Quote of the Day for November 13th


I am where I am because I believe in all possibilities. 

~Whoopi Goldberg
Happy birthday, Whoopi Goldberg! The Oscar-winning actress/comedian (born November 13, 1955) laces her writing with the same witty humor and buoyant spirit that resonate through her TV, film, and theater work. She writes honestly about life (Is It Just Me?: Or Is It Nuts Out There?) and navigating relationships (If Someone Says “You Complete Me,” Run!), and she’s done a children’s book series called Sugar Plum Ballerinas.

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Quote of the day for Veterans Day

Let’s take a moment to Remember, Appreciate, and Thank All of our Men and Women who have Served in the Armed Forces so We can Have and Hold Dear the Freedoms we Enjoy. 

The nicest veterans…the kindest and funniest ones, the ones who hated war the most, were the ones who’d really fought. 

~Kurt Vonnegut

It’s Veterans Day and Kurt Vonnegut’s birthday. The bestselling author of Slaughterhouse-Five (born November 11, 1922) drew on his experiences during World War II to craft his satirical antiwar novel. He had been captured by the Germans and survived the firebombing of Dresden—an event that appears in the book. Among his other popular works are Cat’s Cradle, Breakfast of Champions, and God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater.

Quote of the day for July 1st

If your writing doesn’t keep you up at night, it won’t keep anyone else up either 


James M. Cain

James M. Cain (born July 1, 1892) stopped thinking about a singing career and instead turned to writing hard-boiled American crime fiction. Lucky for us! He is best known for The Postman Always Rings Twice, Double Indemnity, and Mildred Pierce, each of which were adapted into hugely successful Hollywood films.

Bricks and Windows

Window

 

 

IMG_1736

 

It’s as though I’m a prisoner.

There are bars outside my windows,

Yet I write with my back to them.

I can feel them etched,

Burnt into my back.

The view is worse

With a brick wall just several yards away.

When stuck and stunted

When the page is blank,

I stare at the bricks.

Not for inspiration

But to just get out of my head.

I notice the different colors and their borders

Almost like a meditation

But without the peace.

 

I am not an offender.

Not in the sense of being

Mad or murderous.

I live in New York.

The bars are for my children

So they will not fall six stories down.

And my view of the brick wall

Is of the building behind.

 

This is how we live here.

Bars         Walls

Dark         Damp Apartments

Without direct sunlight

And never to see the sky.

For the sky is scraped

With bricks and walls and bars on the windows.

 

© Jill M Roberts 2016 All Rights Reserved

The Ultimate Love Letter Prize Draw!

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Latest Book Title: I UNLOVE YOU
Author: Matthew Turner
Goodreads: goodreads.com/matthewturner
Genre: Coming-of-Age, New Adult, Contemporary Romance
Release Date: December 1, 2015

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BLURB OF LATEST BOOK – I UNLOVE YOU:
My name is Ausdylan Elvis Ashford, a twenty-two-year-old who leads a rather perfect life. With a steady job straight out of university, a charismatic best friend I’m in a band with, and a girlfriend I’ve loved since the moment I first gazed upon, I couldn’t ask for more. Until my perfect girlfriend, B, changed both of our lives forever.
It began with the words, “I’m pregnant,” and the realisation I’d soon guide a new life into this world. Embarking on my own journey of self-discovery, I found new meaning in love, living, friendship, and family. This should have become the greatest love story of all, but I assure you it isn’t.
Sometimes true love and unbreakable trust is built upon lies and deceit. Sometimes those you know better than anyone turn out to be strangers you don’t know at all. My name is Aus, and this is my (un)love story. . .

 

Jill’s Review:

I was completely overtaken by this novel that I finished it in one sitting. I rarely finish a book in one sitting but I found myself needing to know what’s next! I found the characters to be really wise beyond their years and that’s all down to Mr. Turner.  He pulls you in and you can’t help but care about them. Without giving anything away, the novel starts out with a declaration from the main character about hating his one true love and from there, you take a journey with him. A journey of the almost perfect relationship, all the while knowing something is going to go terribly wrong. I spent 2/3rds of the novel waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it does, all I can say is WOW! Read it! I think you’ll absolutely love I UNLOVE YOU, I did!

