Summer Book Sale on Smashwords

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Smashwords.com ‘s summer sale has begun on July 1st ! For one month, thousands of Smashwords authors and publishers will provide readers deep discounts on ebooks, with coupon code levels for 25%-off, 50%-off, 75%-off and FREE.

Why not take advantage of this opportunity to discover and support indie authors and their works? You never know what hidden gems you might find. After all, you can never have too many shoes or too many books ;-) !

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169 (use the SW100 code at checkout to get the book for free)

https://www.smashwords.com/books/category/1/newest/1

 

Muse… Or a Month of Doing Nothing (Weekly Photo Challenge)

What’s your muse — what subject do you turn to frequently, more inspired each time?

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Well…. Maybe not a whole month… and maybe not exactly nothing…

Just a couple of weeks… Sipping Sangria in Spain and then coming back home to burry my toes in the sand…

I’d gladly burry my head in the sand these days, but it’s been pointed out to me that people my age don’t do that. So my toes will have to take it this time. And what a nice feeling it is… It’s funny how little time I spend sunbathing each year, in spite of how much I love to be on the beach. I would do better, I’ve decided at some point in June. I’d take a break, as much of a break that can be taken from real life, and just be lazy, just be with myself… and do nothing for anybody. I’m selfish these days and I’m not ashamed to admit it. I don’t want to hear anybody complain for a while; I don’t want to deal with anyone’s problems. Family, friends and acquaintances will have to handle everything on their own – if I can, so can they. That’s it, the ‘Gone to the Beach’ sign is up and I don’t care what anybody has to say about it :-) .

Easier said than done… and I’m the main obstacle, as it turns out. I’m not one to sit still, stare at the sky through her sunglasses and do nothing for hours and hours. But once you manage to break apart from the routine, once you manage to pull yourself away from all the little distractions, it’s really worth it. Leaving my phone home was both the most challenging and the most helpful part of it. It took instinctive fumbling through my bag every 5 minutes in order to realize that I hadn’t left home without my phone in years… who can remember how many? I got over most of the withdrawal symptoms in an hour or so and I could finally relax. And part of the relaxation was enjoying a good book and taking handwritten notes on an old notebook I found and threw in my beach bag just in case. It felt a bit like those days I used to go to the beach and study for exams as a student… only better. It’s always better when a well-behaved waiter serves you cold drinks once in a while… even if they are non-alcoholic ones, since you still have to drive back home. But hey, nothing’s perfect, right?

By my third day on the beach, I was confident that I could take my phone with me because I wanted to, not because I needed to. And what I wanted was simply to take a few pictures. Then it went back in the bag, internet connection disabled and ringing tone muted until the time I made it back home.

Every summer I’m making myself the same promise, that of spending a bit more time by myself on the beach, baking in the afternoon sun or splashing around in the waves, the way I used to do once. Something always gets in the way. Let’s see how it goes this summer. So far, the time allotted to doing nothing and caring about nobody’s issues but my own worked out well. I’ve even managed to be lazy and this post is proof of that – I’ve been meaning to write it since Friday :-) .

Have a beautiful month of July, all of you! I hope we all manage to find something to inspire us this summer.

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Disappointment at The End of The Rainbow (Weekly Photo Challenge)

Whether you opt for a single photo or seven, we want to see all the colors of the rainbow.

It was right outside my window, I noticed it while watering the plants. Sure, I’ll take a few pictures – it was right under my nose, after all. I generally can’t be bothered paying too much attention to rainbows these days; I get the feeling there are more and more, they show up everywhere, but I rarely stop and take a good look at them. There was a time, though, when I was desperately looking to find one…

I never wanted to see Santa, to catch a fairy or to pet a unicorn – I always knew they didn’t exist, no matter what stories the adults were trying to feed me when I was a child. None of the arguments were plausible. What I did want to see was a rainbow… a real one, not the ones in books or in any other sort of failed reproduction. Whenever we were asked to draw something conveying happiness, all of us somehow managed to end up with a rainbow – but not all of us had actually seen one. For me, it was some sort of symbol of exquisite beauty, grace and perfection; but the longer I was looking for it, the weaker my belief in the rainbow’s existence became. Was it by any chance another mythological image used to distract us?  I went to the one voice of reason I knew – my grandfather would tell me what’s true and what’s not. And so he did. He offered me a simple explanation of what it was and why it appeared and in spite of not understanding much of it, I believed him, it seemed based on facts, not on ‘because I said so’s. ‘It’s as real as the ice cream you and I are going to have after our walk this afternoon’, he said winking and smiling at me. I couldn’t be happier, there would be a walk, there would be ice cream and there would definitely be a rainbow eventually; all I needed to do was be patient and persevere.

