Just to say ...

Just to say that 'Snowflake Symphony' is available an amazon in paperback and as an eBook.
I suggest, if you feel so inclined, that you look it up as there is a 'Look Inside' feature so you are able to get an idea as to whether or not it is a book you would enjoy.

I suppose I should say - It's Great? Buy It! - but every book is not for every person.

Creating the idea of a symphony in words was a challenge. Combining the poetry and rhythm of words with a story of two people, Sentinel and Maggie, was an uplifting experience. I drew on the formation of a snowflake, which is momentary, transient and perfect, for inspiration. There are moments in time, which we each experience, that can never be repeated and are glorious in that. I also explored the splitting of a mind - each part continuing a course independent of the other and merging later, for the symphony to reach completion.

The Sea Garden

'The Sea Garden'

Approaching a new novel, by an author whose books one has read, contains an element of expectation. Will it engage, absorb; will it live up to, exceed, previous works?

So, I opened my copy of 'The Sea Garden' by Deborah Lawrenson (her books 'The Art of Falling' and 'The Lantern' being favourites of mine). i had hoped not to be disappointed ... am hooked; am  held captive as I have not yet finished reading - have paused to write this post as I want to share the experience of Deborah's ability to draw in the reader. I admire the excellence of her writing.

This time, combining flowers, their scents and their hidden power, together with the mystery of a past and the creation of a sinister old lady (brilliantly conjured) immersing the reader in entrapment - that of dreams and horror stories ... need I write more?

At the end, I will post again. In the meantime thank you, Deborah, thus far!

...And now it's September!

Soon, Autumn will be unfolding its spectacular colours

'Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'

John Keats

 ***

But, for the moment, here, summer still draws to a close, 

***

Some news. 'Snowflake Symphony' is now available on Amazon. What can I say about it other thanthat it is a book to be savoured. If you love the poetry of words and if the idea of  a symphony in words draws you ... then this may be a book to enjoy.

A lady, Bette Hall, whom I have never met said of it 'You gave me a piece of music. I heard it'.

Here is the completed cover and two extracts - one from each of the interwoven stories:

                  

'As a younger, smaller being I could feel the rhythm of my environment. It made me call out in delight with its tiny, hardly discernible nuances, doubling, tripling upon itself. It lulled me to sleep and lent me a sense of security. I rode its rhythm each day, becoming disturbed if the rhythm was interrupted, lost itself …. and reassured as it returned to the beat that is its essence.

Others rode the rhythm, tussled with it, pushed against it; some let it carry them through. I, Spindel, lived the rhythm, absorbed its perfection, discarded its imperfections. And so I made my way, discovered a path to follow, revelling at each twist, turn, emboldened as I skated long, smooth straights. As I travelled I developed, honing my senses, strengthening my being.'

*

'Suddenly, Maggie flung open her arms, tilted her head to the sky; shook it vigorously and began to dance, following the wind and the rhythm of spume crested waves. Sentinel stopped; stood mesmerised. His whole being ached. He longed to be a part of that dance; that movement; that rhythm. The wild movement subsided; became, for him, a melody full of grace; sorrow; and lifted again to soar, blend effortlessly with the elements; as if Maggie would rise and disappear.

He ran towards her. She paused, took him with her to move as one, conducted by the ocean; their combined sound blown to the rim of the sky.

Exhausted, they fell onto the sand, laughing; elated.

“You are ….,” began Sentinel.

She pressed her fingers to his lips, preventing more. They lay in silence until the wind beat more strongly and with bite.

Sentinel sat up.

“Come on,” he said, affectionately stroking wisps of hair from her face.

“Time to go.”

Maggie clasped him tightly. He felt the warmth of her tears touch his neck; controlled his breathing to stifle sobs welling within. As these subsided, he kissed her hair.

“Beautiful, Maggie. Your hair is beautiful.”

But it was Maggie who held the beauty; the entirety of Maggie. 'Today'. Today surpassed all other days before it; almost his hopes, his dreams.'

*

And now, I am excited to catch up on all of your posts, which I have glimpsed but not yet read.

... since February

Have just realised that I last posted in February!! Caught up in a tidal surge of time passing .... and it's landed me back here!

This is Hugo, who was not caught up in the surge, as you can see, and he loves to 'chill out' on our drive from time to time. He is either the father or the uncle of our cat, Sean, who was rescued at four weeks so does not know that he was previously destined for the street (or should I say hillside - as it is more of that than a street).

Perhaps Sean should feature here, too ....

...and here he is! An extra note - his Uncle Bob lurks down the street and round the corner. Sean walks with us in the mornings and meets up with Bob. 'Bob's your uncle,' we tell him, but we're not sure if he's saying,'Really?' or, 'I may be cross-eyed,' (which he is)' but I'm not stupid.'

'Snowflake Symphony'

I have completed my novel 'Snowflake Symphony' a portion of which I posted last year - in July, three posts back.

Here is a piece taken from a little way in, rather than the beginning, about Maggie, one of the few characters who appear. She and Sentinel are the central characters around which the novel forms.

            ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨

One day, when she was almost fourteen, her father had gone.

“Gone where?”

Not a question to be asked.

“Gone.”

Maggie took it at its value – a word with no sentiment, not much significance; a flat, ugly word.

“So what?” she retorted.

“Don't care then.”

“I won't.”

Maggie turned and left the kitchen.

2

Now, he is dead; cremated; is nowhere. This she discovered in a few words spoken when she passed by her mother's house (for that is what it is) that he had left a cottage; 'more a shack' were the words.

“So that's where he went.”

“It must be sold.”

Maggie determined to visit prior to this event; made preparation, telling no one.'

     ¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨¨