Guest Post (12) Kim Koning #SunStoppedShining

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The blog tour has officially started! More than 50 authors participate in this amazing adventure, so please hop to their blogs listed at the top of my blog to enjoy their posts and giveaways! http://sunstoppedshining.blogspot.com

Today I have the immense pleasure to feature author Kim Koning on The Manicheans. Please welcome her and visit her site listed at the end of the great interview she’s given to win a copy of The Tales for Canterbury Anthology. 


Q: Tell us a bit about yourself and your current projects.

I was privileged to be born in a land of myth and legend. I am a child of South Africa. Africa’s rich soil is the marrow in my bones. Africa is a land as old as time and at the heart of Africa is the Storyteller. This is a land that has formed its identity through the art form of sitting around the fire and telling stories. In many of the tribes the most revered person after the Chief and the Witch Doctor is the Storyteller. Every tribe has one. They carry the history of the tribe with them.

I write the poems and stories that I do because I am a child of Africa. Africa’s rhythms are the heart beats that give me life. Africa is a land of great contrasts. It is a land where the law of the jungle applies. It is a land of survivors. It is a land that believes in mythical creatures and a land where legends are birthed. That is what threads its way through my stories and my poetry. Raw emotion, danger and survival.

At the heart of my stories is a Magical thread:

Trials and Tribulations are the diamond dust that polish a noble and pure soul into a shining gem that can survive the heat of any soul-fire and through that polishing it grows into the person it is meant to be. Through suffering and facing grave danger my characters find their true paths as survivors. This is my Genesis. These are my stories. Step through the gateway into the unseen realms of my stories. I am the StoryTeller and this is my realm.

My current projects are two trilogies. One is a paranormal historical trilogy: This series deals with mythology, life and death, family secrets, curses and promises, love and hate, scorn and revenge. It also deals with facing your own strengths and weaknesses to become a more complete version of yourself. The other trilogy is a modern paranormal thriller about the hunt for a serial killer and how a young tattooist may hold all the secrets to both unveiling him and capturing him or succumbing to the darkness and empowering him. The choice lies with the tattooist. It is a very dark trilogy but explores how even the most harmless has both light and dark within them, it is a choice that we choose – either darkness or light.

Q: When and why did you begin writing?

I fell in love with stories and books when I was a tiny tot and my parents used to read to me…Before long I wanted to read by myself and then nobody could stop me…When I was seven we used to have the task of writing what had happened to us on the weekend for school and I used to turn these tasks into stories. Why did I begin writing? I loved the world of stories whether they had already been written or if I had to write them.

Q: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

The first time I knew this is what I wanted to do and needed to do in life was when I was thirteen. It was my first year of high school and we were all asked what we would do later in life for a career. There was no question for me, I wanted to write. Stories, poems and words were my oxygen and had been since I could remember. Then I realised that I did not need to wait until I grew up because I was already writing…I was already a writer because I wrote every day and thought up stories and poems every moment.

Q: What inspired you to write your first book?

I have two first books. I have one that is completed now and on submission. But I have a first book that haunts my days and nights. That book I started when I was sixteen and I plan on tackling to completion in 2012. So if you are asking about the one on submission, then that was one was inspired by a long held childhood fascination with the gypsy culture and with ghosts.

Q: How did you come up with the title of your work?

I actually had a couple of titles before I settled on the current one. The title that I have now settled on was a line that kept on repeating through the story…it is the lyrics of a song that haunts one of the main characters in the book.

Q: What’s your writing style? Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

I write dark paranormal fiction and thriller/suspenses. Many people have asked me why I write the fiction and the stories that I do. I have always been both a realist and an idealist. Human nature has an irrefutable dark side to it. We all do. What pushes one person to choose the dark side over the light side and is there such a thing as second chances? This is what shapes my writing style and why I write what I do. I think the message I want readers to grasp is that we are each fallible human beings with shadow and light contained within. Our circumstances, however dire, do not need to define us or be an excuse for bad behaviour. There is no excuse for cruelty. If someone is cruel, they have chosen to be that way. So my message would be to firstly acknowledge that every human being is capable of dark acts but we can choose good over evil and do not let circumstances define you or excuse your behaviour.

Q: What books have influenced your life most?

