Thank you my friend Ajaytao for bestowing these lovely blogger awards onto me. It is an honour to be considered by you, 🙂
Hello people! This is just a quick post to let you all know that I am happy to share with you the birth of my book, Conflicted Hearts. As I have been wearing many hats these past two days I am still working on finishing touches with links on different pages and social media to update. Please bear with me for today as I get things going and feel free to drop by my Facebook page to say hello as I had announced on a Goodreads event the launch of my book and to drop by and say hello there.
My Conflicted Hearts book page should be all up and running this morning. Thanks for all of your well wishes and support and hope to see you all circle by my facebook author page. In the meantime, here is the link to my amazon page which will be embedded on this page shortly. Please pass by the page and have a look inside the book! 🙂
Hi everyone! I just wanted to inform you all that my book Conflicted Hearts will be live on Amazon.com on Wednesday, December 18th. After many delays and perseverance, I am finally able to share my book in the wonderful world of books. It will be available in ebook and paper.
I want to take this opportunity to once again thank you all for your support in my endeavor; your lovely comments, your encouragement and praises. I will be adding the link to the book late tomorrow and after that you may go take a peek at the sample chapters which Amazon will include as a preview. I am also running an announcement event with Goodreads and I will be on my facebook author page during those days if anyone would like to ask any questions.
Mary and I met on a cruise ship four years ago. I actually met her husband first, while playing poker together on the ship, but it was Mary, his wife, that I took a shining to. Mary is the type of person who’d never hurt a fly and she’d give you the shirt off her back (also because she probably wouldn’t miss it anyway due to her shopaholic tendencies). If one didn’t know Mary well, one may take her as quiet and shy and you would never know how very intelligent and educated she is. Make no mistake – Mary is sharp as a tack and when she feels comfortable enough to let you in to her wisdoms, you’re in for life.
Mary is one of my funniest friends; only she doesn’t know how funny she is. Her stories come out so matter -of -fact, that she doesn’t realize how humorous some of the things she says or does really are.
Mary has the ears for everyone and the compassion for every living soul and animal. She lives in New York, while I’m here in Toronto. But that doesn’t put a dent in our friendship. In fact, Mary has shared in the following of my journey on writing my book, like no other. Her feedback and encouragement have brought me back from some dark moments and doubts along the way.
I’d like to share something typical of Mary to come out with, something comical, and until I burst out laughing, she never realizes just how funny she is. Now I will preface this incident by saying that Mary is a nighthawk. She stays up pretty late considering she has to get up early in the morning for work and if not work, most likely she’s dashing out bright and early to catch a sale somewhere.
Last week I called her around 9:30 pm, as this is usually a good time to get her because she is finished work and the stores are closed by then. The phone rang a bit too long and her husband answered (as usual) and he said he’d go get her to the phone. I waited and waited and finally, he came back and said, “She’s out like a light, I can’t get her up.” Okay, I thought, she must be really bushed, I’ll call back tomorrow morning (Saturday). I called at 9:15am and of course, no answer, because she had already gone shopping again no doubt. I finally got a hold of her the other night. We talked and caught up and she always fills me in on her latest bargain purchases and on her many bus tour day trips on shopping excursions to some outlet mall.
Halfway through our conversation, Mary says to me, “Deb, I think I’m going senile.” Now Mary is in her mid-late sixties and I think far from going senile but I said, “Now what Mar?” She continued by telling me that sometimes she does things she doesn’t remember or why she did them. I asked her if there was a specific incident she was referring to and she replied, “Deb, I’ve been sleeping like a lamb, I just pass out cold in my chair and sometimes I’ll wake up in the middle of the night and find a potato chip still in my mouth.” I burst out laughing then questioned her as to what’s up with that? She proceeded to tell me that she takes her cholesterol medication but she found that by accident, she was taking, – client -Jasmine’s, Tamadol by mistake — for days!