‘There… look up… there’s your rainbow!’ I had been looking for it for so long and when it did eventually present itself to me, I never even noticed it, it had to be pointed out to me. Where, what?… There, that faint coloration on the sky? Is that what all the fuss was about? It couldn’t be… ‘Pretty, isn’t it?’ Yes… pretty, of course it was… but what’s pretty when you’re expecting gorgeous, out of this world splendour? I was a child looking for bright colours mashed into the thick, overpowering, majestic ribbon of life and happiness dominating sky and earth, the way I had seen in books, the way all of us were drawing and dreaming it to be in kindergarten. My eye was not yet trained to appreciate discrete beauty and my soul had not yet learned that there is disappointment at the end of any expectation.

For quite a while after that experience, I simply looked away with disgust and disappointment whenever I was presented yet another rainbow. I stopped chasing rainbows – or so I thought – the same way I thought I had learned how to control my expectations in every regard. Tricky things they are, expectations… they sneak up on you and you often understand you had them only when they are brutally crushed at the end of the rainbow. I may have found ways to be realistic about my expectation, but that feeling of disappointment never goes away.

I did learn to appreciate the understated, unexpected beauty of the rainbow. I also learned that I cannot find an astonishing collection of perfect parts in just the one thing or person. We take any beautiful colour on its own and when we’re lucky, we find them all in the one picture, composed of separate elements; when we’re even luckier, we can actually notice the puzzle and piece everything together in one more desperate, hopeful attempt to make reality reach the heights of expectations. Even if the rainbow’s colours are almost undistinguishable dots, we can still try and make them into a rainbow…

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Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 63

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I can be such a dumb fucker sometimes… Robert looked at Amalia, trying to smile apologetically, hoping for an opening to explain himself. Come on… But her sunglasses covered her eyes, her head turned away from him and her thoughts lost god knows where. She probably regrets this trip now; I just became one of the crowd of idiots she undoubtedly considers men to be. He hadn’t intended to offend her in any way, after the night spent together he felt as though things could be talked out openly between them. So what if he wanted to know every little detail of her sex life? So what if he needed every little fact to paint a picture of her? He was going to ask her for details, he would’ve shared some of his own, but then that dismissive look of hers shook him, the past refused to stay buried and words took over.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

A Sea of Off-Season Feelings (Weekly Photo Challenge)

Umbrellas in winter? Balaclavas in July? Show us what “off-season” means to you.

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Endless, lazy summer months spent at the seaside as a child made me take it for granted. The sea was there, it was that place you returned to as soon as the summer holiday started, to only go back home at the end of August. Not only did I not think too much about it or consider myself lucky, I was often bored with it. What, didn’t all kids my age feel the same? Didn’t they all see it my way? Well, I couldn’t care less whether they did or not. By mid-July I would already be sick and tired of forced happiness and socialization. The constant repetition of what other experienced for a few days, maybe a week or two at most, was getting to be exhausting; so the older I got, the harder I worked on reducing my summer seaside ‘sentence’.

I’m sure there were children out there with a deep understanding of nature and of those pitfalls of human emotion and it must have been those children who wandered what the sea looked like in winter. Since I was definitely not that gifted, I neither wondered, nor cared about it – the sea and its conundrums were something to be dealt with in the summer and I was not going to worry about it beforehand.