Oh there are so many. I think that every time I read a book, it influences me in some way. One of the first books that influenced me was a book called The Diddakoi about a half gypsy girl who had to fit in with both halves of who she was. My favourites in writing have been Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, F Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby and John Steinbeck’s East of Eden and not forgetting all books by Ernest Hemingway and Charles Dickens. These four books I come back to time and again and marvel how the authors have weaved their stories. I love all books but I am a huge fan of the classics.

Q: Who is your favorite author and what is it that really strikes you about their work?

Well I love the six authors whose work I have mentioned above. They were all masters of the craft and art of storytelling. Charles Dickens’ characterizations were incredible. He took portraits of his characters with words that may as well have been a camera or a mirror, the characterization was so acute. Ernest Hemingway and F Scott Fitzgerald had this knack of using words very sparingly but conveying so much. Emily Bronte,Leo Tolstoy and John Steinbeck were masters of human nature, both the light and dark sides all common to us. As for modern authors, my two top picks would be Isabel Allende and Stephen King. Both are master storytellers and both look beyond what just the eye sees.

Q: Do you have any advice for other writers?

My best advice would be write the story you feel and you want to write. Don’t worry about market, genre, hot trends but write the story that won’t let you go. Write the story that makes you cry and laugh. Write for yourself. Yes you can spend endless hours studying other writers’ styles and reading craft books but you are a unique writer with a unique style. Do not become a copy or imitation of another’s writing style. Do not be afraid of writing a bad draft. Every great writer has done it at least once. Believe in yourself as a writer. Write! You cannot be a writer if you spend all your time reading about how to write or what to write. Just sit down with a pen and paper and write. Trust the story. It will not let you down. Writing and storytelling is not thinking, it is pure emotion, Engage your heart. You can use your brain when you edit. Write with your heart and your soul.

Q: Do you have anything specific you want to say to your readers?

“The world breaks everyone and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” – Ernest Hemingway summed it up. My advice to readers is the same as writers. Read with your heart. Let a story speak to you. Let a story break you open. Let a story break down all your defenses and your opinions. Read with the innocence and trust of childhood. Stories are magical. But magic only works if you believe in it. Let the magic take you to new worlds.

 

Find Kim online at the following haunts….

Open the gateway of darkness at: http://kimkoning.com/wp

I can be found Wrestling the Muse : http://kimkoning.wordpress.com

I can also be found on twitter @AuthorKimKoning

My first short story is available in this anthology “Tales for Canterbury” along with 33 other great authors including The Neil Gaiman:

 

(I am also giving away an ebook copy of this anthology on my blog “Wrestling the Muse” for The Day the Sun Stops Shining Blog Tour.)

I see ghosts and tell tales of their visits.

I write by the light of the moon and under the gaze of the stars.

Draw up a chair, light a candle, close the windows and let me weave you stories of darkness and gateways of light.

Deadly Ode to Jessica McHugh – #Creepfest

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Sink or swim. Pull your head out of your ass and look around you. Life’s a bitch. Nobody’s gonna tell you this better than her. Who is SHE exactly?

Her words cut right through you like the sharpest blade. You don’t see them coming at first, because you wouldn’t believe a sweet gal like her could cause so much damage, but then you look at yourself and you see blood dripping from your throat, you unable to speak and observing the world with glassy stupid eyes, then you understand she’s done her deed. She’s the bounty hunter of your shallow dreams, she severs your favorite pony’s head and tucks it in your bed while you’re asleep. The rest of the body she hides in Ziploc bags in your fridge. She fears nothing, not even the puke foaming on your lips after you finished one her novels and want to know no more about heartless mothers, deadly bowling pins and all kinds of sick pervs. They’re after you, moron. How can you be so blind to the beauty of the tales she kindly wrote for you? You have no taste if you don’t like them.

She’s smart, no brilliant’s the right word. She knows how to make your skin crawl inward and as your flesh recedes into the hole it came from, you finally measure the intensity of the torture she subjects you to. There’s no begging. No praying. She stares at you and you watch her doll face, you still think she’ll take pity on you but she doesn’t give a damn about your sake. She wants you scared. She wants you grossed out. She wants you to toss and turn for hours until you decide to stay up all night because your nightmares are too powerful to let you find rest. She plants a seed inside your brain that grows and grows until it completely gets rid of your sanity and you want to escape but you can’t. You’re stuck there, hammering the padded walls of your asylum, the room where you thought you were safe. Wrong! She got you, she got you good. She’s the sly one. Not you. Your name will maybe be remembered once it’s engraved on your tombstone. That’s about all you can afford once she’s taken care of you.

