Hello, this is Ben Ditty of Nice Old Spice. Chris has graciously allowed me to guest post for my upcoming book promotion. Ten Minutes in Heaven, my collection of short plays, will be free Monday on Kindle. So, let's get this party started!
How many of you like funny sketches? Show of hands!
Did I see one? In the back? No? Well, my book has quite a few of them. I call them ten minute plays and boy are they fun. I have one where Satan climbs aboard Noah's ark and goes after him Last Temptation style. Not religious? I also have one about sex. And another about murder. See, what I'm doing here, with the broad themes?
I can be more specific too. In Jumper, Edgar Allen Poe and Vincent Van Gogh try to talk a college freshman out of suicide. He cheated on his girlfriend and felt his life was over. It's amazing what dead artists can do for your self esteem.
Of, course, there's also the actors from the Wizard of Oz. I based a play off a drawing that appeared in a paper after the last of the four main characters died. It's a more serious departure. But, I think you'll like it! So, stop by Kindle Monday, even if you don't have one. You can read it on apps for your PC and smart phone.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
I have been living in a state of fear for the last ten weeks. I have to think about everything I do before I do it...is this going to be the thing that sets me off? I have lived in a opiate daze, feeling nauseous constantly, because without it I end up in the emergency room. Up until my last trip to the emergency room I have taken a fairly passive approach to my treatment; I have assumed that the doctors would look after my better interest. I was wrong to do so.
It seems to me that up until now the only doctors that have even paid attention to what I am actually going through are the ones at the emergency room. I have to say thank you to them as well.
Thank you doctors and staff at Providence Willamette Falls Hospital Emergency room!
Tomorrow I have an appointment with my primary care doctor...We will see where it goes from there.
Just to set your minds at ease I am not dying, in no danger of dying from this any time soon. I am just very uncomfortable...but again, such is life.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
I lost my soul in that field of gold
The fields were golden that day; almost painful to look at because of how bright they were.
The beauty of the field closest to the road was marred by the orange machine idling away in the summer sun, and by the red and blue flashing lights. Yellow caution tape boldly struck with the words CRIME SCENE set a perimeter slightly smaller than a baseball diamond around a very large hole in the golden field of wheat. Lining the bottom of the hole like the spikes in some sick bear trap were body parts...
"I just knew this was going to happen someday," the rough edge to his voice at odds with his slick exterior, "you are going to end up stripped and left in a field to rot if you tell your tall tales to the wrong CAT. What a fricking waste!" Towards the end his words were barely decipherable...
Lighting McQueen looked down on what was left of his best friend...Mater, you know, like tamater, without the ta...jutting out of the hole.
Chris McQueeney 9/22/12
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Monday, September 17, 2012
All’s I wanted
Was some private time
To think about that little lady’s
Got into a right nice groove
She’s so hot
I’ll explode if I move
Close the fucking door!
Can’t you see…
Chris McQueeney 9/17/12 9:26 P.M.
It isn't often that I am moved to humor when I write poetry, If you feel slightly violated and offended...good that works for me ;-)
Friday, September 14, 2012
All I have
I awake in fright
Not quite morning
Sometime still in the
Middle of the night
The bed tore up
Head sweat drenched
Sheets wrapped wound
Round me tight
All I have
Quiet the beast
Raging inside my chest
Hart hurting needs a rest
This fight or flight response
Not quite right for tonight
Sheets wrapped wound
Round me tight
All I have
Chris McQueeney 9/14/12 9:17 P.M.
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Reaching for the sun
Though my arms grew tired
I still continued to try
Reaching for the sun
That just wasn’t there
Through strain and strife
My branches broke
Although I would rather
Choke on the words
Having gone through this
I am much better off today
My trunk is broader
Roots are deeper
My limbs longer
It was true to say
At that time, on that day
Sadness becomes me
What was true on that day
At that time
Does not hold through to today
Today I would have to say
Life becomes me
Chris McQueeney 9/10/12 11:45 A.M.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Not sure how I came about finding Nadja’s webpage but I had gone by there a couple of times to see what she was all about. I don’t read romance novels, and at first glance I was a bit turned off (hahaha) By the fact that that was the genre that she wrote in…I figured that the horrible books I had started to read (I read way too much, so when I run out of things to read I pick up whatever is handy) were what she wrote, and what her blog would look like. Oh how I was wrong! I read two or three postings of hers and was surprised by the humor and sharp wit that I read. Again my own preconceptions almost got in the way of what has turned out to be a good friendship.
