my best published work so far. It is a complex 1960s era coming-of-age tale about a young woman who longs for romance but who is fascinated by the dark side of the seaport in which she lives. It has received very, very good reviews so far which makes me happy. Baptiste, the man she finally loves, seems to capture a lot of hearts.
Arthur's Story: A Love Story: this 12k word novelette has really picked up a lot of sales in the past month which is gratifying because I think it is a very warm, tender, uplifting story with a feel-good ending. I hope more people find it and enjoy it. Arthur himself is hard not to love.
Each Angel Burns and The Reluctant Belsnickel of Opelts' Wood are tied for fifth. The former is a 123k word novel and the latter a 23k word novella. Each Angel Burns has garnered a fair share of controversy because of the combination of strong religious themes and strong (though not explicit) sexuality. The Belsnickel story is a warm, charming story about a wounded man who finds his way back into the world through an ancient cultural tradition.

So, these are the books that contribute most to the 10,000 sales. I also have a bunch of knitting booklets, my cookbook/memoir, and some anthologies all of which had enough sales to make them worthwhile.

This is an exciting time to be an independent author. I have no idea how long the e-book market will stay brisk but with hand-held devices selling at the rate of a million a week the future looks promising. I am just grateful and thrilled.

As always, thanks for reading!

#SampleSunday: Danse Avec Moi from "My Last Romance"

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sun, 29 Jan 2012 00:55:00 +0000

This is a fragment from the short story Danse Avec Moi from my short story collection, My Last Romance and other passions. It is the featured book for my participation in Book Lovin' Babes Valentine's Blog Hop. Click the link to register for the prizes!

Danse Avec Moi

Jean-Luc has powerful arms. He is not a large man but every bit of him is steely and intense. Just now his arm around my waist crushes me against him and the pressure of his thighs against mine are determined and single-minded. I gasp for breath and he tilts his head back to look at me with those ice blue eyes. He whips me around effortlessly and smiles. I am not a small woman but when he holds me like this I am a child, a rag doll, a puppet on the strings of his private rhythms.

His face is inches above mine and I can smell the intoxicating fragrance of him—a mixture of pine boughs and leather, wine and fresh air. He looks as though he is going to kiss me. It is a maddening habit of his that he will let his mouth come so close to mine that I burn for its touch—then he pulls back and looks at me teasing. The one thing he knows—more than any truth on this earth—is how much I yearn for him.

He tightens his grip on me and turns again, carrying me with him. He throws back his head and laughs with the turn. It is so hot here. He doesn’t seem to notice the heat but I am not accustomed to these steamy tropic-like nights. I find the air thick and suffocating.

The music stops. My feet return to the ground. He steadies me then guides me to the open door. Outside lanterns hang in the giant pin oak trees creating dozens of little moons orbited by thousands of tiny night creatures.

Old women sit on the porch fanning themselves with dried palmetto leaves, chattering in the exotic staccato of this beguiling music they speak. I have only heard this language since coming here with Jean-Luc. Now that I am his wife he can bring me with him to visit his family and the people he has loved all his life. During all the years we lived together in the Northern city that is our home his rare trips home were solitary ones. Whether his family knew that he shared his life and his bed with a woman I did not know but now that we wear matching rings I am welcome among them. To me this is an unimaginable world.

When he walked into my office and my life years ago I could not have envisioned this elegant, reserved man with his portfolio of sophisticated illustrations and softly accented voice in this remote and torrid swamp land.

In the shadows of the night he takes my face in his hands and kisses me as no one else in the world can kiss me. His kisses stir rivers in me that I never knew I possessed before him.

"Ah, Bebe," he whispers brushing aside my hair and letting his breath cool my ear. "You are so exquisite." And he kisses me breathless.

The old women stop rocking and there is tittering. Jean-Luc releases me saying he will get us wine. I lean back against the wall gulping sweet night air and he strides along the porch flirting with the old women in the odd music of their language. They laugh and slap his legs and backside with their fans. I watch his solid, compact body in fine white shirt and tan trousers until he disappears into the room filled with heat and light and laughter. No one from our world, from the publishing house where I spend my days surrounded by technology and academics, from the design studio where he creates as ably with PC and stylus as with pen and ink, would imagine him in this environment. Read the rest....

Thanks for reading.

The Windy City Author (now in Maine) Sends Kind Words...

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sat, 28 Jan 2012 15:26:00 +0000

Maureen McDermott Gill, formerly of Chicago but now living in Maine, is the author of an excellent police thriller, January Moon, and an avid blogger with two excellent blogs, Tides & Currents and The Windy City Author...in New England. Yesterday she posted a lovely and generous plug for my forthcoming novel Depraved Heart. She and her husband Al, who is an excellent book critic, are beta-reading the manuscript and this is what she had to say:

...books, obviously, deserve to be savored... and one of them is Kathleen Valentine's third novel, "Depraved Heart," which I'm reading as a beta reader. She's hitting it out of the park with this one. My husband read it before I could start it; he enjoyed her two other books, "The Old Mermaid's Tale" and "Each Angel Burns," but said he thinks "Depraved Heart" may be her best yet.

Kathleen's lyricism blows me away, as well as her strong story telling skills. I think "Depraved Heart" is an outstanding achievement.

I have other friends who write great stories (my friend Nicole Daines Gibeaut comes to mind) and I've learned wonderful things from each of them, but Kathleen is teaching me something special about focus and discipline. She's been laying it on me pretty thick... chiding my ass for spending too much time on Facebook and not enough time writing fiction. I'm very flattered that she thinks I'm a gifted writer -- which is part of the reason she rides my butt (and we're going to talk more about that in another post!). Today, though, I want to direct your attention to Kathleen.

Kathleen's Kindle sales are soaring and I can't think of a writer who deserves success more than Kathleen. Last summer she decided to hunker down and get very, very serious about finishing "Depraved Heart" while also devoting herself to promoting herself as a writer.

Kathleen's as gifted with short stories as she is with full length novels. In a blog post she wrote this past Wednesday, January 25th, Kathleen describes how she's unbundled some of her short stories from their prior book formatting and sold them separately and how that has proven very successful; those short stories have driven sales for all of her books. Kathleen's determination to focus on her career as a writer, eschewing almost all other distractions, coupled with her talents as a writer and keen business acumen have all come together. In her post on Wednesday, Kathleen wrote that so far in this month alone (3 weeks!) she's seen over 9,000 books fly "off the digital shelves...."

I spoke with Kathleen last week and we discussed in more detail how her shorts have enjoyed explosive sales and those sales continually beget more sales. I have at least twenty short stories in various states of completion -- some have been in my files for thirty years and I never even showed them to anyone. Now I'm eyeing them like possible buried treasure.

Kathleen Valentine is going to be one of those highly successful indies who prove indies are a mighty force to be reckoned with -- gifted writers who not only write beautifully but have also mastered the business end of the deal and found clever ways to market multiple talents.

Thanks, Maureen! Now get to work on that next book!!!

The Crazy Old Lady [Commentary Version]

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 19:26:00 +0000

You know how a lot of DVDs come with a Bonus Feature called the Commentary version? I love those things. Sometimes I love them more than the movie. I have learned a lot about process and creative innovation from them and about how really creative people think. I have a couple of DVDs that have such excellent commentary versions on them (“Legends of the Fall” and “The Usual Suspects” come to mind) that I re-watch the commentary from time to time just to jump start ideas of my own.

Since the runaway success of my little novelette The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic I have had a lot of reviews from readers which say they wish it was longer. Of course those words are always music to a writer's ears but I do understand that the difference between what a writer writes and what a reader reads is sometimes vast. I am one of those writers who is constantly striving to keep my story interesting and moving forward. Especially if the story contains an element of suspense, you don't want to lose the momentum. I remember when I was writing The Old Mermaid's Tale there was one scene I worked on for WEEKS! I wrote it over and over and over trying to make it tight and clean and gorgeous (for those who have read the book it is the one where Clair asks Baptiste to dance with her in the little beach bar.) Anyway, after sweating blood over that scene, and shedding no small amount of tears, I gave that whole section of the book to one of my beta- readers. She was giving me feedback and I asked her about that scene. She replied, “Oh, yeah, that was a sweet moment.” I was flabbergasted because, of course, to me it represented weeks of toil. But the reader was correct, it was just a moment to her.

So, thinking about the reactions to The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic, I thought wouldn't it be interesting to do a “Commentary Version?” I would let the story stand as it but then go through it and insert my own commentary – either in italics or in indented text – telling what I was thinking at that point and why I wrote it the way I did. In fact, it might even be interesting to add some “deleted scenes”, too. I know I wrote a rather sweet love scene between Mattie and Stan their first night in Boston but then cut it because I felt it broke the momentum. I also wrote a much more lengthy version of Mattie's first meeting with Trent in which she remembered him and her feelings about him when she was in high school.

Would such a thing have appeal? I don't know but I think I'm going to give it a try and see what happens.

One thing I know is that I have learned an awful lot from those DVD commentaries. I especially love it when they talk about having to improvise on the spur of the moment or improvisations that work their way into the script by accident. It reminds me of a film project some classmates were working on when we were back in college. It was a student film with a pretty lame script, I was just an observer, and one of the actors had a very, dry, witty sense of humor. He kept injecting dialog that was so good the guy who wrote the script kept adding them for subsequent shoots. However they always feel flat and at one point the director said, “You know the ad libs just aren't as funny when you write them down.” No kidding.

Writing is a mysterious process. Sometimes I labor over a few simple sentences and sometimes I start typing and the words come pouring out in such a cascade my fingers can barely keep up. You never know what will happen. This week I have been giving myself a lot more time to write. Now that the royalties from my books are lightening the burden of earning a living I want to take writing books as seriously as I have always taken my design business. I love both of them but it's nice to have the freedom to chose what you will work on next.

Well, I’ve learned a lot from my readers' comments and I'm taking those to heart. I have 2 more short stories that are about murders and I want to work on them, flesh them out, build on them and let them blossom into something larger if I can. And I'm going to work on a new version of The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic [Bonus Features] which includes commentary and deleted scenes. you never know what might happen....

Thanks for reading.

What's An INFP Good For?

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 16:50:00 +0000

Thanks to a discussion on an internet discussion board last night, I wound up taking a Myers-Briggs Personality Test and discovered I am an INFP. Below is what they had to say about INFPs. I guess I pretty much agree with that... it's certainly sounds like me. I think it is kind of interesting that 2 of the quotes used in the analysis below are from 2 of my favorite books, Moby Dick and The Velveteen Rabbit. I've always said that the moral of The Old Mermaid's Tale, if there is one, is the same as that of The Velveteen Rabbit -- and heaven knows that book owes plenty to Moby Dick:

Introverted iNtuitive Feeling Perceiving
by Joe Butt

Profile: INFP
Revision: 3.0
Date of Revision: 26 Feb 2005

"I remember the first albatross I ever saw. ... At intervals, it arched forth its vast archangel wings, as if to embrace some holy ark. Wondrous flutterings and throbbings shook it. Though bodily unharmed, it uttered cries, as some king's ghost in super natural distress. Through its inexpressible, strange eyes, methought I peeped to secrets not below the heavens. As Abraham before the angels, I bowed myself..." --(Herman Melville, Moby Dick)

INFPs never seem to lose their sense of wonder. One might say they see life through rose-colored glasses. It's as though they live at the edge of a looking-glass world where mundane objects come to life, where flora and fauna take on near-human qualities.

INFP children often exhibit this in a 'Calvin and Hobbes' fashion, switching from reality to fantasy and back again. With few exceptions, it is the NF child who readily develops imaginary playmates (as with Anne of Green Gables's "bookcase girlfriend"--her own reflection) and whose stuffed animals come to life like the Velveteen Rabbit and the Skin Horse:

"...Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand..." (the Skin Horse)

INFPs have the ability to see good in almost anyone or anything. Even for the most unlovable the INFP is wont to have pity.

Rest you, my enemy,
Slain without fault,
Life smacks but tastelessly
Lacking your salt!
Stuck in a bog whence naught
May catapult me,
Come from the grave, long-sought,
Come and insult me!
--(Steven Vincent Benet, Elegy for an Enemy)

Their extreme depth of feeling is often hidden, even from themselves, until circumstances evoke an impassioned response:

"I say, Queequeg! Why don't you speak? It's I--Ishmael." But all remained still as before. ... Something must have happened. Apoplexy!
... And running up after me, she caught me as I was again trying to force open the door. ... "Have to burst it open," said I, and was running down the entry a little, for a good start, when the landlady caught me, again vowing I should not break down her premises; but I tore from her, and with a sudden bodily rush dashed myself full against the mark.--(Melville, Moby Dick)

Of course, not all of life is rosy, and INFPs are not exempt from the same disappointments and frustrations common to humanity. As INTPs tend to have a sense of failed competence, INFPs struggle with the issue of their own ethical perfection, e.g., perfo rmance of duty for the greater cause. An INFP friend describes the inner conflict as not good versus bad, but on a grand scale,Good vs. Evil. Luke Skywalker in Star Wars depicts this conflict in his struggle between the two sides of "The Force." Although the dark side must be reckoned with, the INFP believes that good ultimately triumphs.

Some INFPs have a gift for taking technical information and putting it into layman's terms. Brendan Kehoe's Zen and the Art of the Internet is one example of this "de-jargoning" talent in action.

Functional Analysis:

Introverted Feeling

INFPs live primarily in a rich inner world of introverted Feeling. Being inward-turning, the natural attraction is away from world and toward essence and ideal. This introversion of dominant Feeling, receiving its data from extraverted intuition, must be the source of the quixotic nature of these usually gentle beings. Feeling is caught in the approach- avoidance bind between concern both for people and for All Creatures Great and Small, and a psycho-magnetic repulsion from the same. The "object," be it homo sapiens or a mere representation of an organism, is valued only to the degree that the object contains some measure of the inner Essence or greater Good. Doing a good deed, for example, may provide intrinsic satisfaction which is only secondary to the greater good of striking a blow against Man's Inhumanity to Mankind.

Extraverted iNtuition

Extraverted intuition faces outward, greeting the world on behalf of Feeling. What the observer usually sees is creativity with implied good will. Intuition spawns this type's philosophical bent and strengthens pattern perception. It combines as auxiliary with introverted Feeling and gives rise to unusual skill in both character development and fluency with language--a sound basis for the development of literary facility. If INTPs aspire to word mechanics, INFPs would be verbal artists.

Introverted Sensing

Sensing is introverted and often invisible. This stealth function in the third position gives INFPs a natural inclination toward absent- mindedness and other-worldliness, however, Feeling's strong people awareness provides a balancing, mitigating effect. This introverted Sensing is somewhat categorical, a subdued version of SJ sensing. In the third position, however, it is easily overridden by the stronger functions.

Extraverted Thinking

The INFP may turn to inferior extraverted Thinking for help in focusing on externals and for closure. INFPs can even masquerade in their ESTJ business suit, but not without expending considerable energy. The inferior, problematic nature of Extraverted Thinking is its lack of context and proportion. Single impersonal facts may loom large or attain higher priority than more salient principles which are all but overlooked.

Famous INFPs:

Homer
Virgil
Mary, mother of Jesus
St. John, the beloved disciple
St. Luke; physician, disciple, author
William Shakespeare, bard of Avon
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (Evangeline)
A. A. Milne (Winnie the Pooh)
Laura Ingalls Wilder (Little House on the Prairie)
Helen Keller, deaf and blind author
Carl Rogers, reflective psychologist, counselor
Fred Rogers (Mister Rogers' Neighborhood)
Dick Clark (American Bandstand)
Donna Reed, actor (It's a Wonderful Life)
Jacqueline Kennedy Onasis
Neil Diamond, vocalist
Tom Brokaw, news anchor
James Herriot (All Creatures Great and Small)
Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek)
James Taylor, vocalist
Julia Roberts, actor (Conspiracy Theory, Pretty Woman)
Scott Bakula (Quantum Leap)
Terri Gross (PBS's "Fresh Air")
Amy Tan (author of The Joy-Luck Club, The Kitchen God's Wife)
John F. Kennedy, Jr.
Lisa Kudrow ("Phoebe" of Friends)
Fred Savage ("The Wonder Years")

Fictional INFPs:

Anne (Anne of Green Gables)
Calvin (Calvin and Hobbes)
Deanna Troi (Star Trek - The Next Generation)
Wesley Crusher (Star Trek - The Next Generation)
Doctor Julian Bashir (Star Trek: Deep Space 9)
Bastian (The Neverending Story)
E.T.: the ExtraTerrestrial
Doug Funny, Doug cartoons
Tommy, Rug Rats cartoons
Rocko, Rocko's Modern Life cartoons

On to Plan B...

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 22:05:00 +0000

One of the first things you learn when you get into the wild,wild world of indie publishing is that indie marketing is going to make you crazy. There simply are not enough hours in the day for all the things that you want to try and, no matter how much you do, there is no absolute assurance that any of that will work. The old rules are passé and the new rules change daily. But you need to remember two things: 1. indie publishing is a marathon, not a sprint and 2. the best way to promote your work is to make more of it -- every book you write and publish should promote the rest of your books.

A little over a year ago I had the idea to bundle together 8 short stories that I just happened to have around and sell them as a collection called love, murder, etc. Though it got favorable reviews from the people who read it the collection just never took off. Some months back I took one of the stories in that collection and published it as a stand-alone novella, Arthur's Story: A Love Story. I offered it for 99 cents and sales have been, if not spectacular, a whole lot better than they were for the collection. They are picking up and I'm happy.

So then I took out 2 stories from the "murder" section of that book -- Home-made Pie and Sausage and Killing Julie Morris. Both of them are chilling stories about revenge so I bundled them together and offered them for 99 cents, too, and the same thing happened -- sales weren't stunning but they were much, much better. So, it seemed that the logical thing to do was offer the other stories in the book in smaller lots. Today I just finished work on Mardi Gras Was Over: Three Love Stories and it is now on Amazon.

I have 2 more stories from this group to go.

I also finished drawing the charts for the next knitting instruction book the Mermaid's Garden Shawl and hope to have it on Amazon by next week.

Kindle sales have been wonderful. I'm so impressed and I want to keep this going. Over 9,000 of my books have flown off the digital shelves so far this month and I could not be more surprised or happy. So I am continuing to write and knit and design and promote. It is a full-time job but, at present, it seems to be worth it. I have 2 Amazon Select promotions coming in February. I'll keep you posted.

Thanks for reading.