So you’re sure you still wanna meet her? I warned you. She’s quite a phenomenon. Her name is Jessica. Jessica McHugh. “Jess The Unforgiving” for closer friends. Let me introduce her to you. She’s sitting right there in the corner, sharpening the ball of her pen.

Check Jessica’s fabulous prose at http://www.jessicamchughbooks.com/ and if you too want a horrific bio drafted by yours truly, please enter your comment in my contest at http://themanicheans.blogspot.com/2011/12/creepfest-new-contest-light.html

And don’t forget the hop ends on the 24th! So hop away while you still can!

Note to Self (103) My Holiday Wishes

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You know, holidays always bring back memories and bittersweet feelings I cannot ignore despite my hardest efforts to wash them away from my brain. They stick like super glue to the walls of my head, and I shake them but they create a big mush of craziness that ultimately prevents me from sleeping well and drives me totally insane. I love Christmas and I abhor it, I loathe buying gifts and I crave hugs and kisses, I write cards to friends, wish them a healthy new year and tons of good stuff! So why do I feel so down lately?

Well plenty of reasons. First, some people pissed me off. Girlfriends, guyfriends, relatives… If I start talking about my half-brother and half-sister who treat me like a stranger just because they’re jealous of me, girlfriends who act so selfishly they forgot about the rest of the world and think everything revolves around them, and guyfriends who consider me more like a sexual object than a person with a brain, only two words come to mind: F*** YOU. I go mad, I go nuts, I want to kick, punch, curse, spit in their face and tell them what I truly think of them all. They don’t deserve me. They don’t deserve my friendship, nor my time and my energy. They’re a mere dead end.

I hear Christmas tunes in every store I enter and I suddenly drift to my divorce, more garbage in my every day routine I need to take care of. Why do people who loved each other so dearly must jump at each other’s throats once they separate? Every divorce is different, yet I feel my break-ups have always been harsh and brutal, and I’ve been wandering on a battlefield for weeks, reloading my gun, firing rounds in the fog at a silhouette I thought was my ex, and it fuels my nightmares. I sometimes believe I see his face on the subway and I panic, I still dream about him and all the crap I went through, my move, my stressful year 2011, and all the little things that still bind me to him even if we don’t speak anymore. I keep the resentment of the fights we shared, I keep the ugliness of the war scars we inflicted on each other and I keep the hope that maybe one day I’ll be able to forgive him. So much to heal from. So much to do.

Christmas is all about love. Love I lost, love I gained, love I desperately seek and reject all at the same time… I’m going through a transition phase where all my markers are gone, and I need to find new ones, my life tied to a departing track that seems more beautiful than ever. I have to remind myself I almost reached the end of the tunnel.

I give thanks to the dear friends I made and who loved me unconditionally without asking anything in return. My road will be bright as long as I steer away from pain, hatred, and all the sadness that filled my life for so many years. I thank my readers, my supporters and all the anonymous souls who proved me I could write and make my childhood dream come true. I wish to never stop pouring words on paper, I wish to never kill the creative spark that burns inside my mind and I wish to never forget where I come from.

Whatever hurdle comes in my way, I’ll jump because I can’t go backwards. I need to run fast, steady and strong with one objective ahead: cherish my freedom. The rest never mattered. It’s only the beginning of a fabulous journey.

Keep the faith. 🙂

#TheWritersCollection – Henry VIII

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Hello folks!

As part of the Writers Collection http://www.thewriterscollection.com/, I present to you my take on Henry VIII.

Enjoy!

*******

She looked at me stupefied. She didn’t expect me to say I had no idea what she was talking about.

“How is it possible you don’t know Henry VIII! Haven’t you paid attention in school?” She asked as her eyes grew wider with every word she uttered.

“Why?” I wanted to give her attitude but something stopped me midway. Was it a feeling of guilt, or maybe the simple fact I cared about her too much to hurt her by my childish behavior? She stared at me, her face expressing a fascinating mixture of frustration and disbelief. “Did it prevent me from passing last year?” I added. “I didn’t think so.”