One day Nadja posed a question on her blog and rather than answering (I’m a peach aren’t IJ) I asked one in turn...I think it went something like this “Nadja why don’t you ask your readers what brought them to your blog, and what keeps them coming back…” I guess this sparked a curiosity in her so she came over to visit my blog. Then she did something that still amazes me; Nadja asked me if I would be willing to be interviewed on her blog. I was shoked and still am to this day that she thought to do that .
I would like to thank Nadja for agreeing to come over today, and for being a friend.
۩ Nadja Notariani 'Wanders' By ...۩
Thank you, Wander, for having me over today! It's great to be here.
What kind of student were you? The kind that acted all sweet but would secretly take the rubber bands from your teacher?
Oh! (smiles impishly) I'll have to out myself right away!
As a student I was well behaved and generally liked by all my teachers. However, I was always a daydreamer and an incessant talker. I began my love affair with words at a young age. Ha! High school and college days ...well, let's say I embraced the adventure of adolescence and young adulthood with a certain devil-may-care attitude. I always loved learning, still do, but I'd rather lock myself away and self-teach or listen to lectures.
As for acting sweet... I'm not sure what people might say about that! I was ever trying to gain a laugh – and my quirky sense of humor didn't always translate well. (ahem...I thought I was hilarious...that should explain much.)
What is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?
I have seen five very beautiful things. No matter who or where you are, when you see your own child, you proudly puff up, admire, and tend to become quite impressed with your genetic prowess. It doesn't matter that many, many others have their own. They're not like the one(s) you've made.
Have you traveled much?
Traveled much? I suppose that's relative. I have been all over Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Maryland, and Virginia. I've lived in a few of them, too. I've traveled to Indiana, Illinois, Florida, North and South Carolina, and California. My adventures out of the States are limited to Canada, Mexico, and Jamaica. I have not seen nearly enough.
Who is/are your favorite authors?
Mark Twain (Samuel L Clemons) is one of my all-time favorite writers. His humor and wit captured me from the first! Extracts From Adam's Diary, Advice To Young People, and A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court are entirely entertaining and wholly hysterical.
My all-time favorite author is Jane Austen. Hands down. Pride and Prejudice remains the absolute best romance I've ever read. (I sort of have a thing for romances...) Other romance authors I recommend are Danielle Steel, (Wanderlust, Zoya), Kathleen Woodiwiss (The Flame And The Flower), Francine Rivers (Redeeming Love, Tamar, and Bathsheba), and Lucia St. Clair Robson (Ride The Wind).
C.S. Lewis is another writer whose works I highly enjoy reading. The Great Divorce is my favorite of his works. The Screwtape Letters was also very good.
You are a romance writer...what is it about romance that you are drawn to?
Ahh…Romance…The idea of love intrigues me. Some people find love in an instant. I've read accounts of WWII G.I.’s coming home, marrying after a week and enjoying fifty-or-more happy years of affection. Others take years to find love. There are those who dive headfirst into love and those who hesitantly dip their toes into the murky waters with great trepidation. What constitutes love? How and when and why does it happen? What sparks it?
And since you are a romance author I have to ask this...was it Fabio?
Good Grief, No! Ha! (No offense to those who admire that person/face/body type...but not for me!) For this writer, all-things-romantic stem from a state of mind. I've known perfectly attractive people who were also perfectly obnoxious. Attractiveness does not necessarily lead to good romance, or thoughts of romance, or much anything having to do with romance. More, it is the way of a person. So, no...not Fabio, nor any other singular face or persona drew me in. Too funny!
How did you finally realize that writing was what you wanted to do as a grown-up, and how did you get there?
Hmm. Grown-Up? Another state of mind thing...
Writing a novel had been on my 'list' for many years. I read constantly, and have hundreds of books. Somewhere in my twenties, the thought occurred to me that I would write a novel. But it wasn't until I was thirty-nine years old that I begin my first novel. Once I set out, it felt natural to write, and two years later, here I am. I researched for about a year before I decided to Indie-publish. It was the right choice for me. Now I've four published titles, and I hope to continue writing and publishing. My writing has already changed in the last two years. I learn by doing, and taking on the adventure of writing, marketing, publishing, and everything that goes along with that has been real on-the-job training. I hope to see two years from now further growth and more knowledge of the publishing world.
Tell us a bit about the glamorous life of Nadja...
Well...I wake up whenever I like. My house-boy makes me breakfast – eggs, toast, bacon, and hash-browns. I devour it all – and a banana – but never gain an ounce. My workouts are easy and I can knock out 25 pull-ups without breaking a sweat. I sell a million books a year and travel to exotic places, whiling away my hours on white sand beaches with nary a care in the world....