My eyes first met the grey hues of the winter sea when I was a teenager – and it was one of those profound revelatory feelings that only a teenager can fully experience. I would go for a walk, I told everybody, I wanted to see the sea. I knew they wouldn’t say no, I had done my part and kept up appearances, the way I was supposed to; I hadn’t asked for anything the entire time and I knew such a I wouldn’t be refused such small demand favour. After all, I wasn’t the only one who needed to keep up appearances, the adults had to do the same and I knew I could ask for anything at that point. But much as the angry teenager wanted to take advantage of their moment of weakness, I couldn’t overcome my pride and self-respect – I wanted to gain nothing from that particular context. I would play my part, but I wanted nothing in return. Nothing but a few moments alone, walking on the beach in the cold breeze, so I could gather my thoughts.

Knowing exactly when, how, why and which appearances needed to be maintained in society was almost instinctive behaviour in our family – that’s probably why my timing was always impeccable when choosing to misbehave and be nothing more than my outspoken self. However, that particular trip at the seaside would not be such a time, as the entire family was playing the appearance game.

I could hear the roar of the waves before I could see them and once I felt the compact wet sand under my boots, I could finally relax. I could finally breathe, even if the frozen, salty air hurt my lungs. The strong wind was something I hadn’t experienced before, but neither that, nor the several patches of snow on the sand felt out of place. The sea was rough, loud and grey – no pretence, no mask, no pretty, sweet summer delight – a force of nature through its own unpleasant, lonely honesty. For the first time in days I could feel my face muscles relax as the pressure of false, socially acceptable smiles and looks dissipated. Being myself, whatever that might have meant, was not only acceptable, but advisable; and for the first time ever I was able to acknowledge and accept that the sea was part of my soul – that grey, wild see, whose roar was the most calming noise I had ever heard. As I was finally walking away, the frozen wind lashing my face, I felt serene, at peace with myself and everybody else. I knew would miss that view. But I also knew somehow, eventually, I had to find my way back not only to that place, but to that sort of inner peace.

Those moments of tranquility don’t last long, I learnt over the years… at least not for me, I’m not that kind of person. But I still go and stare at the sea – especially at the deserted, grey, off season sea – whenever I need to clear my mind.

Vividly Coloured Early Summer Delights (Weekly Photo Challenge)

The theme for this week’s photo challenge is “Vivid.” Perhaps it’s your favorite flower in full bloom, a beautiful sunset or the color of your ice cream. Vivid is limited only by your imagination.

 

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I’m a seaside person. I’m a summer person. There’s something about those early summer days that makes me feel alive and empowered. No matter how sad and depressed I might occasionally be or how unsuccessful some endeavours might turn out to be, the end of May and beginning of June always bring back that childish feeling that everything is possible. It’s that time of year which makes me feel restless, it makes me want to try everything and anything, because I couldn’t possibly fail; and if the improbable were to happen, I wouldn’t even care, because I know I can survive it. Yes… it’s a good time to be and feel alive.

I suppose a small part of me is entirely incapable and unwilling to grow up – the same way Christmas is a time of miracles, summer is a time of possibilities, as it used to be when those early June days of my childhood made me almost smell the salty air of the summer holiday. The first strawberries and cherries were delicious treats, sweet emissaries of the lazy, happy days to come. They still are – the real ones, the local, imperfect, amazingly tasty ones, not the properly fertilized, plastic looking ones we can find all year long.

That’s the taste of childhood, even if I no longer even think about how it would be like to pick them myself, somewhere in a remote garden in the countryside. My heels would certainly not agree with that sort of activity anymore… We didn’t spend too much time thinking about our shoes when we were children, did we? I didn’t grow up in the country or in a small town, but fortunately my childhood wasn’t controlled by technology either. Books, real people, real friends and spending as much time outside as possible were amongst my main concerns. And I remember this one thing – early summer meant the first cherries, which meant the first scraped knees. They also meant the nurses from the nearby clinic would have fresh, new reasons for aggravation and somewhat hysterical fits. Ironically enough, it wasn’t because we were their impatient patients, but because we were little, bratty perpetrators of a very unusual type of theft. The two cherry trees growing in the clinic’s backyard would always become an irresistible temptation as soon as we could spot the red dots amongst the leaves. They were fair game, we thought; after all, many of their branches were hanging over the clinic’s decorative fence, right above our playground. The nurses coming out for a smoke would inevitably catch us each and every time we climbed the trees in what we thought to be sneaky attempts to pick as many of the little red treats as we could. We always managed to get away before they could get their angry hands on us, but we certainly got to learn quite a few curse words that way; and few things make you appreciate life and freedom as running away from a nurse chasing after you on with a broomstick…