The ‘client’ happens to be her dog! Her weary, old dog has meds for pain and sleeping. Before I voiced my concern, I was hysterical laughing. I said, “Mar, are you kidding me?” She responded with, “Woof,” and we both laughed together. I then asked her if by any chance, did that happen last week when I called at 9:30 and she was out cold, and of course it was. I knew that just wasn’t usual for Mary.
My sweet friend cracks me up constantly with her non-chalant dialogue and her serious intent when telling me stories without realizing how humorous she is before I point it out to her. I pointed out to her that she needs to read the medication labels carefully and NOT keep hers with dogs! I tried to quell her thoughts on senility and suggested that she write things down and pay more heed and slow down.
We continued our chat, had some more laughs and she mentioned that she missed taking those pills because she had slept so well. I reprimanded her, telling her to promise she won’t be taking them again and she promised she wouldn’t and she meant it, but I couldn’t help but wonder how her poor doggie had suffered without her pills while Mary enjoyed the ride. The funny thing was that it took Mary four days to realize and thankful that in return, she gave nothing to the dog instead of giving her cholesterol pills.
This is typical Mary. She will tell me a story in true seriousness and concern and not until I laugh and tell her how hilarious she is, does she see how comical she really is.
God Bless You Mary!
Brittle bones and silvered hair,
Display time’s imprints of life and wear.
Knowledge accrued, from life sublime,
Instilled wisdoms from remnants of time.
The heart’s handbag, complete with joy and scar,
Becomes a placeholder for love present and far.
Compassion still with us, tucked in our heart,
Memories we carry, some banished, some marred.
Does satisfaction of the past emanate without ruin,
Or sporting frown lines from hurtful wounds?
Roads we’ve travelled become etched in our mark,
How well we’ll be remembered, when our souls have gone dark.
© D.G. Kaye – 2013
I thought all the years I had allowed myself to take orders and be disciplined by guilt were my duty as a child: adherence to the code of respect.
On many nights I would sit on my couch in my peaceful apartment and ponder life, not so much where I was going but where I had come from. I was finally living in contentment, on my own, with no more fears or anxieties, for I had left those behind. I felt free. Now that I had peace of mind, I could clearly look back and assess my life, and things became so much more apparent when I could step out of the box and look in.
One night in particular, I was lying on the couch, listening to music. I often did this to relax and collect my thoughts, letting my mind take me where it might. I would also write little blurbs or poems about whatever was at the forefront of my mind at the time. That night, the subject, as was often the case, was my mother. I really began to dissect the events in my life starting from childhood. Because I was older now, I could piece together the answers to some of the questions that had riddled me as a child. It was as though I were reliving my life in my mind like it had happened to someone else.
The years of studying my mother began to make sense to me as I filled in the gaps in my knowledge with what I had learned over time. As a child, many things didn’t make sense to me, and some things I never even questioned. I grew to understand how well my mother had orchestrated her life, as well as mine. When I was younger, I had wanted to emulate her, to have her life—and who wouldn’t have wanted that? It was a grand life. We were sent to our grandparents’ home every weekend, and my mother came and went as she pleased. Nobody ever told her what to do or what not to do. She was so beautiful that men swooned over her, and she knew it, craved it, and used it. She was in such dire need of constant attention that she had to be in the limelight wherever she was. She had to have the best of everything so as to ensure that nobody else could outshine her. It was in her DNA. She used her beauty as a weapon.
To my father, my mother’s beauty was a drug. As I got older, I questioned why, for so many years, he would continually want to get back together with her. I just couldn’t fathom what he was getting out of it, as from where I stood, all he got was heartache. I can’t even recall my mother ever showing affection toward my father. He gave her everything she wanted, but she didn’t want him. She had lured him in with her beauty, and I was a premeditated way to get my father to marry her. I could understand that my mother had been poor as a child and that my dad, who came from a financially stable family, had to have been quite appealing for a young, struggling, beautiful girl. He was an opportunity for her to make a good life for herself, and his soft-spoken, meek nature coupled with his attraction to her beauty made pursuing her irresistible to him.