Oh...wait. You wanted the truth? Glamorous schlamorous. Ha! I have three sons still at home. I wake up, get them off to school and begin my day. I clean, cook, write, blog, check homework, say prayers, repeat. I always manage to squeeze in coffee with my best friend. I flop on the floor in equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction after a workout, and am still using a band to help my pull-ups. I sometimes tip over when holding a yoga pose. I have a chronic case of what looks like recently-slept-on hair – really, it's a wild, unruly, and barely contained entity. My sons often attempt to throttle one another. I wrench them apart and explain for the hundred-thousandth time why we do not beat our brother senseless. Then...I tuck them in and indulge in a fantastic novel.
Quick Facts About Nadja Notariani
Currently studying German to be able to converse easily with my daughter and my brother, who are fluent. (Daughter spent a year in Germany for studies.) Struggling to 'think' in German.
Huge Rush fan.
Loves to pieces her giant, oaf of a German Shepherd, Zutchka.
Thoroughly enjoys MMA. Er...watching it, that is. Ha!
Loves: new adventures, words, coffee, and the feeling after a good workout.
Hates: being cold, scary movies, and the actual working out part.
Chris, thank you again for inviting me to share on your blog. You have a gift with words, something I admire a great deal.
9-6-12Link here http://nadjanotariani.blogspot.com/
Here are two short pieces of Nadja's
Scene 1 ~ Atiya, The Gift
“Our brother, Baqir, thinks only of increasing his wealth,” Atiya answered, passing the water skin to Asim.
“Atiya, what can we do? Baqir is the eldest; his word is law. Besides, Abd-Al-Aziz will make a fine husband. You will want for nothing, and your days of tending goats will be over forever,” her twin brother replied, shrugging his shoulders as he poked his staff under a rock to check for snakes or scorpions.
A welcome surprise after seven sons, Atiya's name meant gift. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth at the irony, for Baqir was offering her to Abd-Al-Aziz - as a gift.
“Let's cut over the old mines; we can arrive home a day early if we cross at Heriot's Pass instead of skirting the edges of the Gauche Foothills,” Asim tempted.
Atiya stopped in shock, the dry, still heat of the rocky desert pressing on her from all sides.
“Baqir warned us to stay away from the mines!”
Ignoring her protests, Asim began his ascent up the abandoned quarry. Glancing over his shoulder, dark eyes alive with mischief, Asim's rich laughter echoed off the surrounding outcrops.
“You're as sure footed as a mountain goat, Atiya. Come on, or I'll tell Baqir what a disobedient sister you are!”
“It'll be your skin if Baqir finds out,” she grinned, following behind.
* * *
“I'm afraid! This isn't right. We're lost!”
“Take my hand, sister.”
He reached for her.
“Asim!” she screamed, her entreaty finding no ear.
Her brother's body tumbled, battered by huge stones in the sliding rock. Silence settled, Asim's body now far below. Heedless of the bruising as she scrambled down the shifting precipice, Atiya gained her brother, his eyes unseeing, lifeless. Her sobs, keening and mournful, poured into the empty sky, her tears absorbed into the arid earth without a trace. Huddled beside her brother, delusional with dehydration, Atiya mustered the last of her waning strength and attempted to free the buried water skin, failing again.
I will lie down and die beside my brother.
The morbid thought no longer frightened her. Throat burning with thirst, face swelling under the searing glare of sun, Atiya succumbed to the pounding in her head and closed her eyes. Vague awareness of gentle swaying and a shadowy form swirled on the edges of her consciousness.
“Drink,” a voice commanded.
Coolness kissed her tongue as water trickled down her parched throat. Protected under a warm blanket through the cold night, Atiya roused again and again as the voice urged her to drink.
The first rays of morning sunshine illuminated the tall, white-robed figure as she slowly wakened.
“Can you sit up?”
The voice's deep timbre drew her eyes to full lips on the tanned face and startling golden eyes as she nodded.
Had an angel carried her to the third heaven?
Strong arms aided, robe sleeves falling back to reveal tattooed writing upon bronzed forearms.
“What is that?” she rasped hoarsely.
“An ancient promise that the gift I seek is in the desert,” he stated offhandedly. “But enough of me. What is your name, daughter of the desert?”
Atiya shivered at the coincidence.
“I am called Atiya,” her voice trembled.
The stranger's amber eyes grew luminescent, his response a recitation of foreign verse.