 

I UNLOVE YOU EXCERPT:

NOVEMBER 15TH – A BATHROOM FLOOR:
Beatrice Butterworth is a bitch. That’s how the dream ends, me shouting and falling into a dark and eerie abyss. My eyes shoot open, and for a few seconds I’m at peace. There is no pain. There is no despair. There are no lies or deceit. There’s nothing but a soothing, calming, numbing nothingness, until everything turns against me and transforms into torture.
“Urghhh,” I groan, my head throbbing and throat dry.
I close my eyes, light’s burden’s too great. My mind continues its unstable spin. Clenching my fists, I try and force my hands to my face, but I’m unable to move. I’m too heavy, far too heavy, as if something or somebody sits on my chest. What can I remember? What the hell happened? Where on earth am I?
The last thing I recall is standing outside of work, catching my breath after storming out of Tony’s office. Did I really say all those things to him? Did I tell him to sit down and shut up whilst I stood in his office? I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have…only, I did. I remember it. I remember the white room and his drained face. It doesn’t seem real, but it is.
“What the hell?” I whisper, each word whistling through my cracked lips.
Blinking, I open my eyes long enough to explore the strange place where I lay: blue and grey tiles reach up to a cracked ceiling; an extractor fan vibrates in the corner, covered in dirt and murk; and a patch of green mould encircling a brown centre. I appear to be in a bathroom, and a rather grim one at that.
I take a deep breath and focus my thoughts, but all I do is disturb my fragile stomach. I hurt, all over. Not just aches and pains of muscles and tendons, but a throbbing surge running up my left arm. I tap my right fingers against the hard, tiled floor, and run my nails along its surface to my thigh and onto my frozen skin.
I hadn’t realised until now, but I’m cold; numb, even. Running my hand up and down my right side, all I find are boxer shorts, as damp and cold as my skin. “What the hell happened?” I mumble, using all my strength to roll on to my side.
The pain running up my left arm intensifies, the pounding in my head gets heavier, the rumble in my stomach an unbearable tumble. “What have you done?” I mumble again, struggling up into a sitting position and evaluating the chaos around me.
Two fallen and finished bottles of cheap whisky lay to my right, and a half-eaten burger to my left. All alone in this bare bathroom, I’m surrounded by a toilet and a sink, a cracked mirror above it. No towels, pictures, or semblance of life. No toilet roll, toothbrushes or shower. Just me and my mess, and a pile of vomit inches from my hand.
“Oh, God,” I say, edging away from it.
I search the area for my clothes, but find nothing on the floor except the empty bottles and discarded burger. Cuts and bruises cover my knees and shins, and a discoloured purple patch, consumes half my left arm. At least that answers the mystery behind my throbbing pain, although how it came to be remains a riddle.
Closing my eyes, I focus and think, but all I remember is standing outside the office. I suppose I drank, but how much? I’ve suffered through horrendous hangovers before, but never like this. This isn’t me. I don’t do this. Neither do I confront my boss the way I did.
I’m not sure who I am anymore. I may not remember last night, but I remember everything else. All those moments I wish I couldn’t. All those times I wish were different.
Heaving myself onto my knees, I struggle to my feet and stumble towards the chipped and broken sink. Head spinning and body swaying, I cling to the porcelain with all my might.
“Shit,” I sigh, starring at the apparent man looking back: red-eyed, with puffy cheeks, bruised forehead and grazed chin. My hair loops around itself into knotted strands. My nose, blue and tender, even larger and more crooked than usual. Despite feeling frozen and shivering, I drip with sweat. I have chapped lips and cracked skin, and patchy stubble breaking through the surface.
“You did it, B,” I say, my eyes welling like they have so often of late. “You’ve broken me. You did this. I loved you and trusted you so much, but you’ve broken me.” I shake my head and wipe away the tears bulging in the corner of my eyes. “I hate you, B. I hate you.”

Matthew Turner is an English author who writes gritty coming-of-age stories about love and life as an early twenty-something. His latest novel, I Unlove You, follows his previous books, Tick to the Tock and Beyond Parallel. You can learn more about his stories and general day dreaming at turndog.co/books, where he opens up the entire writing process to avid readers and fellow writers like you.

Join his band of merry misfits and be part of an adventure that few writers share. Learn more at tdog.co/iunloveyou where you can download his latest novel for free.

Happy Saturday! Here’s a great quote to start the weekend off…

  

Heaven would never be heaven without you. 


~Richard Matheson

Love reading about worldwide apocalypses and infectious diseases? Then thank Richard Matheson. The science fiction and horror writer (born February 20, 1926) is credited with popularizing the concept with the publication of his influential—and repeatedly adapted—novel, I Am Legend.

Quote of the Day for Tuesday!

  

There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they’ll take you. 

Beatrix Potter

Beatrix Potter (born July 28, 1866), author of the beloved Peter Rabbit books, showed an early interest in animals. As a child, she and her younger brother took care of mice, rabbits, a hedgehog, bats, butterflies, and insects.

Wednesday’s Quote of the Day!

  
Isn’t it strange how life won’t flow, like a river, but moves in jumps, as if it were held back by locks that are opened now and then to let it jump forwards in a kind of flood? 
Anita Desai
Happy birthday, Anita Desai! The Indian novelist is a wordsmith in more than one language. Because of her German mother, she grew up speaking German at home, but spoke Bengali, Urdu, Hindi, and English everywhere else.

Today is also my Mom’s birthday! I’d like to wish her a day as amazing as she is! Happy Birthday to the best woman I know! XOXOX 😘❤️

Everyone, make it a great day! I’m off to bake birthday cupcakes with my daughter for Mom!

All My Best, 

Jill