Guest Blog from Ray: Some Fall Adventures

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 15:33:00 +0000

Another guest blog from our buddy photographer Ray Beimel in St. Marys, Pennsylvania:

In October this past year, I did some travelling in south central Pennsylvania on a lovely fall weekend. These are some of the interesting things I saw. In 1997 the Travelling Circus hiked the Appalachian Trail from Old Forge State Forest Picnic Area to Pine Grove Furnace State Park. In doing the necessary car switch, we went past the South Mountain Restoration Center. A huge building loomed out of the foggy rain and I always wanted to go back for a better look. This finally happened. Originally built as a tuberculosis sanitarium in the 1940’s it is little used today. There is a large campus with lots of buildings, some of which are in use. The biggest one was the hospital.

The day I was there I could see no activity whatever. There were two cars parked nearby and not a soul to be seen. It was kind of spooky actually and probably much more so at night.

Away from the big building was another one that once was a protectarium for children who were exposed to tuberculosis. This closed in the 1980’s and has been dormant (nice word for rotting away) ever since. Apparently the roof leaks. If you could get inside, it would be some interesting ruins. There is a website of pictures of the place in its ruined state. It’s kind of sad actually. A large well built building that serves no useful purpose any longer is never a happy sight. The grounds are still well kept.

My next stop was Caledonia State Park. I have camped there many times but I never did any hiking there except for that cold rainy day when the Circus came by on our way to Quarry Gap Shelter. We did over 12 miles that day with rain the whole time. That happened to us a lot. Thaddeus Stevens, a well known abolitionist and Congressman had an iron furnace there until Jubal Early came and destroyed everything on his way to the battle of Gettysburg. The Park has an interpretive trail that takes you past a number of sites associated with the furnace. This is the mill race that brought the waters of Conococheague Creek to the water wheel at the furnace. It was carpeted with pine needles and made for pleasant hiking on a nice fall day.

After some looking around there, I went over to the Michaux State Forest. I wanted to get a picture of the walls of the Hessian Barn that we passed so often while hiking the Appalachian Trail with Chris’ Backpacking Classes. The trail has been rerouted away from it and there is a nice little parking area adjacent now. However, there are no interpretive markers in place yet.

I had a notion to come back at night to take some pictures of it lit by flashbulbs but that will have to wait for another time. From there is it just a short drive to Pine Grove Furnace State Park. As luck would have it, this was the weekend of the Furnace Festival. Always a sucker for festival going, I spent a few hours wandering around to see what was going on.

There was the obligatory blacksmith but the authenticity was disturbed by his talking on a cell phone. Keen eyed pedants (like me) would also note that he was working with mild steel and not wrought iron. But of course, since no one makes wrought iron today, he and others of his trade have little choice. There also some charcoal making going on at a much reduced scale compared to historic times. Being a collier had to suck. You did a lot of manual labor to create the pile then got dirty covering it in mud and leaves. Then you had to keep an eye on the thing for days which meant you were camped out in a rude shack and didn’t get a lot of sleep because you dare not let too much air get in because that would start a fire. And you were surrounded by smoke the whole time.

Most of the rest of the festival was the usual mix of demonstrations, craft booths, food sellers and such. One display had alpaca, the somewhat calmer cousin of the llama.

There was a display of old tools there and I saw this little girl trying to do something with a bellows. After a few fruitless tries she gave it up as bad business.

I always feel sorry for the entertainers hired for such events. This poor fellow has an audience of four and two of them are more interested in rassling around on hay bales. The real draw at festivals of this sort are the trailers like below. It is not really a furnace festival without your chocolate covered bananas and your hot sausage sandwiches.

There were other mildly interesting sights. The Ironmaster’s Hostel was refurbished and they were holding open house. It looked a cut above most of the hostels I have seen. There was kettle corn and funnel cake and bottled water and baskets and cute stuff and a lady selling semi-good “art” photos. I tried to talk shop with her but I discovered she was getting her prints made at Walmart, didn’t have Photoshop, didn’t have a printer, didn’t cut her own mats, and wasn’t selling anything.

After a few hours and another visit to the Appalachian Trail museum to see the decent docent I met there before (she was not on duty) I wandered back to the car. I saw this in passing. I had never encountered recycling cans lettered this way. I thought I knew what commingle meant. It was something I tried to do with a girl back in high school and got slapped for my efforts. Not sure what it means in this context. There were lots of people carrying aluminum things around and putting them in the hole but I saw not one person carrying any commingle.

The next day I was in Gettysburg on my birthday. I spent little time on the battlefield and lots of time seeking out the real tourist draws there these days, ghost tours. Look forward to a rant coming your way soon. Meanwhile, I am wishing all a happy and prosperous New Year. Ray

#SampleSunday: Lacy Dove's Revenge from "My Last Romance"

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sat, 21 Jan 2012 22:49:00 +0000

Valentine's Day is coming and what could be a more perfect Valentine than this collection of eight love stories? On February 12, 13, 14 this collection will be free for Kindle. It is also available in a lovely little paperback and at $10.20 it's not much more expensive than a card and packed with romance!
____________________________
Ruby was a chanteuse with Silvio Santini and the Silver Saints back in the day. In this excerpt she reminisces about the way things used to be. From "My Last Romance" in My Last Romance and other passions.

I watch the kids today with their confused morality and their predictable sexuality and I feel sorry for them. Everything is accepted and nothing is fun. Look at them! Jogging along in the hot sun, sweat pouring off of them. Look at their faces! Do they look happy? Nobody in my day would dream of jogging. We danced. We mambo-ed and we cha-cha-ed and fox trotted all night long. We tangoed and tangled and drank and kissed and felt each other up and never wanted to stop. Look at these girls—thin as teenage boys! Like little pretend men.

Women in my time had chests—the bigger the better—straining against lace brassieres and bouncing under whisper thin silk blouses. We had hips a man could get ideas about and we knew how to use them, too. I could change the course of a man’s life just by turning around in my pink charmeuse evening dress—the one with the cute V dipping all the way down. And then there was that gold tissue faille that was so low in back and so artfully draped in front that men would stare at me and say, "Darlin’, what do you have on under that?"

I’d tilt my eyebrow the way I’d practiced in the mirror—maybe a thousand times—and say, all innocence, "Why, rose-scented talcum powder, sugar. What else?"

Oh, we were women alright. A man could have just about anything he wanted, he just had to figure out what it took to get it. He had to work a little bit. Talk sweet. Make you tingle. The other day I was listening to this relationship expert on the radio. Relationship expert? My lord. She said that she "advocates a mutually beneficial relationship with latitude for individual development." What the hell is that? No wonder these poor girls go running down the streets in this ridiculous heat! It’s a genuine wonder they aren’t screaming.

I say you are either going with a fellow or you aren’t. And God help him if he doesn’t treat you right. I remember this one girl—Lacy Dove Chaldefonte from Sweetwater, Georgia. Whew. She was five feet eight inches and one hundred and fifty pounds of creamy pink, orange-blossom scented female. She drove them crazy with her big doe eyes and mile long legs. There was this one fellow—a trumpet player from one of those Cuban rhumba bands everyone was so crazy about then. Let me tell you he got one look at Lacy Dove in a white sequined halter dress dancing the samba and thought he’d go blind or get seasick from all that glitter and motion. You could see the smoke rising from his bright pink satin trousers.

He and Lacy Dove took up together. That’s what we said back then—"took up together". We knew the same words the kids know today—we just had naughty imaginations and didn’t need to spell everything out. We didn’t have to fuck because we could make the earth move.

That’s another thing today. People just love to be honest, have you noticed? They say something that would get their mouths soaped good and then say, "I’m just being honest." I say honesty is for the unimaginative.

For awhile Lacy Dove and her trumpet player did just fine. They’d come staggering into the club in the middle of the afternoon still sleepy-eyed and love-weary, hands all over each other. She loved to show off all the little silky unmentionables he bought her. He liked her to do strip-teases for him in his hotel room between sets and he spent tons on the kinds of things he liked to watch her peel off. Then the rumors started about him and this red-headed waitress from another club. Lacy just marched right into that club, grabbed that girl by the hair and slapped her silly till the poor thing admitted they’d been carrying-on. That was all it took.

Lacy had it all planned that night. She waited until they got back to his room and she wasted no time getting him undressed and on the bed. Then she started her strip.... First she undid her Midnight Fantasy stockings, one at a time and rolled them down the length of those never-ending legs of hers. She knew what he wanted. She leaned over within a kiss’s distance of his face and tied first one wrist and then the other to the bedposts with those stockings. That guy thought he was in for a grand evening—so excited he was shaking like a wet dog. And she took her time wriggling out of her candy pink silk slip. She teased him with it—drawing it nice and slow across his thighs and belly. She had him squirming something awful. She let it puddle down on the part of his anatomy that was fixing to burst. She did the same with her ribbon-trimmed 36DD brassiere and her rosebud embellished garter belt letting the dumb bastard shiver in anticipation. Finally she turned her back to him and ran her hands over her backside as plump and luscious as a sun-ripened peach as she wiggled out of her spider-web thin panties. Turning to face him—letting him have one last gander at that heavenly body—she licked her lips with her pretty pink tongue. Then she leaned over and took his cigarettes and lighter from the night stand. She gave him her best come-hither gaze as she touched the blue flame to the tip of her cigarette. Then with a sweet smile she dropped the lighter into the silky pile in his lap, picked up her coat, turned and sauntered out closing the room door on his shrieks.

Oh, now don’t get all upset. The trumpet player thrashed around enough to put out the flames and escaped with only minor burns to the former Pride of Havana. Lacy Dove moved to San Antonio and married a roughneck who made it big in the oil-boom of the Seventies. The last I saw of her she was on the cover of Southern Living in front of the gazebo she had just had built in her garden for one of her daughters’ Coming Out parties.