“For ages have I sought you, Habiba, beloved,” he murmured.
Atiya stared, captivated in the glow of his golden gaze.
* * *
Asrar Amelle ~ Secret Hope
Filigree crystals frosted the square panes, winter's final protest before spring's uprising. Perched before the window, staring out to glimpse the Roundeli Mountains nestled around her home, she seemed young and fragile, vulnerable.
Abd-Al-Aziz almost pitied her.
“Excellent!” Aziz lavished her with praise. “You have harnessed the power well. This is your greatest weapon; you must never forget. Above all else, the sons of Adam are ruled by their emotions. Guide and direct their feelings, and gain mastery over whom you will.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she answered dutifully. “When am I to face my adversary?”
“Soon, niece, very soon,” Aziz assured. “Guard yourself diligently. Prince Sevdalja may wield great power - as does his father, Suleiman the Magnificent. As you seek influence over him, Almirah, princess, beware! Prince Sevdalja is cunning as the wolf! And what does the wolf do, my niece?”
“He circles stealthily, flanking his opponent and ambushing unsuspecting prey, Uncle.”
“You have spoken well. Now heed my warnings, child, and fulfill your destiny.”
He softened, holding his arms open to embrace her.
“I love you as my own child, Amelle. Never forget that.”
Abd-Al-Aziz kissed the top of her head.
“Now go and oversee your packing. We descend the mountain, entering this new Renaissance when the weather breaks.”
Carrying herself with a stately bearing worthy of the princess she was, Asrar Amelle paused, turning almost imperceptibly.
“Uncle,” she addressed quietly, “What of my eyes?”
* * *
Renaissance was steeped in pageantry, not its usual state, but with Prince Sevdalja's arrival, the settlers sought to impress the man likely to become their ruler. Rumor abounded that his father, Suleiman, neared the end of this life's journey.
Abd-Al-Aziz inspected the rented apartments.
“These will suffice,” he consented, signaling one servant to remit the necessary coin, and the others to begin hauling in the trunks.
Aziz wandered into the walled courtyard, alive with spring's blossoms so far below the mountains. Images of Atiya and Sayid rose in his mind, the assaulting memories haunting him.
That fateful day.
Sayid and Atiya had willingly given themselves into Suleiman's power to save their daughter.
* * *
The reception line dragged on, each province's minister eager to enamor the Prince and gain favor. Abd-Al-Aziz readied to play the piece his lord's sacrifice had saved those many years ago.
Gain the Prince's heart and by doing so, the Persian Empire, loosing the seventy Djinn Suleiman imprisoned unjustly.
It was by wielding the power of the Djinn that Suleiman had forged his vast empire; with a child of the Djinn on the throne, perhaps the tribes would at last unite, ending centuries of civil war.
But all rested on his student. And her eyes.
Half-human, Amelle was more sensitive, and when inundated with emotion, her eyes took on the otherworldly glow, proclaiming her origins.
Here, it would seal her doom.
Prince Sevdalja bowed politely.
“Noble prince,” Abd-Al-Aziz greeted formally. “Allow me to present Princess Asrar Amelle.” The breath left his body in a rush, terror and defeat threatening his sanity in an instant.
Amelle lifted her gaze to meet Prince Sevdalja's mahogany stare, a strange energy thrumming through the air, unnoticed by the humans surrounding them. Aziz, however, was not human.
“Welcome, Daughter of the Djinn,” Prince Sevdalja whispered near her ear, bending to kiss her cheek in custom. “I've been expecting you.”
Asrar Amelle's amber eyes flashed in awareness, a rare golden display before she buried her emotions.
Both the short story's are copyrighted by
Please do not copy without the written consent of the author!
Here are some links to Nadja's work...She Is a author trying to live off of her writing so feel free to purchase one or all of her works for sale below
The Third Fate
Her Dark Baron
Claiming The Prize
Monday, September 10, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
This paper mache Sky
Though black and white flies
Over abundant in this
This Paper mache sky
I think in different colors
Different shapes and sizes
It is good that in all things life
There are different shades of grey
For you and me
Chris McQueeney 9/9/12 1:23 P.M.
Please go over to The Mag and check out what they have to offer up for contemplation ; there also you will find the image credit.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
How lucky am I
My hands in your Hair
Holding you just so…kissing you
Not willing to let go
The clamoring of the world fades
In your lips I find No need to breathe
So willing to leave the world behind
My hands in your hair
Your lips on mine
Feeling you melt into me
How lucky am I
Chris McQueeney 9/6/12 8:02 P.M.