My beagle, Nero, is funny. I believe all dogs are funny, but beagles have something puppy-like about them and that makes them even funnier. Or maybe it’s just because Nero is my dog and I’m slightly biased. Either way, I spoil him because he deserves so.
Would you be mine?
I really want some.
My Precious…
Nero ❤ Honey Bunches of Oats.
Beagle in the Grass.
Little Ball of Fur.
Without realizing it, I skipped a week. Days, like mismatched socks, tend to go missing lately. Can’t even remember what I was busy doing last week. Not writing, for sure. I did take my Wacom tablet out for a leisure stroll and I did produce something nice though. The fruit of my labor will be revealed in due time. For now, enjoy my humble snippet.
A quiet moment for Dalia and Aragon, the two main characters in Notturno.
Dalia looked at him and wondered at the enigma he represented; she touched him, but he didn’t react to her fingers tracing the lines of his arm. She followed the long sinews defining his dark skin and then stopped at the hollow space where the muscles on his neck met the shoulders. His breathing caught for the briefest moment, his eyes fluttered under his closed eyelids, but he didn’t move. She raised her hand and put it on her lap, the urge of lying down with him calling to her. Aragon was the strongest man she had ever seen, but at the moment he was defenseless and she felt the irrational desire to protect him. The thought made her laugh.
On clue, a snort from the corner made her turn. “Where are you, Mo?” The animal snorted a second time, emerging from the darkness. “Come here, baby.” Mo obeyed and walked toward them. “Sit, Mo.” Dalia smiled when Mo bent her trunk-like legs to sit by her master. “Good girl, stay here and protect us if you like.” Mo emitted a sound Dalia didn’t try to decipher.
“Are we all friends now?” Aragon opened one eye and took Dalia’s flying hand. She had been surprised by him not being as asleep as she had thought and almost poked his eyes in response. “I’m glad.”
“Didn’t you need to rest?” She blushed.
Yesterday it was a great day. Italy won against Germany and advanced to the final on Sunday. Pax got its first review on Amazon and Goodreads. I decided to celebrate with purple highlights. Photo manipulation came later at night, when I was too excited to go to sleep.
This is me, with less color than usual and sketched with Paint.Net.
Just two pics about the little things that make a small indie author like me happy. The road to success is paved by this kind of accomplishments. One at a time.
The Italian mug shot is from February. I personally know the three people who adopted my little book and found in their hearts the strength to give my words a home. One of them deserves a special thanks: Grazie, papa’.
Today, much to my surprise, I found I sold a copy in France. What a great way to start the weekend.
And, esteemed ladies and jellyfishes*, we have lucky number seven today. I took the whole week as a mental vacation and stood by it. Not a single rational thought was produced in the last seven days. If you ask me, it was a difficult task to accomplish, but I am truly that good.
Another snippet from TCOM.
Four or five more bursts of applauses and another elder, a slightly less exalted copy of the first, took her spot to tell the first story of the night.
Marie liked to hear a good tale like anybody else and her eyes and focus zeroed in on the newcomer.
“Darlene is one of the best storytellers, you’ll see.” Cina elbowed Marie. “I’m sure you’ve never heard anybody so good.”
Cina wasn’t exaggerating; Darlene had a gift. The whole time the elder spoke, not a single breath was heard. Darlene’s voice was pleasant enough, but the quality of the narration was what kept everybody glued to the story she was slowly unraveling.
“What a complicated plot, and with so many characters—” Marie shook her head in awe, unable to shush her inner thoughts. “She sure has a great imagination.”
“It is said she’s friend with one of the guards…”
“Oh, do you mean…?” Marie lowered her voice to a whisper.
“I mean what you’re thinking. Darlene has special permission to watch TV with her pure breed friend.”
“I’d give anything to watch a TV show again.” Marie’d had a glimpse of a television show once at the Institute and sighed at the memory.
*loosely stolen from Eddie Izzard, one of the funniest men on earth.
I’m proud to announce that after several months of gestation and two days of labor, Pax was digitally born yesterday night, June 10 2012; she weights 485 KB and looks beautiful. Mom’s tired but happy.
Pax in the Land of Women is currently under review and in a few hours it will be available on Amazon. After hours of writing, reading, re-writing, editing, proofreading, the second book in The Ginecean Chronicles is out. My dystopian world is growing. My characters are roaming free, eager to love, fight, and conquer their fears. The sun is shining outside. Ciao.
Sunday morning, I’ve been awoken since 4:00 AM. Two espressos and two black teas already under the belt, going for the third espresso. Hands shaking, feeling slightly disoriented. Detachment from reality almost complete. Dog’s barking, outside. Rain softly drumming against the window. Green everywhere, fresh air. Summer, but not yet. Today is the day I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Pax in the Land of Women is coming out this weekend. Just saying…
Just a subtle way to let you know I haven’t written a great deal, in case it wasn’t clear. But, I worked a bit on TCOM and this is a snippet from today’s effort.
Marie shivered.
“Oh, no. Marie, you’re going to be fine. You’re just fifteen.” The redhead smiled at her. “The Captain has never picked a girl who was younger than eighteen. I think there must be some kind of rule.”
“And you’re so slim. Donors are never thin. So maybe, you’ll never be chosen.” Cina took Marie’s hand in hers to give her some comfort. “Look at Verena, she’s the perfect donor.”
“And I’ve just turned eighteen. Lucky me.” Verena nervously laughed.
“Maybe you’re going to be lucky this time.” It was Marie’s turn to console the girl.
“Chances I can escape it forever are slim. I’ll be eligible for seven long years and with my physique it’s almost a given I’ll be a donor sooner or later.”
“But I heard it’s not as terrible as it was for our grandmothers. Now, you won’t come in contact with the sementals at all.” Marie blushed red as soon as she said the word semental.
“Still…”
Today I had a busy day doing little. It happens to the best of us. I should mention that it hasn’t rained so far, that should explain it all. But I went for a long walk with my loyal beagle, Nero, and I played with Artrage . This new piece was inspired by the words of one talented Positively Wyrde, the enchanting Bard from Twitter.
Monica La Porta 