Excerpt: A Praise of Motherhood

MORE DETAILS on the author and book - see post 6 August 2012 below

It was Veterans Day; the Pope spoke into a microphone so the thousands around him could hear his weary voice. And in the airport lounge my sister and I waited for our flight to take off, trying not to listen to the televised broadcast of the Pope’s solemn speech. I held my sister’s hand and heard her say fuck for the first time.
“fuck, do you think she’s going to be okay”
and I said “I don’t know”
and she said “but why aren’t they telling us what’s going on”
“I don’t know”
“I don’t want mom to die”
“I know”
“I’m so scared”
“I know”
and the Pope went on, speaking of the dead, the men whose lives had been lost in a terrible war, and he praised them, their families, for the courage they’d shown. He spoke of Christ, but not much. Sometimes he closed his eyes and paused. From the airport lounge, sitting in front of the television screens, I had to rely on the cameras for a sense of what being there was like. Safe and comfortable and mourning out of patriotic or humanistic duty, in a spirit of contemplation. The Pope did not know that my mother was dying in a little hospital in Portugal. Neither did the lady who announced, on the intercom at the airport, that out of respect for the men who had lost their lives during the war however many decades ago now, we were all invited to stand for two minutes of silence. Everyone else in the lounge stood up, but my sister and I remained in our seats and hugged each other.
As far as I knew, my mother was dying or dead, a small, tanned Portuguese woman with curly dark hair and two dogs, two kids, a lovely loving wonderful lady, all of that sob-story stuff. It turned out that when we were waiting for our flight, she was still alive. She would only die in the evening, after the Pope was done speaking and everyone was having dinner and no longer thinking about the veterans. But nobody had warned me. Nobody had warned anyone. Everybody was on the way to Portugal, my uncle, my grandfather, me and my sister, all of us trying to protect someone. They didn’t tell me what had happened until I arrived in Portugal. I didn’t tell my sister everything I knew, which was next to nothing, because I wanted to think I could protect her. I spoke to my father on the phone and he was in tears: “I will be there when you land,” he said,
and I said:
“but why, what’s going on”
“I’m not sure, I’m not sure, but if I were you… oh, Jesus, if I were you I would brace myself for the worst”
And he broke into tears and hung up. They had been separated fifteen years.
On the plane my sister and I spoke little. I told her it’d be okay. I told her even if the worst happened, I’d be around for her. You’re my little sister. Tell me about Denver. How are classes going? She gave short, bored answers, and she asked me about my life. I told her I’d been about to take the train to Paris from London with a friend when I found out something was wrong with our mom.
“but what’s wrong with her” my sister said
“I don’t know”
“why don’t they just tell us”
“because they’re trying to keep us sane”
“how can I be sane when my mom is dying all of a sudden”
“I really don’t know”
When we arrived in Portugal, and I saw my family standing together waiting for us — my grandparents, my father, my aunt — I knew at once there was no hope.

Hosting an Author on Blog Tour: Phil Jourdan

I am taking part in my first blog tour and I am excited to not only learn about an online tour, but enjoy reading a different kind of genre altogether. Join me on this journey this week.

I am reading The Praise of Motherhood, by Phil Jourdan - the book on the tour this week.

This is my first Memoir of this kind, and so far it is not what I had expected to find. Although I am still reading it, it is a book that I can only describe as an open and brutally honest retelling of a relationship that most of us find difficult to define on the best of days.

The author's relationship with his mother appears to be distant, but the feelings he relates when he hears about her illness and the way the family deals with explaining it to him and his sister, tells you that there is more to this relationship than what it appears to be.

Visit the website to take part in competitions to win prizes that include a copy of the book.

You are welcome to leave any comments here - about the book, the author or the tour.

Author Interviews...Loads of Fun!

There are just five more days in July, and five more days that I will be hosting an interview with Michael Lorde, an author I met online in a Facebook writer's group. Initially I was a bit sceptical (sorry, Michael :-)) about the concept of interviews of other authors on my blog. Now I have been converted.

And its not some lightning strike from above that changed my mind, quite the contrary. Pure human nature, happened.

Another online friend - and his interview is already scheduled for September - suggested that I interview a best selling woman writer of thrillers. It gave me the opportunity to ask questions that are not exactly the usual - tell-me-about-your-book type questions. And besides being kind enough to answer my questions, her sense of humour made the interview worth reading again.