Well, not every girl that got cheated on was as crazy as Lacy Dove. But we were bad and sex was dirty and it was all a lot of fun.

Thanks for reading.

'Pritneer' Time to get to Work...

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 20 Jan 2012 15:22:00 +0000

I have been hard at work lately on my cycle of Marienstadt stories and I am loving this. After I wrote The Reluctant Belsnickel of Opelt's Wood I was so in enthralled with creating the town of Marienstadt and its quirky, peculiar and yet oh-so familiar characters that I wanted to keep going. I absolutely loved several of the characters in that story. Father Nick was someone I wanted to spend more time with and Gretchen Fritz and her Calico Cuckoo Fabrics & Quilting Supplies shop just begged for further exploration. I loved so many of the townspeople, especially Andy and Annie Kneidl who own the sausage store, and Bob and Mandy Herzing who own the Maple Sugar Shack. And, of course, I was completely in love with Oliver and was in no way ready to be done with him. So I decided to keep on writing.

I sat down and sketched out a list of stories I wanted to try writing about all within the town of Marienstadt and with many of the same characters making appearances. Some of the stories would be funny, some sad, some romantic, some spooky. Each should stand on its own as a story but all will share settings, characters, etc. As I have been working on this more and more stories keep popping into my head.

I finished the first draft of one of them last week. It is a sad story and I found it hard to write but it is also an important story about something that really happened back during the Depression. I called it “The Confession of Genny Franck.” In it Father Nick gets called to visit 103 year old Genny Franck, the great-grandmother of Trish Ritter (from the Belsnickel story). Genny tells Father Nick that she has a story to tell him and then she'll let him decide if he wants to give her absolution or not. I'll admit I had a terrible time while I was writing it because there is so much pain in it but I think the ending is beautiful and uplifting so perhaps it is worth it.

I needed a complete change from that so I started a second story which I am calling “Peeper Baumgratz and the Sister's Snow-Plow” and I've never had this much fun writing anything in my life. I'm sitting here laughing as I write about a Marienstadt “character” who gets in trouble with the law and high-tails it to a hideout in the woods. Chief of Police Henry Werner, a gorgeously handsome but troubled man, recruits his old friend Oliver Eberstark to go into the woods and hunt for Peeper. Nobody should have this much fun writing.

There are several more stories on my list including one about a competition between two of Marienstadt's oldest families over how to make a proper dumpling and a saga about Jubal Winter, one of the town's earliest, and most mysterious, residents. This story is based in a story handed down in my own family.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to call the completed collection The Whiskey Bottle in the Wall: Marienstadt Stories. Trying to capture the true flavor and sense of the place in which I grew up is more challenging and yet more fun than I would have imagined. While writing the other day I remembered how my Dad and many of the other local people used the word “pritneer” - a word I've never heard used anywhere else. He would say, “it's pritneer dark out” or “the tomatoes are pritneer ready to be picked”. The word means “almost” and is probably a corruption of “pretty nearly” but in my mind it is such a local word.

This morning I read a post on the St. Marys Facebook page about the way dump-trucks loaded with cinders would come out after a snowfall and 2 guys with shovel would stand in the back and spread cinders on the roads to make them less slippery. I remember that so well as well as how many kids had tiny black lumps in their knees from falling and skinning them and getting cinders under the skin that never left.

It surprises me how memory works – the smells, the flavors, the sounds, the feel of what it meant to be a kid in a small Pennsylvania Dutch town in the fifties and sixties. Writing about it is pure joy – even with its sadnesses and shames.

Thanks for reading.

Guest Blog: Ray's Best Hike in Penn's Woods

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:46:00 +0000

Our good buddy Ray Beimel in Pennsylvania sent this for today's blog:

The Best Hike In Penn’s Woods

For being a populous eastern state, much of Pennsylvania is still wooded and wild. This makes for a lot of good hiking trails. I have walked many of them with my fine traveling companions Brad and Chris. This is the story about our most recent hike on the best of all possible trails. I am speaking of the Falls Trail in Rickett’s Glen State Park. It is in the northwest corner of Luzerne County, north of Bloomsburg, west of Wilkes Barre, just in case you want to go there.

I first hiked it in 1996. Chris got there in July 2011 and liked it so much that he thought we really needed to get Brad there. Thus our November trip took us to Luzerne County. Chris had reservations at a campground about a half hour away from the park. I got there just a few minutes after he did. We got the RV set up and just as the welcome mats were put out, Brad showed up. We set out from three diverse places over a hundred miles away and over 130 miles apart and still managed to meet within a half hour of each other. We are good that way. Here’s our campsite on the frosty Saturday morning.

Friday night we had a nice dinner of Brad’s chili, my salad, and of course, beer. I won’t bore you with the details of the inevitable Cinch tournament that night. In the morning Brad made French toast and then we were off to the park for an all day hike.

It was a sunny day but not all that warm. We were wearing hiking boots, carrying packs, and using trekking poles. We walked past a ranger in his truck and after a cursory nod, he looked at our feet. The trail is steep, muddy, and can be dangerous and the park strongly recommends good footgear. I guess we passed. Of course, even this little bit of inspection brought out a minor rant from me. It went something like this.

“Bleep. What’s with that ranger? Couldn't he see that we were very serious well-equipped hikers? Hell, I was probably hiking this trail when he was still in high school. Bleep. Where does he get off checking us out? Bleep bleep." My anti-authoritarian rants never cease to amuse the guys. They try really hard to keep me away from rangers. There was severe flooding there recently and much of the trail had been rebuilt with that last week judging from the fresh gravel and the Bobcat tracks that were still obvious.

This is what is called a “lollipop” trail. That means you hike up the “stick”, loop around, and come back down the stick. It is flat to start with easy hiking in a forest of virgin hemlocks. Then you have a choice of taking the high road or the low road. Unlike in

Scotland

, taking the high road gets you there faster.

The two trails converge just below the first of the falls. From there it is alternately flat and steep. And it is very very scenic if you find waterfalls pleasing to look at. And who among us does not like looking at waterfalls? There are 22 of them on this hike, hog heaven for the falls enthusiast. Given the recent rains, they were all running quite nicely full. In a dry summer the flow is somewhat less than that provided by a Super Soaker. In winter only registered ice climbers are allowed in the gorge.

As we passed each falls, Chris or I would take a picture. I was packing the beater camera so my stuff was not wall hanger worthy. I also shot some video so I can hear the falls when I want to. There are three falls on the “stick” part of the trail. Just before we got to Waters Meet where the two glens come together, we passed a number of stacked rock cairns.

While we made some pictures, a couple of guys came up and asked what that was about. They would not know me as a historian who deals strictly with facts so I gave rein to my inner storyteller. I explained that there had been some serious flooding in the area recently and there was a small group of New Age believers who felt that the erection of such cairns, the burning of incense, and the chanting of the proper incantations would keep the stream from flooding in the future. I explained it was quite a colorful ceremony and that dozens took part with even more looking on because the culmination of the ceremony was a young couple conjugating in the stream. The guy’s response to this pack of preposterous lies was “really?”

There is a wooden map at Water’s Meet and this picture might make it more clear about what the trail is about.

The trail is in red. The falls are all named. I wonder who Murray Reynolds was. You might expect Indian names like Oneida and Mohawk, but not Sheldon Reynolds. We decided to take the left fork so we would be going uphill on the steeper side. The highest waterfall, Ganoga, is on this side. It is 94 feet high. So if the creek falls 94 feet the trail must rise 94 feet. The trail is narrow, rocky, and wet in many places. We were happy to have the trekking poles. Only a very few were using them. Since it was later in the season and a bit on the chilly side, we didn’t see the kind of hikers you will find in summer. I have seen Gucci loafers, gold slippers like old female urbanites wear, Chuck Taylors, flip flops, Doc Martens, even barefoot. Evacuating an injured person out of the glens has to be a real chore. For my part, I would let the ravens and buzzards clean the carcass and then pack out the bones in spring. Well, you know I don’t really mean that but I am sure that the chore is difficult enough to require a designated curser, hundreds of feet of rope, a Stokes litter, and a Coast Guard Boatswain's Mate to accomplish.

Brad took a picture of Chris and me in front of a falls. You can see how we were dressed and geared. I think one might guess we had hiked a bit. Or as Bill Eppright might put it, we looked like we had true crust.

Given that it was sunny there were a fair number of other hikers on the trail. Many of them seemed to be students from nearby Bloomsburg University. There were also many Asians, mostly Koreans. We saw their vehicles and it looked like a Republic of Korea Marine Corps veteran’s group with spouses. Some of those ladies were doing some fast paced hiking. Of course, it is easier to get 100 pounds up the hill than it is to get 240 pounds up the hill.

Dogs too. And small children. We saw one way too cute little girl, couldn’t have been more than four, gamely ascending Glen Leigh. She was all in pink and I have no idea how she was going to deal with the big rock steps ahead of her. I suspect the pink would be replaced by mud before she got to the top.

The other side of the gorge was sunlit and there was enough colorful foliage to make for some pretty scenes. Chris found one near the top. Once at the top, the trail across is mostly flat. Still, it is not a good place for very large people as the photo below will show.