Our pursuer eluded, we’d calm down and divide the spoils of our escapade. There was not one of us who didn’t have a ball full of nice, cold cherries waiting in the fridge, we could have just gone home to have some of the fruit our parents were struggling to get us to eat; but what was the fun in that? No fruit ever tasted as good as the cherries we’d steal from the trees behind the clinic, even when some of them were still green. Thinking back, I can’t even tell what we enjoyed more, stealing cherries or annoying the nurses… It was that mix of the two that provided us with just the right amount of adrenaline, I suppose. While we never stole any actual thing, we had very sticky hands when it came to fruit and flowers (lots of the older ladies enjoyed planting flowers in the small gardens in front of our apartment buildings, and we enjoyed triggering reactions similar to those the nurses had). We eventually understood the nurses’ anger – they simply wanted to pick the cherries themselves and take them home once their shift was over. That only made us more adamant in our attempts to steal as many as possible before the nurses could get their hands on them… and us.

It was during such an incursion that we finally started differentiating between doctors and nurses. Just as we were getting ready to flee after noticing the authority figures coming out and lighting their cigarettes, we experienced the shock of our lives – not only were the two doctors dressed differently than the nurses, but they started laughing and told us to take our time, have as many cherries as we wanted, and be careful not to hurt ourselves in the process. Just try not to break too many branches, you do want to have cherries next year too, right? Well, we certainly were not prepared for that, we had no idea what to do with ourselves anymore. An angry nurse immediately started yelling at us from a first floor window, but few children felt a similar affection for doctors as we did, when the two replied, ‘They’re just kids, let them be…’ Yes, we were just kids, therefore everyone involved in the medical profession was the devil as far as we were concerned; but that was the moment we started doubting the veracity of our conviction. Like I said, summer was the time for new experiences and discovering hidden meanings of everyday life.

I am not naïve, I’ve had plenty of years to learn that the mirage of summer is often just that – an unfilled promise of happiness; enthusiasm dies out sooner or later and exhaustion takes over; dreams often become nightmares. This is why I try to enjoy and make the best of that early summer empowering feeling that I get with the smell and taste of the first strawberries and cherries. While life is certainly no ball of perfect genetically engineered, fertilized cherries, displayed in optimal light, it might actually be a handful of cherries grabbed in a hurry from a not particularly cared for tree in a remote village. You open your hand and see what you managed to make away with – there are some pits in there too, a few green cherries, some rotten ones, even a couple of leaves in between, and you can only hope that those deliciously ripe ones, the ones that are naturally perfect and delightful, are enough to make it worth it and keep you going.

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 62

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Amalia was dizzy. Why? Why are these comments always a must, no matter who the guy is, no matter how evolved he might appear at a first sight? Inevitably, disappointment strikes and one’s self-defence system will overwrite all previous reason. He may be a man, but he is mainly a male and he cannot help but being human; he will push the limit and he will refuse to accept things for what they are, so one needs to assert one’s will in order to remain on the same level with him.

“Come on, don’t be silly. It was just a joke, I know how you see things, but I also get his side of the story. And from his point of view, he’s in love with you, he’s trying to have a relationship with you, and you’re the bitch that’s screwing anyone but him. By the way, are you still screwing him? When was the last time the two of you did it?”

“It’s been a while. And it’s also going to be a while before this bitch screws the likes of you again… I’m spending a couple of weeks with my family and I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

On the Way (Weekly Photo Challenge)

For this week’s photo challenge, stop and photograph the metaphorical roses (or the literal tulips). Share a shot of something you saw, did, or experienced on the way: a photo not of your destination, but of an interesting thing along the way.