I hoped for the discussion to end there, me being right and her being wrong. I didn’t care about Henry VIII; I only sought to sit by her side and breathe the delicious vanilla scent of her fragrance. Her long dark hair fell on her shoulders and her back like waves of the softest silk. Every inch of my body desired her yet I had to stay patient. I couldn’t spoil any opportunity I got, especially not with her. She was too precious.

My eyes discreetly wandered along the curves of her hips and thighs as she repositioned herself on the couch. She held a book open on her lap, and I imagined I was every page she delicately brushed with her fingertips.

“Well… If you don’t learn about Henry VIII now, you won’t pass this class.” She glanced at me and her mouth pouted in the cutest way. How I longed to hold her face between my hands and land a kiss on her beautiful mouth!

“Are you listening to me?” she asked, annoyed by my visible inattention. “I won’t help you if you keep thinking what we learn in history class isn’t important. You need to step up your game if you want a college scholarship, you know that right?”

Her eyes gave me an accusatory look. Yes, I knew it. My parents kept feeding me evening dinner speeches and used every occasion to order me to graduate with honors. I was only seventeen for godsake! I stared at Rachel and fainted a guilty smile.

“So if I learn about Henry VIII, will you go out with me?”

Her face instantly blushed and she looked away. “You think I help you only to make you my boyfriend?” I could hear exasperation in her voice.

“Well don’t you think I’d make a great boyfriend?” I asked while leaning closer to her. The smell of her perfume overpowered my senses and I had to control myself not to eat her alive on the spot.

“I don’t think anything,” she replied, and her pout increased. “I can’t believe you’re trying to seduce me while I’m here helping you with your grades.”

I could see she was upset, but I also knew she liked to be a little dramatic. I gently placed my hand over hers and stroked one of her fingers. She didn’t remove her hand.

“Listen, why don’t we make a deal? We’ve known each other for how long?” I leaned a bit closer until my shoulder slightly touched hers. “Since we were eight, right? So you should know by now whether I’d make a good boyfriend. You wouldn’t help me with my studies if you didn’t like me a little.” My smile transformed into a grin.

“I don’t like you like that,” she answered but didn’t move away nor withdrew her hand from under mine. I kept stroking her finger.

“Oh yeah?” I asked, amused. “So how do you like me?” My face was attracted to her neck, and her perfume made me drunk.

“I don’t know,” she whispered. I could tell she didn’t know how to react to my advances, but I also sensed she didn’t dislike the idea of me holding her hand.

“I’ll learn anything you want me to know about Henry VIII,” I whispered back. She immediately locked her eyes with mine and stared at me.

“Are you really serious about dating me?” she asked, a small hesitation in her voice.

“Of course I am.” My hand stroked hers harder.

She closed her eyes and I followed the movement of her face coming toward me until our lips touched and a thrill ran up and down my spine. It felt like an electrical rush throughout my limbs. I pressed on her hand, she tightened her grip around my fingers and time simply stopped.

When we finally looked into each other’s eyes, I could see a light in hers I’d never seen before. A little spark of excitement mixed with a fire of desire I never thought she could feel about me. It made me swarm with pleasure and I gave her another long kiss.

I didn’t study anything about Henry VIII that day, but I earned Rachel’s love. To me, it was the best thing in the world. Naturally after dating for a few days she forced me back into studying harder, but I never refused her scolding as I knew I’d be holding her tight against me moments later.

At the end of the year, I graduated with honors and we attended the same college. After four years, she finally became my wife.

I didn’t know history lessons could bring so much happiness…

Guest Post (11) Krystal Wade

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I met Krystal through Twitter. And we hit it off very quickly despite not seeing each other in person. Words flew and invaded our every day routine and we soon discovered we had a lot in common. So we shared our stories and our ideas until the whole journey blossomed to be something I never thought could exist like this, not in real life, but only in my dreams.

Krystal is an amazing person and talented author, and I urge you to check her blog at http://krystalwade.blogspot.com/ and buy her book(s) as soon as they’ll come out, because she’s the next writing wonder out there. I can’t stress it enough – Krystal Wade will rock your world.