This is the aptly named Midway Crevasse. Just a short way down the train we found a very large flat rock just off the trail. We settled in for lunch. Brad made a bowl of Rachael Ray’s tuna with artichoke hearts, celery, Greek seasoning, black olives, and olive oil all wrapped up in a tortilla. As I am wont to say, it was tasty stuff. And the traditional bag of spice drops for dessert. You might ask, what about the Little Debbie Nutty Bars. Of course we had some of those. They take on the character of emergency rations and if there is no emergency, we eat them.

After lunch we played a game of Cinch. It was fun to watch how the passing hikers dealt with seeing us there. Most walked by with just a furtive glance. Some gave us friendly greetings which we returned. Despite it looking like there was a scenic vista (there wasn’t) only one couple came over to see what they could see. I believe Chris won the card game.

From there it was largely downhill into Glen Leigh. This gorge is narrower and there are several bridges, none of which I bothered to make a picture of.

It’s all downhill to Water’s Meet and on a couple of occasions I was very happy to have the poles to keep me upright. Toward the end of the hike I photographed the guys on top of one of the Reynolds waterfalls.

Arguably, this is the most photogenic one with an aesthetic marred only by the two guys standing at the top.

Back at the campground we had a hearty dinner of goop mélange followed by more cards and lots of conversation. In the morning Brad made his legendary pretty and yet tasty omelets and then it was time for the obligatory group shot.

Chris’ RV is a Winnebago Minnie Winnie. We decided that we will refer to it as the Tin Can instead.

I cannot speak too highly of this hike. If you are wandering about Penn’s Woods and looking for a natural site you won’t find anywhere else, you can do no better than Rickett’s Glen State Park. And just to connect my favorite hike with my favorite Civil War site, Rickett was an artillery captain in the Army of the Potomac whose men held off a Confederate charge by whacking the Rebs about the head and shoulders with rammers and other implements. They have a fine monument on Cemetery Hill under the watchful eye of General Hancock’s equestrian statue.

Speaking of which, the next story to come will be an extended rant about a famous American battlefield being encroached upon by forces of evil commercialism. Do I speak of Walmart’s desire to build on the Chancellorsville battlefield? No. Perhaps I am thinking of the suburban sprawl encroaching on Bull Run Battlefield? No. I refer to the Ghost Tours that have become omnipresent in Gettysburg.

Until then, be safe, enjoy. Ray

Davenport Dialogues: Laugh, Cry, Hate, Love...

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Tue, 17 Jan 2012 14:56:00 +0000

The beautiful and generous Hawaiian author of Shark Dialogues, Kiana Davenport, has written a blog post on her favorite books of 2011 and included my The Old Mermaid's Tale as one of them. In it she writes:

Valentine's writing is so sensuous and graphic, it resurrects the lusty, maritime smells and tastes of that bygone era. Clair is initially swept off her feet by the dashing seaman, Pio, but finds a deeper love in Baptiste, the hypnotic Breton, a seaman and musician of tragic, aching vulnerability who harbors a dark secret from his past. While exploring this complex and doomed love, the author transports us to other eras: shipwrecks on the Great Lakes, Native American legends come alive, the boomtown years of prosperity in these slowly fading waterfront towns. There are scenes where the book's depth approaches the Biblical, the epiphanic, as her characters contemplate the meaning of love, and of existence. The writing is on an epic scale such as Fielding and Melville. A nourishing novel, a great journey. I loved it.

You can read the entire post here:

DAVENPORT DIALOGUES: LAUGH, CRY, HATE, LOVE...: Hello World. We writers constantly shortchange ourselves. We seldom read for pure enjoyment or to escape daily tedium. Instead we ' res...

#SampleSunday: A Different Kind of Love Story - "The Haven"

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sun, 15 Jan 2012 00:22:00 +0000

It can be dangerous for a couple when one person falls in love with someone else -- but what happens when they both love him? This is from my short story "The Haven" which is one of the stories in My Last Romance & other passions:

THE HAVEN
"Tell about Uncle Stash and the narwhal," Lenore says as Rob tumbles her down into the white cloud of her new, big-girl bed.

He looks back at me over his shoulder and rolls his eyes. Lenore lies there smiling up at him with her tiny pixie face, her tawny skin flushed and rosy from her bath, her big black eyes and wild tangle of midnight black curls impossibly dark against the whiteness of her pillow. She laces her plump fingers together and slips the forefinger of her right hand between her sweet, little lips where she will pretend she is not sucking it. "Pwease," she adds.

"Your turn," I whisper and he smiles that gorgeous wide white smile of his. Even now when the first dash of gray is shimmering through his own black curls that smile can make me giddy as a girl.

"Of course," he says, settling down on the edge of the bed and tucking the comforter around her little body.

"Uncle Stash was a mariner," he begins.

"That means he worked on a big ship in the Atwantic Ocean." She says it with perfect seriousness, her eyes watching his face enraptured.

"Yes," Rob says. "He worked on a big ship in the Atlantic Ocean. And sometimes that ship went up through northern seas where there are icebergs."

"Like whole big mountains made out of snow, fwoating in the watew," she adds.

"Yes." I can tell by the way his cheekbones rise that he is smiling. I cross the room to the wall of windows overlooking the Atlantic Ocean and gaze up at the long, spiraling tusk mounted in brackets above the center window. "And where the Northern Lights..."

"Wowa bow-alice," she corrects him.

"Aurora borealis shimmers in the night sky..."

From the windows in our daughter’s room you can see the gold flash of the lighthouse beam far off on the outer islands. The sun is gone now and the sky glows the color of the last violets clustered under the yew hedge bordering the sea cliff below. Stars emerge. It will be a glorious night—one of the last warm nights of this year.

"...and Uncle Stash said to the man, ‘hold up there, you can’t kill that...’"

"‘...hold up there, SON...’," Lenore insists. It is important to get every word absolutely correct.

"‘...hold up there, son, you can’t kill that, that’s a narwhal...’"

"One of God’s most be-yooo-tiful cweatuwes...."

"One of God’s most beautiful creatures." Rob agrees. Sometimes I wonder who loves this story more, Rob or Lenore? I reach up and dust the tips of my fingers over the surface of the narwhal tusk and am surprised, as I always am, at how fragile it seems. Though it is Lenore’s most cherished possession she is only allowed to hold it when she is sitting in Rob’s lap. I never hold it with her. I can’t. Now it hangs here in the pristine beauty of our little daughter’s fairy princess bedroom in our estate house on the hill. But once it hung over Stash’s narrow, bachelor’s bed in the dusty, tremulous silence of the Seaman’s Haven down on the waterfront where mariners from every corner of the planet escaped for a few nights ashore away from the rugged bleakness of their solitary lives.

Sex & Spirit: A Conversation with Skye Alexander & Kathleen Valentine, Pt. 2

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 13 Jan 2012 16:08:00 +0000

Part Two

Kathleen: Well, there seems to be a popular sentiment among a lot of people that the problem with contemporary sexuality is that, as they put it, we “forget our animal nature”. I've heard this argument from a lot of people and I find it ridiculous and an excuse for some very destructive and hurtful behavior but the attitude persists. Your comments about my attempts at writing erotica reminded me of the story about how Anais Nin came to write Delta of Venus and Little Birds. A patron offered to pay her per page to crank out titillating prose and he instructed her to “leave out the poetry” but she couldn't.

Toward the end of The Old Mermaid's Tale there is a scene between Clair, who is a senior in college and is struggling with her overwhelming desire for the man she loves and the need for both of them to move forward with their lives. She is talking to her advisor who has just returned from India and brought with her some small statues of apsaras, the beautiful little Hindu nymphs that represent “unrealized potential”. Clair's advisor tells her that the Hindus believe that not everything we imagine is meant to be and that the apsaras honor the erotic longings of the human heart. I found that deeply moving and highly instructive. I think we in the west have the attitude that we should be able to have everything we want but we don't always understand that sometimes those energies need to be channeled in other directions. For me personally, creativity, and especially writing is a form of divine communion – a form of sex, if you will. Maybe that's why I hate to see it profaned through careless sexuality that is all sensation with very little emotion.

I wrote a short story called My Last Romance in which a woman turning sixty suddenly encounters a reminder of a man she had an incredibly passionate affair with when she was young. The affair ended abruptly and she eventually went back to the man she was with before she met her wild, impetuous lover. Now, decades later, all those feelings come flooding back and she comes face-to-face with what really happened. I still find that story can make me weepy because I think a lot of us spend much of our lives longing for something that would have been a disaster if we had actually acquired it.

Skye: I’m intrigued by the concept of apsaras––which I’d never heard of before you discussed it––and the idea that they “honor the erotic longings of the human heart.” Sex magic would say that we can have anything we want, but we must be able to envision what we want, open ourselves to it without reservation, believe we’re worthy of it, and direct our creative (sexual) energy toward attracting our desires. That’s a fairly simplistic explanation, and admittedly it’s easier said than done. But to honor our longings…to me seems to show compassion toward ourselves (and others) when we fall short of accomplishing what we aim for––and that in itself might be an act of forgiveness, which as I understand it, has the power to bring peace, healing, and balance to the world.

But back to the idea of spirit as an essential component of sex, I want to relate an experience I had a few weeks ago. I spent a day with two people (one man, one woman) who by their own admission had each had sex with more than 1,000 partners. But by age 50, they were so bored and disillusioned that they’d basically given up on sex altogether. I felt incredibly sad for both of them. They’d spent decades searching for meaning and connection––the transcendent experience we’ve been talking about that exists in sacred sex––but erroneously sought it in new lovers, new sex toys, new kinks. Interestingly, both had been brought up in strict religious environments they’d rejected––he as a Catholic, she as a Mormon––and refused to see the connection between sex and spirit.