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The destination isn’t always what we would have expected, so we might as well make the best of it and enjoy every moment of the journey. We often achieve our goals, finally getting everything we were striving for, only to realize we don’t need it or we it simply does not suit the person we have become anymore. It’s that sequence of events and experiences leading to the final point that shapes us, helps us understand who we are, occasionally redirecting us on a new, completely different path.

Broken… But Not Beyond Repair (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, capture something broken.

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Renovation… Restoration… These notions don’t apply only to buildings, do they? We all too often undergo a process of renewal ourselves, we try to repair broken parts of our being, we piece together shards of our soul, our hopes and dreams, in desperate attempts to become what we had been ‘before’. Such an intimate struggle is often best kept hidden from prying eyes, we need time and privacy to recover.

Do they think they’re fooling anyone? That’s the question I heard from many people when passing buildings covered in an image of what they looked like and/or what they would look like once all the repair works are carried out. I know they’re joking, the same way I know they know nobody is expected to mistake an image on a panel for the real thing; and often enough, when I’m deeply involved in my own life and thoughts, I don’t even pay attention to these walls about to be fixed. But when the building is a special one or when I’m in a melancholic mood, I can’t help but wondering, how many times do we manage to piece ourselves together as discretely as we might think do? And when those around seem not to notice, how often is it out of respect for our privacy and how often is it mere indifference?

We develop acting skills we aren’t always aware of; and we need our masks, so underneath them we can take our time and restore our true, broken selves. Like many women, I am well-versed in applying my ‘mask’, and that is also because it can be that actual first step towards feeling better and getting better. Think about it, ladies… Dark circles, puffy eyes, pale skin and any other sign betraying sleepless nights, tears, disappointment and pain have been and will be concealed by our expert touch countless times, simply because we don’t want to answer any questions, we don’t always need to share our hurt – be it superficial or of the deepest kind – before we are ready to do it. Once the mirror projects an image closer to that version of us we like, once we are done practicing our relaxed, carefree smile until we have once again perfected it, we might even feel a shiver of relief and budding confidence – yes, if that small part of who we are can be fixed, then perhaps we can do the same with our entire being. So we continue the process, not only to hide our suffering from others, but to give ourselves hope and confidence that we are going to get over yet another bump in the road. We go on and wear that special outfit, so that when we look in the mirror we see the person we want to be and not the mess that we might be at that particular moment and we are a little bit grateful that at least we still have control over some things.

Some might call it shallow pretence, but small things do make a difference. After all, we fix what’s broken the way we know best, we make use of whatever small things work for us. We might simply need a boost, we might have to entirely rebuild or reinvent ourselves, we have our own more or less controversial ways of achieving it, but there are times when we want nobody to witness our struggle. Certain broken parts can be fixed, but time and privacy might be required – hence the cover-up, it just makes it easier. The worthy ones will see beyond the ‘screen’ anyway.

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 61

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Their night in the mountain resort was one of innocence lost, but what surprised Amalia was how normal it felt to her; it wasn’t so much a change, but a realisation of how things should be, who she was as a woman and how great it felt to control and lose control at the same time. Insecurity left room to pride and she felt happy, as she realised what an effect she had on the man who was now driving silently.

“What do you think about a repeat of all this in a week or so?”

“I wouldn’t say no, but at a different time.”

“Why? Have you got plans with your boyfriend?”

“No need for sarcasm…”

“I was just saying… Maybe the poor sucker is looking forward to coming back and seeing you and for once you don’t want to disappoint him.”

“You’re the poor sucker, if that’s all you could understand so far. That being said, perhaps we shouldn’t make plans in advance.”

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

Forces of Nature… Or of Human Nature When Travelling (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, share a force of nature from your corner of the world.