Thank you Krystal for being an awesome friend. 🙂

Friendship

Friendships come and friendships go,
so that is why you need to know
wherever this takes us, wherever we land
I will always be there to lend a hand.

You make me smile, you make my cry
times like these are exactly why
we call each other friend
we’ll be there till the end.

Thank you for being my friend.

Guest Post (10) Nora B. Peevy #Creepfest

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Hello everybody!!!

Alright, alright, I know I’m late. I was supposed to post something yesterday, but other stuff came in the way and well… There was nothing I could about it. I’m gonna try to make it up to you guys by featuring an awesome horror author on The Manicheans today!!

Drumroll please! Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s my pleasure to present to you Nora B. Peevy!

Thank you, thank you! Nora has been kind enough to answer a few of my (silly) questions as part of the blog tour. If you haven’t checked out her work, please do, because she’s honestly to die for (literally).

1- Describe a spooky experience – if possible, it really happened to you (but you can also make something up)

I’m an admitted paranormal junkie with plenty of stories. Some of them I’ve shared on my blog. I lived on haunted Indian burial ground on the west mesa, in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Strange things always happened in that apartment. I saw ghosts, items would disappear in the house that I left out, things would move on their own. More than once, the front door, which was locked at the time, opened by itself. And no one was there, but me! That startled me.

2- You’ve been given the choice to receive five hundred dollars to spend the night in an abandoned insane asylum known for being haunted. Would you do it?

Sure I would. I believe in the paranormal and would love to learn more about it.

3- What is your opinion about sparkling vampires? How would you reinvent the vampire story genre? 

I’m working on a vampire/alien short right now. That would be my contribution. I’m not a fan of sparkly vampires.

4- You’ve been given the choice to receive one thousand dollars to fight a vampire, a werewolf or a zombie. Who would you fight, with which weapon and why?  

The zombie would probably be the easiest to kill. I would fight them with the crowbar, which is a multipurpose tool.

5- Describe a horrific prank you’d do or you did to a friend. 

I haven’t. LOL Sorry.

Nora B. Peevy has a B.A. in English with a Concentration in Creative Writing from Cardinal Stritch University. She has been previously published in Deadlines: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction, Twisted Tongue, and other publications. She really wishes she worked in a bookstore in Bordertown, but she hasn’t found her way to the Fae side of things, yet. Visit her blog to learn more: http://norabpeevy.blogspot.com

Alright, time to tackle the real creepy stuff.

Nora is hosting two giveaways. The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese. Her first contest is running for the first three days. The second is running for the rest of Creepfest.

Drumroll again please! Nora’s giving away one copy of Deadlines: An Anthology of Horror and Dark Fiction with her short story, La Nuit du la Chat Noir, still available for purchase from Comet Press.

  

Nora’s story was inspired by the famous French black cat poster, Tournèe Du Chat Noir by Rudolph de Salis. This replica hangs in the hallway of her home on the way upstairs.Click here to read an excerpt from La Nuit du la Chat Noir.

Here’s the contest, so listen up and read carefully.

“In Nora’s story the black cat is nameless. What would you name this cat and why? Tell me in 100 words or less. The best answer wins!”

Before you answer, read the rules.

Contest Rules

1) Authors have full discretion to choose an alternate winner in the event any winner fails to claim their prize(s) within 72 hours of their name being posted or after notification of win, author’s have the right to choose an alternate winner. Anyone participating in this tour is subject to this rule.

2) I am not guaranteeing this will arrive in time for the holidays. The prize will be mailed snail mail. Please leave your email in your comment or a site address where I can contact you. If you don’t, your entry will not be accepted. If you’re worried about your email address being picked up by spammers, post it like this: youraddress at yourhost dot com.

3) This contest runs Tuesday, December 13, 2011 through Thursday, December 16, 2011 at midnight. The winner will be announced on my blog on Thursday, December 17, 2011.

4) Only one entry per person. Multiple entries will be ignored. Your first answer counts, so make it a good one!
Have a creeptastic time and get hopping! Good luck! Let the contest begin!

And don’t forget, this is a blog hop! So hop away!!

I’ll catch you tomorrow with my little horror story and my own very special contest!! Ciao ciao!!

#TheWritersCollection – Christmas

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Hi everybody!

