Tuesday, December 25, 2018
The Lost History of Dreams: A Novel by Kris Waldherr is My Favorite Book of 2018 hasn't been published yet!
The Lost History of Dreams: A Novel by Kris Waldherr has a publication date of April 9, 2019 by Atria Books.
Perhaps not a fair choice; but when I read the arc/review copy earlier this year, I was completely awed by this beautiful novel. So much so, that I read it painfully slowly as not to rush the ending because I didn't want the experience to be over.
My full review is coming up, so I can't say very much except if you love all things gothic, are a Bronte lover, enjoy love stories with multi-layered subtext in 19th century rural England then I implore you to pre-order this one NOW!
All love stories are ghost stories in disguise.
When famed Byronesque poet Hugh de Bonne is discovered dead of a heart attack in his bath one morning, his cousin Robert Highstead, a historian turned post-mortem photographer, is charged with a simple task: transport Hugh’s remains for burial in a chapel. This chapel, a stained glass folly set on the moors of Shropshire, was built by de Bonne sixteen years earlier to house the remains of his beloved wife and muse, Ada. Since then, the chapel has been locked and abandoned, a pilgrimage site for the rabid fans of de Bonne’s last book, The Lost History of Dreams.
However, Ada’s grief-stricken niece refuses to open the glass chapel for Robert unless he agrees to her bargain: before he can lay Hugh to rest, Robert must record Isabelle’s story of Ada and Hugh’s ill-fated marriage over the course of five nights.
As the mystery of Ada and Hugh’s relationship unfolds, so does the secret behind Robert’s own marriage—including that of his fragile wife, Sida, who has not been the same since the tragic accident three years ago, and the origins of his own morbid profession that has him seeing things he shouldn’t—things from beyond the grave.
Kris Waldherr effortlessly spins a sweeping and atmospheric gothic mystery about love and loss that blurs the line between the past and the present, truth and fiction, and ultimately, life and death.
To pre-order Amazon US
Sunday, December 16, 2018
By Charlotte Bronte
- WE take from life one little share,
- And say that this shall be
- A space, redeemed from toil and care,
- From tears and sadness free.
- And, haply, Death unstrings his bow
- And Sorrow stands apart,
- And, for a little while, we know
- The sunshine of the heart.
- Existence seems a summer eve,
- Warm, soft, and full of peace;
- Our free, unfettered feelings give
- The soul its full release.
- A moment, then, it takes the power,
- To call up thoughts that throw
- Around that charmed and hallowed hour,
- This life's divinest glow.
- But Time, though viewlessly it flies,
- And slowly, will not stay;
- Alike, through clear and clouded skies,
- It cleaves its silent way.
- Alike the bitter cup of grief,
- Alike the draught of bliss,
- Its progress leaves but moment brief
- For baffled lips to kiss.
- The sparkling draught is dried away,
- The hour of rest is gone,
- And urgent voices, round us, say,
- " Ho, lingerer, hasten on !"
- And has the soul, then, only gained,
- From this brief time of ease,
- A moment's rest, when overstrained,
- One hurried glimpse of peace ?
- No; while the sun shone kindly o'er us,
- And flowers bloomed round our feet,–
- While many a bud of joy before us
- Unclosed its petals sweet,–
- An unseen work within was plying;
- Like honey-seeking bee,
- From flower to flower, unwearied, flying,
- Laboured one faculty,–
- Thoughtful for Winter's future sorrow,
- Its gloom and scarcity;
- Prescient to-day, of want to-morrow,
- Toiled quiet Memory.
- 'Tis she that from each transient pleasure
- Extracts a lasting good;
- 'Tis she that finds, in summer, treasure
- To serve for winter's food.
- And when Youth's summer day is vanished,
- And Age brings Winter's stress,
- Her stores, with hoarded sweets replenished,
- Life's evening hours will bless.
I recently had the pleasure of reading this poem at a poetry night at The Players Club.
I was also supposed to read a second poem but due to a mix up I could not.
If any Bronte scholars know anything about Charlotte Bronte's early poem, I would be thrilled if you would share it with me.
Sunday, December 9, 2018
Nuyorican Poet Café
Allen Ginsberg called the café, "the most integrated place on the planet."
Founded in 1973, the Nuyorican Poets Café began as a living room salon in the East Village apartment of writer and poet Miguel Algarin. Over the last 40 years, the Cafe has served as a home for groundbreaking works of poetry, music, theater and visual arts. A multicultural and multi-arts institution, the Café gives voice to a diverse group of rising poets, actors, filmmakers and musicians.
This weekend I attended a writing workshop in the heart of the Lower East Side of New York City. The focus was Social Media for Artists and Writers taught by Capicu Culture co-founders George Torres aka Urban Jibero and Juan Santiago aka Papo Swiggity.
During this two hour session I gained so many useful tips from every subject regarding how to use social media sites to your advantage personally and professionally.
Perhaps my favorite part of the workshop was the writing portion where the subject of how your passion drives you to how your creativity and love for what you do takes shape for you through social media. I wrote about how starting my blog, eight years ago, not only gave me remarkable creative freedom but changed my life forever. So,
I focused on love and when asked to write a poem about how your creativity took shape, this following poem came out immediately. I haven't written poetry since I was twelve years old. I'd like to share it with you all.
By Kimberly Eve
I wanted to be heard and not judged
Not whispered about in corners
With snickering and sarcasm
I didn't want the visual attention
Just the audial notation
Instead of fear I was met with warm smiles and sighs
Long phone calls and nights out in cafes
What I discovered by being pushed and kicked through the door
that held my fear was love and acceptance
Please visit Nuyorican Poets Cafe
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