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I managed to get to my window seat without anybody stepping on my feet; there was plenty of room for my carry on bag; there were no screaming children seated close by; and the gentleman seated next to me appeared to be a very civilized, polite person. I sighed with relief – all these aspects were nothing but miraculous, given the chaos of people boarding what was obviously going to be a full Airbus A310. There was still hope, I could enjoy the flight, I could relax and empty my mind while staring at the clouds – yes, I know, I have all too often bored everybody with my predilection for seeing the wonders of nature from above. I could even take a nap – I was exhausted after all. As it turns out, it was indeed a good opportunity to ponder on the wonders of nature… of human nature when travelling, that is…

Has it ever struck you how people undergo a radical metamorphosis when traveling, especially if they are on vacation? We often resemble a swarm of locusts rather than the civilized individuals we embody in our day to day life. Yes, I am aware of the psychological factors, but that doesn’t mean observing this manifestation is any less fascinating. We eat and drink everything and anything, dishes and beverages that we wouldn’t even touch at home. We wear the most ridiculous outfits either because they are more than comfortable, or because we have some distorted, cliché ideas about what we should wear in a particular place. But it’s allowed when travelling, right? And let’s not even get into all those ridiculous souvenirs that we buy, only to wander what we were thinking when we get back home. I admit I also have a couple of tacky fridge magnets which make me doubt my general sanity… Somehow, travelling makes most of us more desperate to consume everything that’s available, from food and entertainment to art and culture.

The trip isn’t really over until we get off the plane, so the flight time is the final occasion to let our inner locust thrive. But while many of my travel fellows were restlessly looking forward to their snacks and beverages, I was contemplating going to sleep. The view out the window wasn’t too impressive, I didn’t feel like reading and my inner locust draws the line at airplane food, since I am a picky eater even if I am travelling. I knew I had to wait until they were done with their food, the unappetizing smell of the warm meal and the noise were going to keep me awake. But who knew the travel habits of the gentleman sitting next to me would keep me awake too?…

He was clearly very interested in his appearance – a man in his early fifties probably, in good shape and neatly dressed in his casual designer clothes, to which he had matched a rather expensive watch and a very nice pair of shoes. Thus I wasn’t at all prepared for what followed…

The flight attendant served us our lunch and as usual, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I didn’t even want to see the unappetizing dish on the folding table in front of me. So I thanked her politely and thought I could eat the chocolate bar and have a glass of orange juice. After all, there are people starving in the world… but since I couldn’t figure out how my consuming that awfully smelling meal would help them, I didn’t touch the rest. While I couldn’t help a grimace of disgust, my neighbour asked for a glass of wine, a glass of apple juice and a glass of water, which he carefully aligned next to the food tray. After almost inhaling the questionable meat and whatever gooey things accompanied it, scraping the dish clean, he moved on to the bread roll… which presented a certain cardboard-like quality. With expert moves, he spread the small lump of butter in a thin layer and even the crumbs were gone in record time. I would imagine slightly buttered cardboard makes one very thirsty, so this is probably why the gentleman proceeded to drink from the carefully aligned glasses – apple juice, wine, some more juice, water and so on, until no drop was left in any of them. Just as I was watching him with the corner of my eye, thinking he had nothing left to devour, he made one final discovery – there was a bit of jam he hadn’t seen before. In a matter of seconds, everything had been scooped out of the minuscule plastic container. In a fit of restraint, he set aside the chocolate bar, so he could have it with the cup of instant coffee and with that of hot tea the flight attendant served after the meal. True enough, she did ask, “Coffee or tea?”; but when our gentleman replied, “Both,” she chose not to debate it any further.

Now I can finally go to sleep, I figured, once the trash had been collected. I was just dozing off when a somewhat familiar rattling noise brought me back to reality. It was time for my neighbour to check his finances, obviously – he had taken an impressive amount of coins out of his man purse and now he was counting them diligently on the folding table. Lots of five cent pieces, I couldn’t help noticing… Once that little task was performed, he could finally find some peace of mind and move on to taking a little after lunch nap. Good, that meant I could sleep too.

