Thursday, September 20, 2012
With the grand help of sister Kelly, my novel Ms Holmes Pretends is now available for you to purchase, peruse, and enjoy! I know that teachers would love it, and I think lots of other people will, too.
The book follows a career teacher through one year in her life, the year that changes everything. Please give it a chance and spread the word!
Monday, June 4, 2012
This was a book that I wanted to keep reading. I have read others in the series with Kurt Wallander as the main character, a kind of burnt-out police detective in Sweden. His character is very well-developed, and I get an excellent picture of him--albeit, I see Kenneth Branagh every time (because he played him in the BBC miniseries), but I am intrigued by old Wallander and his pessimistic wanderings through the case and his life.
However, this mystery/police-procedural left too many loose ends in the conclusion and an exceedingly bleak ending that was simply depressing. I didn't feel a sense of satisfaction when I finished it. I did finish it, though. So, it kept me interested. I kept wanting things to get better for him--I kept expecting that they would. I kept expecting him to walk off optimistically in the sunset with his dog. Oh well.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I love books where the main character does his own thing while doing his job for the man. It's what I aim for in my own life. In books, the characters seem to get away with it better than I do though!
Translated in 2002, this is the 2nd novel in a series with the same Inspector, so I'm glad I found it and have more to look forward to.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
After the painting Morgan Le Fay by Anthony Frederick Augustus Sandys
Her hair is the color of the spots
on the leopard skin draped
across her like a sari.
Serpents and winged dragons
are dyed into a horizontal pattern
around the gold hem of her dress.
Once when I was a little girl
I took my mother’s 70’s green velvet
tablecloth, a pewter lamp shaped
like a genie’s and an old book
my grandmother had given to me
that was printed in 1893,
and I went into the woods
behind our house
to do magic
to be Morgan Le Fay.
I safety-pinned the tablecloth
around me like a cape
and I found the place where
the sparkly rock rose from the earth
like the sword from the stone.
My hair was dishwater blonde
and cut by my mother, so always
a bit crooked, my bangs
like the slanted edge of a pan flute.
This painting was in the big art book
in the living room bookshelf—
above the Ray Price, Jim Reeves,
and Roy Clark albums. It was wide
like an album.
I had looked at Morgan so much
the book automatically
fell open to her.
A cauldron blazes in the background,
the fire shadowed against
the brown wall, stark—like the artist
etched it with a nail.
The old book was called Little Lady Val.
On the cover was a picture
of a very proper young lady
with golden curls, her arm
firmly clasped by a boy in blue
showing her the way.
I stood on the sparkly rock
with these two women
and hurriedly—so I wouldn’t be caught—
I began to make my life.