I recently became an author at The Writers Collection – and every Monday I’m going to blog about one theme along with nine other exceptional writers/authors. Please visit the site to read everybody’s post, as everybody’s take is different.

This week I’m tackling Christmas.

Next Monday, the theme will be Henry VIII.

Thank you for reading!!

********

Christmas

 

That time of the year has come again. I know the excitement will finally take me over when I see the tree by Rockerfeller Center. Tourists swarm around the massive, gorgeously-lit pine, snapping one hundred shots of it, maybe they want to become one with it too, I think. Life as I know it taught me weird tales about Christmas.

As a child, I adored it. Of course, Santa was my best friend. He always dropped wonderful surprises on December 25, and I spent the day playing among others with my Legos, train tracks, toy cars and big girl bikes (without back wheels). The fantasy unfortunately died the day I realized Santa was my parents. What a horrible lie! The world opened below my feet and swallowed my innocence whole. Nothing could be fixed from that moment on. I had to mature and move on with my life.

As a teenager, Christmas became a shopping splurge. Not necessarily for me, but mostly for my parents and friends. I started saving the change my dad used to give me every week, and I used it to purchase big beautiful presents for everybody I loved. I sometimes, no often, went overboard. But I loved it. Christmas is supposed to be about giving and sharing. I didn’t care whether I received nothing in return. The sole idea of buying made me happy.

As a young adult, I spent Christmas with friends. I flew to the United States and for two winter weeks traveled across New York State, up to the Canadian border, and celebrated the holidays mostly with strangers, but it was a lot of fun. I fell in love with the countryside then, and cried my heart out when I had to go back to France. I knew I was meant to live there forever. At twenty-one years old, I knew I was meant to become an American.

I later met my husband and thanked God for hearing my prayers. I celebrated the following Christmases with him and his family. I visited South Carolina, got married there, and discovered the South of the United States. It was obviously something different, but I loved it all the same. I didn’t regret starting my life over again in a new country with new people and a new culture. On the contrary, it made me feel whole again. The first few years were truly wonderful, but as the relationship deteriorated, celebrating Christmas became more an obligation than a pleasure. I bought lots of gifts to hide from the pain I went through, and the more money I spent, the fuller I felt. Last Christmas, I however felt extremely empty. I didn’t have it in me to continue the journey like this anymore. I didn’t have the strength to play games. My love had died.

The separation happened shortly after New Year’s Eve. Ugly circumstances pushed me out of the household, forcing me to have an honest grip with reality. I faced my worst demons and fears, encountered a lot of obstacles, and wondered whether I made the right choice. I thought of the past and fantasized about the future. I started writing again, and I found new loving friends. I undertook a slow revolution that transported me further than I could ever have imagined.

And now here we are. It’s time to celebrate Christmas. I’ll light up the tree alone this year, surrounded by my relatives and closest friends. I’ll bake the turkey and prepare a feast according to the oldest French tradition. I’ll drink champagne in newly bought crystal glasses and eat off newly bought ceramic plates. God, fate, luck changed my life once more and I made it all the way through, stronger and happier than ever.

Christmas is all about love. Everywhere I can feel it. It overwhelms you and shows you a new side of things. The familiar scent of trees displayed on the street drives my senses wild, and I look forward to sitting at the table to share an unforgettable meal. I’ll never grow tired of it. I’ll never hate it. Despite hard times, I’ll always smile through the tears.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Book Review – Thicker than Water by Greg Sisco

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Thicker Than Water (Blood Brothers)Thicker Than Water by Greg Sisco

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Vampire stories are like zombie stories. They have been rehashed one way or another, recreated, done and redone to the point of causing nausea every time I even heard the word “vampire”. I expected nothing from this novel but something gripped my interest and didn’t let go. I had the opportunity to glance at the first few sentences of Chapter 1 on Greg Sisco’s website. And I loved what I saw. I immediately ordered the book on my Kindle, eager to read more of it.

Sisco’s impeccable prose transports the reader into a horrific yet inviting world. He narrates the tale of Loki, Thor and Tyr, three vampires, three blood brothers, who share everything, from hunting, robbing and killing their victims to fighting each other mercilessly. They know no fear, no sorrow, and no compassion for the human kind. They only want to feed and enjoy their eternal condition the best they can. And enjoy it they do. Yet, Tyr meets this girl, Eva, and falls for her because she’s stronger than any other human he met before. He saves her from a certain death, and promises himself to find her again. He also cuts all ties with Loki and Thor after Loki expresses his huge discontentment at Tyr’s decision to spare the six-year-old girl’s life.