In my way of thinking, the so-called “sexual revolution” that began when you and I were young women was well-intended, but it destroyed the mystery. It took the bubbles out of the champagne. Giving yourself permission to have sex with anyone who piques your interest at the moment may be “liberated” but it’s not likely to lead to a genuine, fulfilling, meaningful, loving, and truly erotic experience. Passion, joy, and magic are inherent in sex––why else has sex fascinated us for millennia? Even our most enduring symbols, including the cross and the Star of David, depict the union of masculine and feminine forces (a topic too lengthy and involved to discuss here, but perhaps in the future).

You mentioned the idea that contemporary people “forget our animal nature” when it comes to sex. We’ve all seen those National Geographic animal programs on TV that show animals copulating, and frankly it’s pretty perfunctory––I doubt most of us would choose the wham-bam type of sex lions engage in. “Animal nature” may include sacred dimensions, if you accept that all life is sacred. But I can’t help recalling the line from one of my favorite movies, The African Queen, when Katherine Hepburn says “Nature is what we were put on earth to rise above.”

I believe that viewing sex as a sacred experience allows you to see yourself and your partner(s) as embodiments of the Divine. In so doing, you perceive the glorious truth of yourself. You aren’t separate, you’re one––with your partner and with All That Is.

Kathleen: Yes, I definitely see “honoring our longings” as an act of forgiveness and also an act of compassion for self. Especially as I'm getting older I'm seeing that there are things I always thought I wanted that I now know are just not going to happen – for me it has become about priorities. There aren't enough hours in the day, or days in the year, for some of the things I once longed for but I still want to honor the part of myself that once loved longing for those things.

I totally agree with you about how our sexual liberation contributed to destroying the mystery, mostly because people didn't understand the connection between body and spirit. I vividly remember guys who took advantage of that by telling young women they were attempting to seduce that they were “up-tight” or “hung-up” if they didn't want to have sex. I think a lot of people of both sexes went along with swinging and multiple partners because they didn't know how to say “no.” We lost so much of our spirit by letting ourselves be bullied into sexual acts we thought we were supposed to want but didn't really. It's still going on for a lot of young people who have been seduced by the “hooking up” mentality. I'm still hoping that people will start honoring their spirit and reclaim their sexuality. When I was creating the priest Father Black for Each Angel Burns I read a lot of writing by some of the great Catholic mystics and I became quite enthralled by their concept of “erotic celibacy.” Much as we all know how wonderful sex can be, there is a lot to be said for reclaiming your sexuality, and channeling that energy into creativity and communion with the Divine. Personally, I cannot ever imagine being in a sexual relationship with someone who was only interested in the sensation of sex but who ignored the spirit. If that means being celibate, I'm fine with that.

By the way, Skye, yesterday I bought your book Angels Among Us. It's a beautiful book and I enjoyed what I read last night. I understand you have a book on mermaids coming soon. We should have another conversation about the angels and mermaids since we have both written about them.

Skye: Thanks for buying my book, Kathleen. Yes, I’m quite pleased with the production quality. I’m glad you liked it, too. Did you notice that I included an inspiring story of yours and an amazing photo in it? I felt so touched by that and by the stories and angel photos other people contributed to the book.

I love your priest Peter Black in Each Angel Burns. I especially like the way you cast him as a handsome stud, before he took his vows. People often think of priests as either nerds, mama’s boys, or pedophiles. Father Black’s pre-priest experience gives him greater depth and takes him out of the realm of stereotype. Ecstasy and eroticism can certainly be experienced in sex (and hopefully will be), but that’s not the only venue, as you discovered while reading the writings of mystics. And, as you and I have both lamented, ecstasy and eroticism are too often absent from our sexual experiences.

Margo Anand, in her book The Art of Sexual Ecstasy, writes, “When the sacredness of sexual union is felt, it is possible to experience your connection to the life force itself, the source of creation. This connection lifts your consciousness beyond the physical plane into a field of power and energy much greater than your own.” As a sex magician, I’d say that from this place of power anything and everything is possible.

That’s not to devalue the sensory pleasure of sex––quite the opposite. As we’ve been discussing, physical delights are heightened by the infusion of spirit. When I was doing research for Sex Magic for Beginners, I was intrigued by the writings of an eighteenth-century Hasidic master named Reb Hayim Haikel. He proposed a different way of viewing sex and spirit, and suggested, “Creation was for the purpose of lovemaking. As long as there was only one-ness, there was no delight.” In other words, we emerged out of the realm of spirit into our physical bodies precisely so we could enjoy sex. An interesting thought …

Kathleen, this has been a most enjoyable and inspiring conversation––thanks so much for proposing it. I hope other people who read this will share their thoughts about the ideas we’ve posed. And we will definitely have a conversation about angels in the near future––and one about mermaids after my new mermaid book comes out in the spring (don’t know the final title or pub date yet). If other writers are interested in participating in these conversations, perhaps we can make this an ongoing forum.

Kathleen: Your Haikel quote reminded me of the Rumi quote I used at the beginning of Each Angel Burns, “At night we fall into each other with such grace. When it’s light, you throw me back like you do your hair. Your eyes now drunk with God, mine with looking at you, one drunkard takes care of another.” I think that about sums it up – finding God or Spirit or Universal Oneness by taking care of one another. This has been great, Skye. I look forward to our next discussion and I, too, would like to invite other writers to join us.

Skye Alexander is the author of more than two dozen fiction and nonfiction books, which have been translated into ten languages, and is best known for her work in the body-mind-spirit field. Her web site is SkyeAlexander.com. Kathleen Valentine is the author of three novels, many novelettes and short stories, as well as books on knitting lace and a cookbook/memoir of growing up Pennsylvania Dutch. Her web site is KathleenValentine.com.

Sex & Spirit: A Conversation with Skye Alexander & Kathleen Valentine, Pt. 1

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 22:11:00 +0000

Part One

Kathleen: Skye, you and I have known each other for quite a few years now and, though what we write about is very different, we deal with a lot of the same themes. I recently read your book Sex Magic for Beginners and, even though I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the subject, I was struck by the way you link the power of sexuality with the spiritual. I don't mind telling you I've gotten a lot of criticism over the strong sexual and spiritual themes in my novel Each Angel Burns. There are a lot of people who find strong sexual and spiritual themes incompatible.

Skye: Over the centuries, sex-negative religious forces have tried to separate body and spirit. In the process sex was robbed of its sanctity. But this wasn’t always the accepted view. Tantra, which began in India some 6,000 years ago, is the mystical path of ecstasy and its rituals glorify sex as the union of the Hindu deities Shiva and Shakti. The ancient Egyptians, Sumerians, Celts, and many other cultures also incorporated sex into their spiritual practices.

Sex magic, as I discuss in my new book, merges mind, body, and spirit. Although people perform sex magic for a variety of purposes, one reason is to assist spiritual enlightenment. It’s my opinion that our sense of isolation and our longing to reunite with Spirit is the root of human pain and suffering. During sex, we reconnect for a short time with the cosmic pulse of life. We glimpse our divine nature and our union with all that exists in the universe.

Kathleen: I think those are beautiful ideas but I often wonder how many people are in the kind of relationship that can support that. I know you have a section in your book on solo sex but for people already in a relationship, how do they deal with this if their partner isn't interested? In my experience the biggest problem where sex is concerned is the all-too-human desire for emotional connection with the partner and an on-going relationship. In my novel The Old Mermaid's Tale one of the characters, an older woman, tells a younger woman, “Never give your body to anyone who doesn't love you with all his heart. It kills the soul and robs you of your beauty and your dreams.” I think that is especially important to consider now in the era of “hooking up” and “casual sex.”

Is it possible to “glimpse our divine nature,” as you put it, when sex is so loaded with emotion and fraught with worries?

Skye: I agree with your character in The Old Mermaid’s Tale, which BTW I think is a terrific book and one I hope we can discuss in future conversations. In my opinion, the difference between casual sex and sacred sex is like the difference between a McDonald’s hamburger and a chateaubriand. I’ve never eaten a fast-food burger and I’ve never had a one-nighter. Unfortunately, most people opt for quick-and-easy rather than quality, and settle for far less than they could have. Our contemporary, blasé attitude toward sex renders meaningless the most potentially powerful and magical experience human beings can know. Casual sex is just as destructive as the Victorian era’s restrictiveness. Both squeeze spirit out of the picture, and prevent the possibility of genuine intimacy, joy, and transcendence.

From a magical perspective, the drawbacks are even worse. Keep in mind that sex is inherently a creative force. Sex magicians believe that with each orgasm you create a “magical child” in the etheric world, whether or not a flesh-and-blood baby results. The thoughts and emotions you hold at the moment of orgasm plant a “seed” in the cosmic womb, and that seed materializes based on your thoughts and feelings at the time. What were you thinking/feeling the last time you had sex? What kind of “child” would result from that?