So why will I find more authors to interview on my blog? Because I get to ask funny and weird questions, and I get to meet plenty more people who love books, almost as much as I do, no doubt ;-)

Make a knot in your ear and visit my Interview with... segment in August - you might be pleasantly surprised.

Interrogation of Linzé Brandon - Part 3

(Concluding interview with Prime Suspect in the Case of the Novelist) 

Date 3.14.C

The detective sat back in her chair and planted her boots on the table.

"So how do you come up with your characters?"

I shrugged. "It is not always easy. Most of the time the story just pops into my head and the characters are born as part of the story. I cannot separate the plot from the people in the story, they are each the product of the other."

She planted her feet on the floor and stared at me. "Do you like boots?"

"I do. Why?"

Her lips quirked. "No reason."

"So what else to you like?"

"Aside from writing, of course, I love reading romance novels, and amateur sleuth murder mysteries."

"Your favourite authors?"

I pursed my lips. There were many, but she probably only wanted the shortlist. "Okay, Here goes. Gena Showalter, Maya Banks, Kerrelyn Sparks, Portia da Costa, Lynn Viehl, Christine Warren, Karen Marie Moning, Maggie Sefton, Alexandra Ivy, Jacquelyn Frank, Elizabeth Lynn Casey, Allyson James..."

"That's quite a mix," she interrupted.

"There are many more. I buy all their books and simply love their stories. What can I say?"

"Any other pursuits?"

"Aside from work, which does take up a lot of pleasure time, I paint abstracts, and I am busy learning Chinese brush painting. I looks so simple, but I still have a long way to go before I would consider myself proficient."

She pushed herself to her feet, and collected the tablet from the table. "You're a hopeless romantic." She paused in turning away. "It is probably one of the reasons that people like your book." She smirked and opened the door. "Get out and go write some more stories about people who fall in love."

I was a little surprised, okay, a lot surprised at the dismissal, but then Jessica Stone was not a character that was easily predictable.

"Goodbye, detective."

She waved a hand and disappeared.

All things considering I got off lightly, I was not about to throw that away. It took me a minute to leave the headquarters of the police of Sunn City.

Interrogation of Linzé Brandon - Part 2

(Continue interview with Prime Suspect in the Case of the Novelist) 

Date 3.14.B

“Was it Géra’s Gift?’

I had to smile. “Yes and no. My first stories could probably be considered novellas, but Géra’s Gift is definitely the first full length novel that I wrote.”

“He is a bit young for you, don’t you think? Sure he is gorgeous, smart and ...”

“Are you nuts? Géra Ville is a character in the book. Yes, he is young, but it is his story. I just wrote it.”

Jessica waved her hand. “And the title?”

I shrugged. “It changed a few times. The final title - Géra’s Gift - just felt right, so it stayed.”

She nodded. “So what is this gift?”

I waved a finger at her. “Oh no, not answering that.”

She arched an eyebrow, but did not reply to that. Instead she looked down at the tablet and then back to me. “What is a Grandmaster?”

I organised my thoughts for a few moments before replying. “The Grandmaster is the leader of the magician’s order. The book introduces the Nations of Peace to the reader. Each nation that has magicians and an order, has a Grandmaster that leads them. He or she is not a leader of the nation, for that they have presidents and kings like we do. You know, elected officials or successors to a throne by some predetermined bloodline or something.

The Grandmaster is usually a warrior magician, but not always. In one of the books in the series the Grandmaster is a scholar, not a warrior.”

The eyebrow again. “So there is a series?”

I nodded. “Yes. The series has five sub-series within it: The Grandmasters, The Dragon Masters, The Future Masters, The Strike Masters and The Council of High Lords. The next book, that I am busy doing final editing on, is the first of the Dragon Masters, its called Keeper of the Dragon Sword. And if all goes to plan, it will be released by the end of the year or very early next year.”

“The High Lords, why not some Masters thing again?”

I shrugged. “The High Lords don’t feel like Masters. They don’t need or become Masters like the other books. They are the High Lords, they are who they are. The High Lords also tend to lean more towards the erotica genre, although I wouldn’t call it that exactly.”

She consulted her tablet again. “So the sub-series do not follow one series at a time?”

“No, although it might have started that way, it didn’t turn out that way. The books each stand on its own two feet, but if you want to follow the story in the ‘bigger picture’ so to speak, you have to read them in the order that they are published.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then held up her arm showing me her AI screen. “Any more stories like mine?”

Now I laughed. “No, you are completely unique.”

(Interrogation to be concluded next week)