He’s chocking, was the first thought to cross my sleepy mind some ten minutes later. No, not chocking, just snoring… And to think I had assumed peace and quiet were guaranteed just because there were no screaming children around… Luckily, there were still things to be consumed, so he didn’t sleep for long. Once awake, the ladies’ issue of the airline’s magazine received his undivided attention, so I could take a blissful half an hour nap. It was an overwhelming aftershave fragrance and some unexplainable warmth that woke me up this time. I opened my eyes to see the fashionable gentleman leaning over me, only a few centimetres away, staring at the clouds, his forehead close to the window. I cleared my throat and my angry glance made him sit down and stare at his shoes for a while. Well, I was certainly awake and since sleep was no longer an option, I started analysing the oddities of human nature when traveling… I suppose they need to be referred to as eccentricities when it comes to certain people…

And speaking of eccentric individuals… after another nap, our gentleman proceeded to entertain himself with the other magazine the airline had so generously provided him with. For my final delight, he took interest in the map showing all the flights and destinations of the airline we were flying. And that’s when it happened. A strip of paper found its way out of my neighbour’s bag and after a brief, yet careful analysis of both the map and the paper, he started measuring. Yes, the width of the paper became a measuring unit, allowing him to roughly calculate the length of various routes on the map…

I tried to immerse myself in the grandeur of nature and life unfolding under us as the plane started to descend. Humans have managed to tame and control forces of nature in many situations so far. How do we tame and control the human nature of the traveller though, especially of the eccentric one? Is it advisable to try or is it one of those things that should be accepted as they are, an integrant and undeniable characteristic of our species? Humans might be one of those forces of nature more difficult to tame and contain after all… But between the people sitting behind me bragging about how much they had spent on their holiday and the eccentric gentleman surreptitiously “borrowing” the free magazines, I just couldn’t reach a conclusion…

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 60

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Images of the sun setting over a vineyard fade away in one’s mind; so do those of the mountain peaks seen from a hotel room. It’s the sensations of some summer nights that cannot be swept away by storms over the years, because they find a special corner in a woman’s mind, sheltered as defining instants and melancholy triggers.

The first time a girl has sex is one of those memories, but it’s often facts, not sensations, it’s often contexts and people that confer it an unalterable place in the girl’s mind. Some women, some special women, choose to also note and treasure a different kind of a first time – the one with that man who has finally taught them what it is and what it feels like to be a woman. Because it takes more than sex and more than just a male for such a moment to come to life for the first time – it takes a real man, one with real character and personality, one with ambition, experience and strength, one with a past and a future. And it also takes a woman able to note and appreciate such qualities, one that can be his equal and can also allow room for him to be himself.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 59

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The barrier of polite speech was gone between them and being crude about the realities of their interaction was not meant to be offensive; if anything, it was a term of endearment, a testimony of their intimacy, but also a turn on for him.

“I don’t think I was so exhausting, you didn’t have a problem keeping up with me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I was referring to your mis-en-scene. The outfit, your actions, everything was perfect, like a movie moment really. That’s what I hadn’t had since too long to remember: a beautiful woman, who’s not afraid to be perfect, who creates a night like that, who turns screwing into a phantasy… or the phantasy into real sex… I don’t know. You know what I mean.”

“Sure. You like me because I’m not real. Or you think such a thing cannot be real. And I agree with you.”

“So… what do you think? Was I what you expected?”

“Of course,” she muttered, looking away distracted.

Everything and more… so much more. But that’s something to carefully dissect and think over at home.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

Motion (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week, share your photographs that have captured motion, and tell us the stories behind the images.

I took these photos quite a few years ago in a small town in the south of Italy. It was Ferragosto and everybody was celebrating – the dancing was just starting as we arrived. I felt out of place at first, overdressed as I was, coming straight from the nice restaurant where we had dinner. But such a trivial matter made no difference in that small town square, where vibrant traditional music sipped through old walls and narrow streets, invading every fiber of our beings. People were just people for one night, it didn’t matter who they were, what they wore or what language they spoke. It didn’t matter that I was still struggling to understand their dialect, it didn’t matter that my Italian friends had immediately disappeared into the crowd, joining the dancers. I soon understood that I didn’t need to know anyone or anything, not even the steps to the pizzica or the tarantella, that night was all about enjoying the moment. They had accepted me as one of their own even if I couldn’t dance their dances or speak their dialect too well :-) … That was the night when traditional folk from Southern Italy appeared to me more welcoming and open than ever before, thus proving once more that music, dance and celebration help us relate on a completely different level.

Early Bird (Weekly Photo Challenge)

This week (and especially if you’re among those who find the early bird concept cringe-worthy), I encourage you to set your alarm for the early hours, grab your first (several) cups of coffee, and challenge yourself to capture an outstanding photograph in the early morning light.