Kathleen, you’re right that many of us aren’t in relationships that support the sacred nature sex––our partners may not even realize such a thing exists. We’ve been taught that love, intimacy, and vulnerability equate with weakness and we’ve learned to hide our feelings. Many men, especially, have also been trained to see sex as conquest, a mark of their prowess, but that sense of one-upsmanship prevents the balance that’s inherent in union. Opening ourselves to true intimacy––not only with our partners, but with ourselves and with the divine––is essential to fulfillment. Even if you’re in a relationship that doesn’t recognize the spiritual dimensions of sexuality, you can personally approach sex as a sacred, ecstatic, transcendent, loving, and joyful experience for yourself. Or, you can find another partner who shares your perspective. Solo sex can generate magical results, just as any sex act can, but it won’t keep you warm at night. Sometimes you can encourage or entice a lover to follow your direction, but be aware that fear of letting go, of trusting the unknown, and of being vulnerable may intrude and block your efforts. The choice is really up to each individual.

Kathleen: Sex is such a loaded issue for most people. Even people who profess not to follow a particular religion or spiritual path have a lot of trouble dealing with it. I know that you write erotica, I've read parts of your Tarotica book, and, as you know, I've tried writing erotica but I just have no gift for it. I think it is because I do regard sex as a sacred and powerful force that I find most erotica to be counterproductive to that. I struggle with it because I love writing sexy, romantic scenes––I've had people tell me the scene between Clair and Pio in the backseat of the Thunderbird (in The Old Mermaid's Tale) is one of the hottest scenes they've ever read. But it's not explicit. It's more about what the two people are experiencing than putting Tab A in Slot B, so to speak.

There is a scene toward the end of Each Angel Burns where the two lovers, both of whom are in their fifties, have a highly intimate encounter, that brought down the wrath of quite a few reviewers! I got a scathing review on Amazon over it and one popular Christian reviewer said it was appalling that I spoke of sex “in sacramental terms.” I wonder how you view non-explicit love scenes that are infused with the sacred and how they compare or contrast to most popular erotica.

Skye: I think one of the reasons sex is such a loaded issue for most people is that it touches on what’s real and profound and, yes, sacred in all of us. It brings us into dimensions beyond what we normally confront. It connects us with our vulnerability and our power––two sides of the same coin––and that can scare us silly. Sex, if you let it, takes you out of the mundane world and catapults you into the mystical realm––and that can be unnerving for many people. Sacred sex brings you up close and personal with the real deal, and it truly does rock your world.

Kathleen, I love that scene in your book Each Angel Burns, for several reasons. First, it shows that sex and passion don’t end in middle age––in fact, they can become more joyful, genuine, and intense later in life. I’ve always admired your ability to express these sentiments through your characters. Second, I think it’s more erotic if the writer doesn’t tell all and instead allows the reader to project his/her own emotions and fantasies into a situation. Holding back can heighten the experience. Remember that beautiful erotic scene in The Age of Innocence where Newland Archer kisses the wrist of the Countess Olenska? Within the strict confines of their Victorian culture, this daring foray is far more sensual than any X-rated film today.

I don’t know if I can speak intelligently about popular erotica today––it’s such a broad topic, and in the publishing world it has a multiplicity of subsets. I don’t agree that you have no talent for erotica––quite the contrary. I’ve read some of your erotic literature, including “Gone Fishing” which was published in Ravenous Romance’s Green Love Anthology––a highly underrated collection of erotic fiction––and found the story sensitive, sexy, and real. Our ideas about erotica are highly personal, and they keep evolving. Today’s erotica is yesterday’s hard-core porn. An old question asks what’s the difference between erotica and pornography? Answer: Erotica is something you find sexually enticing. Pornography is something another person finds sexually enticing, but you find disgusting. It’s all personal perspective.

But to answer your question, I think most popular erotic literature lacks the sacred dimension, and for me, that leaves it flat and mechanical. Sex is inherently magical. Sex is a sacrament, perhaps the holiest of all acts. Without it, none of us would exist. Maybe it’s no surprise that your reviewer missed this, but our ancestors were very aware of the sacred power of sex and they honored it in multiple ways. We can still do this today. I hope we will.

Continued tomorrow_________________________________

The Sinking of the Ben and Josephine on Joey C's Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Tue, 10 Jan 2012 14:20:00 +0000

Our good buddy Joe Ciarmitaro writes one of the best blogs in the blogosphere. Today he has two historic documents about the sinking of his grandfather Guiseppi Ciarmitaro's boat, The Ben and Josephine. I'm posting a little taste below but you have to go to his blog to read the rest!
Thanks To The Infamous Fred Buck We Have Two Accounts From the Sinking Of Our Grandfather’s Boat The Ben and Josephine By German Sub in 1942

Posted on January 9, 2012 by Joey C

Article by Charles Dana Gibson, undated-

On June 2,1942, the Ben and Josephine, an otter trawl dragger, left Gloucester, Massachusetts, at 7 p.m., in company with another dragger, the Aeolus. Both were bound for the Seal Island fishing grounds off Nova Scotia. By 3 p.m. the next day, the two draggers were about 170 miles east of Cape Ann when the man at the wheel of the Ben and Josephine spotted a submarine on the surface proceeding on what appeared to be a parallel course.

Although concerned, the wheelsman later stated that the opinion among his fellow crew members at the time was that the submarine was probably friendly. Whoever was up and about on the Aeolus, then four or five miles astern, seems to have had the same thoughts, since it also made no attempt to alter course. But friendly the submarine definitely was not: it was the U432, the same sub which had sunk Foam some days earlier.

When later describing to naval authorities what had transpired, the crew members of both the Ben and Josephine and the Aeolus stated that for an hour a number had periodically studied the submarine through binoculars.

During that time, nothing was seen to indicate that it spelled trouble; yet, the fact that its course and speed were continually altered to match the draggers produced a menacing atmosphere. Around 4 p.m., the submarine suddenly changed its course as if to cross the bow of the Ben and Josephine, increasing its speed as it drew nearer. When approximately five hundred feet away, it swung parallel and a machine gun opened fire, bullets striking the water close to its prey. Guiseppe Ciarmitaro (Captain Joe our Grandfather), the Ben and Josephine’s skipper, had been taking a nap. Suddenly shocked awake, he ran for the pilot house to radio for help.

The rest of the story....

Where's My Yellow Highlighter?

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 22:02:00 +0000

Back in the days when word processing machines were making their debuts in offices we used to joke a lot about getting White-Out all over the screen. Today most people in offices don't even know what White-Out is/was. Now with the exploding popularity of digital readers the same thing is happening to highlighters which is a challenge for those of us who can't read without a highlighter in hand. I LOVE highlighters! I have tons of colors and when I read, for example, The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, I wound up with more passages highlighted than not highlighted. And in a rainbow of colors, too.

When I bought my Kindle one of the first things I worried about was not being able to highlight and make notes but I soon discovered that you can. It's easy. You don't ever have to worry about your highlighter going dry and you can clip and save your highlighted passages in a separate file. How cool is all of this? Well, today I discovered something even more thrilling – at least for us writers. Readers can not only highlight passages they love but those highlights can be shared and, if enough people highlight the same passages, those highlights are saved on your Amazon Product Page. How really cool is this???

I was looking for something on Amazon's page for my novel Each Angel Burns when I noticed the following:

Popular Highlights

“We sculpt or write or paint what is inside of us. It is how we live with what is there, how we give meaning to our suffering.”

Highlighted by 4 Kindle users

“According to Plato the contemplation of beauty causes the soul to grow wings,”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

“I believe we create because we have to,” she told him. “There is all this stuff inside of us and we either bring it out or it eats away at us until there is nothing worthwhile left.”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

I was so excited I immediately went to The Old Mermaid's Tale and found this:

Popular Highlights

Men will always choose to do foolish things. We must thank God for giving us the means to heal from them.”

Highlighted by 5 Kindle users

“Never give your body to a man who doesn’t love you with all his heart. It kills the soul and robs you of your beauty and your dreams.”

Highlighted by 4 Kindle users

Sometimes all those things that we dismiss in ourselves, those things we call nonsense and romantic foolishness, are our spirit’s way of urging us in the direction we were meant to go in.”

Highlighted by 4 Kindle users

women’s hearts are much more complicated. For us love is a way of life. It’s how we fill our days and how we plot the course of our lives.”

Highlighted by 4 Kindle users

the people who play it safe and try to be normal are not the ones who are listening to their souls.”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

it’s amazing how little individual men actually have to do with the choices we make in life.”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

In the Hindu tradition the apsaras represents potential. She is an expression of the unrealized world.”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

“To the Hindu mind not everything we imagine is meant to be. The apsaras are shown as breathtaking beauties in order to pay homage to the erotic longing of the human heart.”

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

The beauty of children, it is said, is in their innocence. The beauty of a girl is in her dreams, the beauty of a woman in her knowing.

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

Well, of course this meant I had to check all the rest of my books which proved to be anti-climactic because there was only one more book with highlights, The Crazy OldLady in the Attic. There were only 2 of them and one was curious.

Popular Highlights

Like all children who grow up without parents, over the years I have collected little tidbits of information, scraps of conversations, and store them away like bits of cloth that may someday be stitched into a crazy quilt that might somehow make sense of our lives.

Highlighted by 4 Kindle users

Cushing Phillips was my father's best friend at Harvard and GrammyLou's attorney

Highlighted by 3 Kindle users

However, I felt very pleased and proud by this discovery. Somebody highlighted me. How very, very cool is that!?!

Thanks for reading – and highlighting!