Vampires aren’t supposed to fall for humans. Vampires aren’t supposed to break the code. Turning Eva into a vampire is out of the question. Tyr knows the danger of loving Eva. While he struggles to find his path, far from Loki and Thor who live solely to cause havoc on earth, he tries to understand what binds him to this girl who thirteen years later is now dying of cancer. Eva means nothing and she means everything. She’s the end and the beginning of a new life for Tyr. After reuniting with Thor and Loki in Las Vegas, he has to finally decide what to do with her before resuming his chaotic existence among his bloodthirsty brothers.

Sisco’s created a world full of wit, twisted humor and captivating imagery. He left me hungry for more and convinced me vampire tales aren’t so old fashioned after all.

A great read to recommend to any horror fan.

View all my reviews

Note to Self (102) Brazil

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On November 23, 2011, we took a plane from New York JFK at 8 pm and landed in Sao Paulo the next morning around 8 am. The sun was high in the sky and the weather felt incredibly warm. Thanksgiving and the turkey seemed so far away. I forgot about my morning commute, work, the stress and my social activities. My Facebook and my Twitter would stay on standby mode for the next ten days. I really didn’t care. I was on vacation and I wanted to enjoy it, so I turned my phone off and left everything of my crazy life behind. I peeled the layers of my winter sweater and coat and put on a t-shirt and flip-flops. Despite the lack of sleep I felt energized.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Cachaça. Caipirinha. Lambada. It was now hot and steamy outside, almost too humid to stand the heat. Another drop of the sugary liquid made me feel alive again and I kept dancing to the rhythm of that music I heard years ago when I was still a child. Dreams of paradise filled my darkest fantasies, and I thought I’d never be able to touch the white sand and swim in the turquoise water because it didn’t exist.
The beach
I heard the sound of vultures cruising through rays of sunlight, waiting for a turtle to die on the shore. It captivated me and I watched the dreadful spectacle, nature at its best or worst, depending on how you look at it. Birds picked the flesh of the dying animal, unable to move, unable to defend itself against the angry beaks that devoured its tender meat. 
Vultures devouring a turtle
Waves rolled and crashed against my legs. Little fish nibbled my feet and crabs disappeared at the bottom of the ocean. I was mesmerized. I had never seen such beauty before. It felt like a new world had opened to me, and I embraced every moment of it, creating an imprint of the magical scenery in my brain so that it would last forever. 
Beautiful flowers
We drove for a couple hours through the mountains to reach Santiago Bay where we spent the first five days. All we did was sleep, eat, tan. A wonderful start of vacation. We had an entire beach for ourselves. A few chairs set in the sand and the rest of the strip was ours for days onward. 
Yep! It was only us.
The only downside to all the beauty surrounding us was the hungry mosquitoes that literally ate us alive every minute of every day and night. I’m still itching from their awful bites. But everything else was truly wonderful. Now I know paradise exists. 
Sunset over the Atlantic
Once the five days ended, we went to Sao Paulo. The city where twenty million people, rich and poor, live together but share nothing of their peculiar habits. On the highway we passed lots of Favelas and I looked, trying to understand how anybody could occupy the land like this. Locals told us they had been doing this for years, because nobody owned the land. Not even the government, we asked? Nope. It was public therefore anybody could build shacks and stay there while not paying taxes and stealing power from nearby high-tension lines. Gangs rule these neighborhoods. Drugs, prostitution, crimes ranging from petty thefts to murders occur there every day. Kids in rags run through dirty streets and chase a life that will stop in a dead end. No future is really possible, unless a few lucky ones manage to go to school and get an education. It hurt terribly to see such misery lying outside wealthy buildings gated behind high fences and guarded by an army of men all wearing bullet proof vests underneath their uniforms. 
View of the Favelas – heckeranddecker.wordpress.com
We arrived at the hotel and saw nothing that could cause us to panic yet we were repeatedly warned. Don’t go outside the few streets that are safe, make sure you’re always with somebody, watch your bag and belongings, don’t wear expensive jewelry and clothes, beware of who’s following you. These words made me feel uncomfortable. We must stay parked within a certain area. Outside, we could get mugged, beaten up, or worse killed. We had to take taxis to go from one place to the next, always lock doors and never display anything, such as cash, behind the windows. Our freedom had been reduced to the bare minimum. You felt like you constantly had to watch out for what might come to you and harm you. Your mind never stopped being in a state of alarm. Despite living in New York City, I experienced mixed emotions and started to worry. All of a sudden, the paradise had transformed itself into a realm of fear. 
A squatter building right in the middle of the city
One day I stood in a drug store looking for a few things to buy when all of a sudden I heard somebody talk to me in Portuguese. When I turned around I saw this poor girl holding a baby in her arms, begging for money. I instantly knew she came from the Favelas. And I walked away. I couldn’t give anything, because more would come, or follow me, trying to hurt my friends and me. We had been warned. I couldn’t be skeptical anymore. The first impression these poor kids give is vulnerability but they never wander alone. They move in groups and wait to find the perfect victim. Like the vultures I saw flying high in the sky above the dying turtle on the beach, they want only one thing: money, and they learned how to steal in order to get it.
View of Sao Paulo – Financial District – pictures taken from my law firm office
We spent time in nice places with wealthy people, and we saw their golden prisons far from all the violence and the misery of the Favelas. You feel like two worlds cohabitate without ever meeting each other. Extreme poverty faces extreme wealth, and there’s no in between. The image I’ll keep of Brazil is a distorted one; a paradise tainted with a heavy price to pay. You must surrender most of your freedom in order to stay safe. You must lock yourself behind fences and walls in order to enjoy your life. To me, not an idea I feel very comfortable with. 
Not such a free world when you look at it twice
Overall the stay was wonderful, rich in experiences and memories. We got to shop a lot, visit beautiful places, museums, eat delicious food and drink cocktails I’m still salivating about. 
View from the municipal market
The most delicious mortadella sandwich I’ve ever eaten – and Anthony Bourdain ate there too!
View from the outside of the Museum of Modern Art – the building looks like a UFO buried in the ground
In NYC we have Chinatown. Over there they have Japantown.
A traditional Pastel – fried on the outside with delicious melting cheese on the inside
Brazilian chicken croquettes known as Coxinhas
This cocktail was called Cote D’Azur – Vodka, lime, Curacao and sugar
We shared unforgettable moments, and it made the whole event worthwhile. I had no idea what Brazil was like. Now I know. It made me also realize how great New York is, and when we arrived back, I couldn’t wait to smell the stench of the City’s streets and hear ambulances sirens blast in my ears.
The real paradise was here. 
Thank you to my wonderful friends and our hosts for their hospitality!!

