All posts tagged: memories

camp’s over…

  Phew, have I been busy this month! I mean, it’s not as if I did not expect to be busy this April, even a bit, erm, well, somewhat busier than usual. After all, I did register for #CampNaNoWriMo and set myself a target of 25,000 of the frequently elusive little buggers we trade in. I thought it would be a perfectly attainable goal while still attending to all my other usual daily grind, and still keep up with reading and reviewing — and, most important of all, sleeping. In my bid to came to my decision more or less scientifically, I had looked at last November, earnestly, quizzically: it’s true that I had very little sleep, and that did next to nothing else, but I had managed to come up with over the required 50,000 words… So, can you follow my reasoning? Halve the goal, and the time you save will allow you to do half  of the everything-else you would otherwise neglect… plus sleep, and if you sleep then work will be, will come easier, be it with words …

book review: The Good Liar ~ by Catherine McKenzie, 5* review plus bonus author article

Hello everyone! Another day, another week, and, while we’re all waiting for winter to retreat and spring finally to hit us with its waves of pleasantness, here I am again with a brand new review, this time of Catherine McKenzie’s latest book, The Good Liar, which is being marketed as a GoodReads “Hottest Thriller of 2018” selection for fans of Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies (Booklist), and one you’re likely to devour in one sitting (Publishers Weekly, starred review). Before I start, however, I have a couple of things I have to confess. Truth is, I had never read anything by Catherine McKenzie before. Unforgivable omission, I know. And I only became fully aware of her new book as something other than a vaguely potential read when I was contacted about my missing review by lovely Denelle Catlett, PR Manager for Lake Union Publishing. Then I remembered where I’d seen the book, and why I had requested it in the first place. It was definitely something I had very much wanted to read, for a host of reasons I …

Announcing Friends & Other Liars blog tour

§ Debut Novel Explores Secrets Among Friends…and Other Liars Sometimes the secrets we keep are more dangerous than the ones we reveal… When Ruby St. James returns to her hometown of Chatwick, Vermont, it’s under the worst circumstances. It’s been ten years since she’s been home, and [a]s the secrets begin to trickle out, Ruby struggles between the pull to reconnect with the friends who once meant so much to her and the desperate need to keep the secret that changed her life. Told from alternating viewpoints and flashbacks, Friends and Other Liars is the story of five friends coming to terms with what it means to betray the ones who love you most. § Friends and Other Liars is a debut novel by Kaela Coble. Don’t miss it here tomorrow: book review excerpt Q&A with Kaela Coble  

such small mercies

  It’s five a.m., and the skies have opened up. Once again. The rain pounds and thunders on the rooftops, on the cars parked outside, on the road and pavements. If I didn’t know better, I’d say St. Peter had sent us a deluge of, well, pebbles and gravel. That’s how it sounds. But no. I stare out of the window, looking for the day that somehow isn’t yet breaking, though only last week it could already be seen blushing above the eastern horizon — and all I see is water. Water. Liquid, determined, insistent, persistent, coming out in sheets after sheets, solid-looking curtains of silvery metal rods that somehow disintegrate on first contact. Pooling a bit everywhere. Hurrying down the street. Over the pavements. And if it goes on like this, everything will be waterlogged. Everything. Including my life. Which, right now, seems to be just about nose-above-surface. And it’s only just August. Still only August. Silently, I drag a chair over, the best I can, nearer to the window. Still gazing out of …

the pleasure of simple things

  Encircled with shading net, it is cooler on the patio than on the outside-outside, the rest of the garden. Through its dark green weave, I can still see the glare of the summery heat, blazing white, overwhelming. Outside the netting, it is almost too hot to breathe, almost too hot to live. Inside the netting, life still seems possible. It is only April; it should not be this hot, not yet. I wonder what the real summer will be like, come July and August. I went to the fishmongers this morning. So much fish. So much variety. While here, I always try to eat what I can’t get hold of in England: ‘carapau’, my firm favourite; how I’ve missed it all these years. And then the ‘fanecas’, so delicately flavoured; I could never understand why the Brits, as proud as they are of their ‘fish and chips”, can disdain such lovely fish as pout and horse mackerel. Silly, silly, silly people; they don’t know what they’re missing out on! And then… And then there is …

a lua

    Caminham lado a lado, a mulher e o rapazito. Por vezes ele saltita e rodopia, e ela olha-o e sorri como quem se lembra de outras coisas assim. Outros saltos e rodopios. Por vezes ele pára-a, diz-lhe, “olha ali! Olha, olha ali!“ – “É um elefante, estás a ver? Ali a tromba, e as orelhas…“ E ela olha. E vê. É uma cabeça de elefante, a tromba semi-encaracolada, o olho enorme e profundo como um espelho azul de céu, as orelhas enormes espraiadas lado a lado.

autumn gold

the blessing of autumn after the torrid summer. the fresh drops of the still shy rain on the still bare skin. the scent of the earth, of the grass, of the streets after first rain. later, much later, almost an eternity gone by, or so it always seemed to the child, mom and dad and I shopping for Christmas presents, mom dragging me behind her in her hurried, fluttering step, dad purposefully lagging behind in his usual laid back, couldn’t care less way. suddenly, a wink of his blue eyes and a smile, and the little cone of hot newspaper would materialise in my hands. it’s all buried somewhere. not even the child has remained. only the chestnuts remain, but they no longer taste the same. they no longer smell of love, and of the smile of the simplest things.     12 October 2013   © Nina Light CC-BY-NC-ND      

life, unbound

    “I don´t know what beauty you can possibly find in any of that!” She throws at me in passing, her head slowly shaking from one side to the other. I suppose it is yet something else in which I am a disappointment to her. Heart on the sleeve. Head in the clouds. Always in dreamland. Always living a fantasy. “Life is not what you think it is, little missy!”, she used to scold me many, many years ago. “You imagine it´s all sweet words and poetry and everything like in the movies and all la-di-da, and it ain´t, it just ain´t!” I smile to myself and carry on shooting. I almost tell her that life turns out to be exactly as I imagined it. Every single blessed day. But I don´t. I just smile to Man, who´s crept up silently behind me, he too smiling. His hand is on my shoulder. In my hand, the camera whirrs and purrs. The macro is but the faintest whisper as it slides and locks. I don´t …