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Let me preface this by saying that I am not a morning person! Say what you will, laugh if you must, but waking up earlier than my normal hour equals torture to me. Personally, I blame it on genetics – both my parents suffer from this ‘ailment’ :-) .

I will wake up early in the morning whenever I must, but I will also hate myself and the world for it… especially if such a depressing situation occurs at the weekend. So this Saturday was no exception to the rule… While driving through the almost deserted streets on an already warm and sunny morning, all I could do was think that I really should have drunk that third cup of coffee before applying my makeup. That way I might have not been yet again reminded that early mornings, mascara and contact lenses often don’t go well together.

Once I sorted out that aspect while being the only one waiting at a traffic light, I could move on to hating all those fortunate people who were still in their beds. But if everything went well, if I found parking right away and the annoying little task presented no unexpected complications, I could be back home and under the covers in about half an hour.

Yes, that was the only thought that made me feel better. Did I care about the unique opportunity to see the town so calm and sleepy in daylight? Not even a bit… Did I reach for my phone to take at least one photo of all those traffic lights with no cars waiting for the lights to change? The thought never crossed my grumpy mind. I caught a glimpse of the sea with the corner of my eye – I think it looked calm and lazy – but I couldn’t even be bothered to turn my head and take a better look, much less stop and think about it. So that chance of having some fresh, new photos for the challenge was lost on me :-) .

That being said, I will admit there were many occasions when not only was I lucky to be awake at an annoyingly early hour, but I have done it on purpose, without it being a must. Such a case was on a trip to Rome a few years back. We caught a very early flight, dropped the luggage at the hotel and started wandering the streets at an hour when sleepy waiters were still trying to get the cafes ready for another day of touristic invasion. That’s how we accidentally got to the Trevi Fountain without any effort, without even trying, without having to fight hoards of people in order to get close to it. I took my time to look around and cherish the peace and quiet. Only a few more sleepless souls were there to enjoy the morning treat – it looked so different, the experience felt so much more real then all the other occasions on which I saw the fountain later on, during the same trip…

There already were tourist out and about by the time we made it to the Pantheon and we could even stop at a café and reward ourselves with much needed espressos and breakfast. But those special, almost private moments by the Trevi Fountain will always stay with me… That’s probably why I didn’t even considered throwing in a coin and wishing to never have to wake up early again… :-)

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 58

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She did want to get home, but not just because she felt suffocated, she also started to like this, to like him, his company was pleasant and intrusive at the same time, and that was much stronger a reason. Certain complications need to be avoided.

“You were great last night… It was like you were reading my mind.”

“Was I really?”

“Give me a break, false modesty doesn’t become either one of us. You were unbelievable and you know it very well.”

“What can I say, I aim to please… See, I can do cliché as well.”

“You can do lots of things. Is there something you can’t do? I got a hardon only seeing how prepared you were… that sexy outfit of yours, the massage oil… and that stuff with the ice cubes, I didn’t even know I liked that. I haven’t been fucked this way in a long time, you know…”

She flinched at the sound of the word. Why can’t men just call it having sex?

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169

Parallel Lives – Sample Fragment 57

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“Nice place… You can’t even see this entrance from the main road, how did you find it?”

“I got lost years ago and I took this little country road by mistake, thinking it was the one which was supposed to take me to a hotel I had never stayed at before. Instead I found this place and decided to spend the night here and do some damage to their wine collection. Plus, they’re very friendly at the little inn they have, and the food is great.”

“Of course, the stuff of legends, the universally agreed upon way to find little gems and picturesque places.”

“Sure, go on, mock all you want, but it’s a very nice place, you’ll see.”

She looks absentminded, staring at the vineyard like I’m not even here… Robert couldn’t avoid acknowledging the return to her original distance and cold front. One person last night and another one now. The view of the vineyard surrounding them while having lunch didn’t fail in melting some of her indifference, but she was still restless halfway through her desert, when a small revelation cleared her mind.

For more sample fragments from Parallel Lives, see: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/396169