11-22-63: The Genius of Stephen King

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 00:22:00 +0000

Everybody who was alive and of reasonable age in November of 1963 remembers where they were when they got the news that President John F. Kennedy had been assassinated in Dallas. For some reason we had the day off from school that day and my friend Sue and I walked to a nearby neighborhood market (back in the days when they had neighborhood markets instead of convenience stores) to get popsicles and we were walking home when we encountered Tilly, our neighbor's housekeeper. She was walking home from work and she was crying. We liked Tilly, she was always nice to us, and we asked what the matter was. She said, “Someone shot the President.” Sue and I were shocked – we didn't know that could happen. We thought that sort of thing only happened in history books like to President Lincoln.

When I got to my house my Mom was standing at the kitchen sink doing something and when she turned around tears were running down her face. We were Catholics, of course, and we loved out Catholic president. We didn't believe such a thing could happen in our country.

Over the years I've read books and watched documentaries about what happened that day in Dallas. It's hard to know what might or might not be true. But it takes a genius like Stephen King to actually envision what might have happened so brilliantly and to write a book like 11/22/63. It's a big book and, if you are looking for a book about JFK look elsewhere, but this is a wonderful book for a lot of reasons.

The story starts out in Maine when Jake Epping, a high school English teacher, gets suckered into a plan by an old friend who is about to die. His friend, who owns a diner famous for its cheap and delicious burgers, reveals that he has discovered a “portal” through which it is possible to slip back in time to a specific time and place in 1957 and for years he has been experimenting with time travel doing research for his grand plan, to stop the assassination of JFK. He knows that to do this he will have to be able to support himself for the intervening years which he intends to do through gambling on various events benefiting by the knowledge he gains in the future. But now cancer has changed everything and he can no longer stop the assassination so he begs Jake to do it for him.

As the story unfolds it is Jake who is the focus of the story, not JFK. Jake is actually less interested in stopping Lee Harvey Oswald than he is in righting a terrible wrong to a local man – a former student – who, as a boy, had witnessed his crazy father slaughter his entire family. Jake wants to go back and stop the slaughter above all.

King's capacity to envision the physics of time-travel is just stunning. In his interpretation the past is “obdurate” – it resists any attempts to be changed and the more significant the change the more powerfully it resists. This provides the protagonist, Jake, with a monstrously powerful antagonist – time itself. Jake, after preventing the slaughter of his friend's family, has to stay in the past, travel to Texas, and spend his time observing Lee Harvey Oswald. Along the way he makes wonderful friends, changes the lives of some young people, and falls hopelessly in love with Sadie, the librarian at the high school he teaches at while waiting to stop Oswald. The juxtaposition of 21^st century Jake in a 1950-60's world is brilliant. He encounters challenges no one could have imagined – his biggest fight with Sadie comes when she hears him unconsciously singing the lyrics to the Rolling Stone's Honky-Tonk Woman and thinks he is depraved for even thinking about such things.

Once the mission is accomplished and Jake returns to 2011 the world he enters is a world only Stephen King could have created. it is dark and terrifying and all because JFK lived and history went in a different direction.

This is utterly masterful story-telling. Delicious 1950's nostalgia, gob-smacking physics, shocking alternative history, and, above all, an absolutely beautiful love story. The last scene of the book is one of the most beautiful I ever recall reading. Bravo, Mr. King, bravo!

Thanks for reading!

Welcome 2012 – Now Get to Work!!!

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 21:11:00 +0000

About seven months ago I made a decision. I decided that if I was ever going to amount to anything as a writer I had to shut myself up, turn off as many distractions as possible, become a hermit, and divide my time between work, writing, and promoting books. I told myself this was the only way anything was ever going to happen because, even though I had a lot of good stuff written, it was languishing. I had a half-finished novel (Depraved Heart), a stack of semi-finished stories (including one called The Crazy Old Lady in the Attic, another I called Michelle Pfeiffer's Evil Twin which I renamed Ghosts of a Beach Town inWinter, as well as A Visit from Belsnickel which I renamed The Reluctant Belsnickel of Opelt's Wood.) I made a commitment to myself that I would stay home, focus on writing and revising – stop going out to drive around aimlessly or wander around shops or find people to sit around and gab with for hours and hours – and spend as much time as I could learning new ways to promote books.

Everybody told me I was crazy, they asked if I was depressed, they worried about me, they told me I was turning into a recluse, etc. I had to just thank them for their concern and keep going. I know myself and I know this is the only way I ever get anything done.

For the first three months it was tough going. I really, really, really wanted to go out and play. Other than sitting on my back porch talking to a couple neighbors I had no social life. I worked hard – writing and promoting all weekend. Even I thought I was nuts. But then in September something amazing happened. It was the last day of the month and when I checked my book sales stats I saw something stunning, I was 7 books away from selling 1,000 books that month. That's as many as I sold in all of 2010. I sat at my desk, holding my breath, and refreshing the screen over and over until around 10:30 that night I passed 1,000 book sales! I was ecstatic!!! I had uploaded the cleaned up version of The Crazy Old Lady in July and it was selling really well. It seemed the more it sold the more it dragged the other books along with it. I had been hard at work on revising Depraved Heart and was about to release Ghosts and I was very excited.

October was even better!!! Sales more than tripled and, for the first time ever, I made as much money in a month as a writer as I did as a designer. I was thrilled. The month ended with 3,200 sales and, though The Crazy Old Lady was by far the best-seller, I was getting fan email saying, “I loved your Crazy Old Lady, now I want to read the rest of your books.” This was incredible.

November exceeded every expectation! I released The Reluctant Belsnickel – 3 stories that had been just laying around useless for years were suddenly making money! I also cleaned up some knitting patterns and got them out, too. November ended with 5,600 sales and I was over the moon.

December, however, was the biggest thrill of all. Sales were excellent all month plus, thanks to Amazon's new DTP Select Program, I had the option of offering some of my books free for a day or two and the results were encouraging. Sales were picking up and on Christmas Day and the following 2 days I had 500 book sales a day! A DAY!!! December ended with 8,300 sales.

It is now the third day of January 2012 at 4:00pm and, at the moment, I am 12 books away from selling 1,000 books so far this month – in these three days I will have sold as many books as I sold in the month of September 2011 or all of 2010! How did this happen? Part of it is luck or the grace of God or something I fail to understand. But I also think much of it is just putting my nose to the grindstone -- or my butt to the chair, shutting out the world, and focusing. Focus, focus, focus.

Depraved Heart is out with the beta readers. I have three new knitting patterns that need to be charted and written up. I'm well into a new Marienstadt story. I think it is good.

I keep promising myself that I will some day have a life again, that this seclusion will not last forever. But part of me says, “This is your life. This is the life you were meant to live.” Maybe so.

Wishing everyone a very peaceful and prosperous New Year and, as always, thanks so very much for reading!

#SampleSunday: Arthur Becomes a Gardener from "Arthur's Story: A Love Story"

noreply@blogger.com (Kathleen Valentine) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 00:10:00 +0000

This is from my novella, Arthur's Story: A Love Story, which is free all day Saturday and Sunday (Dec. 31 & Jan.1). It is a warm, inspirational story about a lost boy in pre-WW1 New York City. Arthur is 13 and on his own alone. Through a long, hard winter he comforted himself by reading a stash of books and catalogs about plants. It has 3 5-star ratings and 2 4-star.

Spring came at last and Arthur resumed his habit of wandering the alleys that ran between the townhouses and mansions of the Upper East Side. Gardeners and housemaids grew accustomed to seeing the strange boy, usually with a gardening book in his hand, peering through fences at the plants coming in to bloom. He seemed like a nice enough boy, sturdy looking with longish fair hair that could do with a trim and clothes that were a little out of fashion but clean and of good quality. He’d stand outside the fence examining a flower or a tree then ruffle through the book in his hand until he found the picture that matched it. The gardeners were amused. One day, as Arthur knelt to examine a patch of chives that was glowing spiky and green in the April sunlight, Ralph Jonas, the gardener for the Wentworth Billingsly family stopped spading and addressed the boy. "Never seen chives before?”

The boy’s head snapped up and he grinned sheepishly. It was a very nice grin. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I just didn’t know that was their name.”

Jonas nodded slowly. “Like gardening, do you?”

The boy grinned again. “Yes, sir. Well, yes, I think I do.”

"You live around here?”

That seemed to startle the boy but he shook his head. Jonas knew about things like that. He knew about being embarrassed to say where you lived. He’d been through that himself.

"Want to give me a hand?”

Jonas thought later he’d never seen a face light up like that in all his days. “You’d a’thought I gave him a fifty dollar bill,” he told his friends at the tavern that night.

Arthur proved to be the happiest, most eager worker Ralph Jonas was ever to see. He spaded furrows and pulled up weeds and did every job Jonas gave him as though it was the most fun he’d ever had in his life. When Sophie, the kitchen maid brought them mugs of lemonade and pieces of fresh baked apple pie, the boy swallowed his in a few bites and then asked if he could go back to the work. The sun was low in the sky when Jonas told him it was time to stop.

'What’s your name, lad?” Jonas asked rummaging in the pocket of his work pants.

"Arthur, sir, Arthur Silver.”

"Well, Sir Arthur Silver, you did a fine day’s work. Here.” He held out a quarter and the boy looked up at him with enormous eyes.

"Really?”

"Take it,” Jonas said. He nodded toward the shed against the brick wall at the back of the garden. “You go in there and wash up now. And if you are back here tomorrow morning at sunup I’ll have another quarter for you at the end of the day.”

"Yes, sir!” Arthur thought that was the happiest evening of his life. He was going to be a gardener. Nothing seemed more wonderful. Get the rest here...

Thanks for reading.