Book Review – Rabbits in the Garden by Jessica McHugh

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Rabbits in the GardenRabbits in the Garden by Jessica McHugh

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I discovered the work of Jessica through Twitter, and my curiosity got picked when I read a few of her short stories. Her writing shows a maturity that struck me hard and left me in awe, and I longed to read one of her novels to confirm whether she really was the talented author she claimed to be. She obviously delivered more than I expected.

Rabbits in the Garden is the story of Avery, a rebellious, smart, vindictive and tenacious teenager who doesn’t quite understand the lessons her mother tries to teach her, but she complies nevertheless with the nonsense she’s forced to endure because she wasn’t raised an ungrateful daughter. Yet when she falls in love with Paul and decides to enjoy her childhood having fun and spending time with her newly found boyfriend, her mother punishes her and sends her to an insane asylum. Ensue 6 years of abominable torture while Avery tries to prove she isn’t the crazy person her delirious mother says she is. Avery resists all the torment of her prison and the loveless existence she’s been unjustly awarded, and despite the threats of incompetent doctors and nurses manages to survive and finally escapes the asylum at the age of 18.

Her insane mother never stays too far away from her however and tries to subdue her daughter into really believing she was the crazy one all along, until Avery manages to switch tables and teach her mother a lesson that’ll also seal her fate.

This book was written with so much passion, sincerity, realism and beauty it left me hungry for more. A true beautiful read for anybody who loves horror and twisted characters.

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