My mother had a knack for expanding the truth and making things appear much more grandiose than they really were. She also had a knack for creating stories and living as though they were actual truths, never backing down from her beliefs. Delusional and narcissistic, she lived in her own denial and expected everyone to believe her. Those who knew the truth never dared call her out on anything, except perhaps my Aunty Sherry. I had grown to understand that the facade my mother put on display actually stemmed from her deep-seated insecurities. I think her unhappy childhood, which she never spoke of, made her determined to make a good life for herself, and nobody was going to get in her way. She came from nothing, with just the gift of beauty, and she very calculatingly used that to her full advantage.
I could never understand why my mother wouldn’t admit that I had been conceived out of wedlock. It was as though the truth could have tarnished her reputation, a reputation she had made up for herself. I had questioned my father for years about why the math didn’t add up, but he always gave me the same answer: He would chuckle and say, “Go ask your mother.” I could see right through it, as I knew my father so well, but he knew whom he would have to answer to if he told me. When I did ask my mother, the answer was just too far-fetched for me to believe, even as a child. Her story was and remained the same throughout my entire life: My parents were actually married a year before their registered anniversary date. According to her, they were so in love that they had a secret wedding before the real wedding, which was two months after my conception. I still laugh at this fantastic story. I confirmed several times over that this was bullshit, but my mother stuck to her story even after the truth was uncovered. That was just who she was.
©D.G. Kaye -2013
It has been a bit quiet over here this past week or so, as I have been up to my ears in preparation for my book Conflicted Hearts, launch. I haven’t really been mentioning it much because I have been so frazzled with obstacles, which has caused a slight delay in my anticipated publication day.
I presume every writer goes through their own ups and downs and believe me, when things were going wrong, I felt like running away many times and leaving my book to the dust collection. It also gave me time to become more critical of myself and begin to doubt my work and it took every effort for me to even want to visit my own blog site while I was in that state. But, I showed up! And I read all your lovely comments which gave me smiles, and all my encouraging emails and my mentor, great author, friend J. Thorn certainly went out of his way in his busy schedule to help me out.
While I am not going to go into details of my dilemmas, I just want to acknowledge you all and my many supporters who are constantly reminding me that they are eagerly anticipating the birth of my book. Yes! There is a book and my huge goal is to have it published before Christmas!
The journey has certainly been a wealth of learning and experience and I am so grateful for some of the leading pioneers in this industry for their guidance in so many ways, which they may not even realize. Again, I’d like to give mention to J.Thorn for mentoring me through this journey with its triumphs and bumps along the way.
For those of you who are not familiar with J.Thorn, he is one of our top Indie authors who writes in the dark fantasy/horror genre. I can honestly say if you are a Stephen King fan, you ought to be checking out the works of J.Thorn.
So with all of your kind words and support, I am beginning to feel that this wasn’t all for nothing.
Now that said, I hope you will all pass by here again later in the week, as I will proudly be posting the long promised, excerpt of my book! Thank you all! 🙂
P.S. I have a little request. Apparently I am not getting enough ‘likes’ on my author Facebook page, There is an option to ‘like’ me on the sidebar of my page but perhaps it is a little far down on the page that it gets overlooked. If you wouldn’t mind ‘liking’ me, facebook will open up some better visibility to my page. Thanks again!
Reblogged from K.M. Weiland’s blog, great reference points to keep in mind when writing.
Top 25 Ways to Write an Awesome BookShare this:Millions of words have been strung together on the subject of how to write an awesome book. A book is always going to be a tremendous undertaking that can feel more than a little complicated sometimes. But what if we could simplify the process to just twenty-five ingredients? Last summer, I wrote a post about the Top 25 Ways to Blow a Book