The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky discussion

Hi Uvi,
I have poem that I wrote for my daughter. I hope you like it.

Sweet dreams, precious moments, and mucho amor
Little footsteps, late nights, and escapades

Sweet little girl, precious young lady, how I enjoyed to see you grow
Little footsteps, transcending into big steps, running through life

Sweet dreams, precious years, and mucho amor
Little footsteps, little time, and I see the years go by

Sweet dreams, precious future, and mucho amor
Little footstep, big steps, walking with you through life

Sweet dreams, precious time, and mucho amor
Little footstep, big steps, and awesome strides

Oh so heartwarming! This has a feel of rocking a crib back and forth, and whispering a lullaby; because even though your daughter is already a young girl, she is forever your baby. The words 'mucho amor' punctuate the poem and add an authentic feel.

Thank you so much for sharing this, Patricia!

Hi Uvi,
I'm glad that you liked it. Yes it has everything to do with my image of her as being forever my baby, I'm amazed that you caught it. I'm glad someone felt it. Thank you. This makes me happy.
Patricia

Oh, I could not miss it!

Uvi your awesome ☺

When my father passed away, I went back home for the traditional Shiva-a, the seven days period of mourning. Perhaps the grief did something to change the way I viewed things, or else it was sitting in that space--my childhood home--in a spot I rarely sat before, discovering it from a new angle, observing how light penetrated the far reaches of this place, how the furniture signified relationships in the family. I drew what I saw on a napkin; wiped my tears with it, and later discarded it.

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/08/se...

Just listen to me, as I bare my soul
Talking to Gabrielle and Nicki-Nicole
No need to put me up on some high pedestal
'Cause here we are, girls: seriously sensual

http://www.blogtalkradio.com/seriousl...

T'was a hot summer evening, Anita laid eyes on Ben
But summer's gone now, and so is their kiss
The only witnesses left are my paper and pen
Let me tell you what happened, from conflicts to bliss

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/08/tw...

I'm waiting to be taken, but now, be forewarned
Don't you dare come near me, or else you'd be scorned--
Unless you delight in contemporary fiction
And enjoy reading a book with detailed scene depiction

If you let me pull you in, deep inside
Until you find yourself there, in my characters' mind
I'll make you burn in hell, ablaze in desire,
I'll let you swirl like smoke, ever higher and higher

I'll bring you down here: Santa Monica, Venice Beach
For a father-son meeting, with a blame and a breach
You'll hear Lenny, Natasha, Anita and Ben
And be tortured by guilt, again and again

Find a path to forgiveness, find a way to come clean
Find the words to explain what exactly you mean
Turn page after page, then fall to your knee
'Cause Apart From Love, no feeling is free

Free Aug. 31-Sep. 2 on Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Summer's come to a close, the breath of autumn is here
Time for reflection, time for a break
The wind start gusting at this time of year
Listen to my whispers, so you make no mistake--

As golden leaves drift, rustling in the air
Come cuddle with me, open my cover
Apart From Love, there's not a moment to spare
Leaf through my story, it's for you to discover

Free Aug. 31-Sep. 2
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Bring me along, when you celebrate Labor Day
I'm free--Apart From Love... I'm your prize
It's your chance to imagine, to let me play
A story of passion before your eyes

Take a deep breath and take me outdoors
Watch the leaves falling, never mind autumn blues
If you touch me, I'll be all yours
My pages will rustle, and awaken your muse.

Free Aug. 31-Sep. 2
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Bring me along, when you celebrate Labor Day
I'm free--Apart From Love... I'm your prize
It's your chance to imagine, to let me play
A story of passion before your eyes

Take a deep breath and take me outdoors
Watch the leaves falling, never mind autumn blues
If you touch me, I'll be all yours
My pages will rustle, and awaken your muse.

Free Aug. 31-Sep. 2
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Let me give you the dearest gift that I can
Do not refuse me, for my story began
With passion at heart, guilt down at the gut
And sentences that I weave, then turn and cut
Now I give them to you. It's my very last plea
Hold my book in your hand, it is yours, it is free!

Last day free!
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

You are my ambassadors; so wherever you are
Please carry my message, near and far
Let the ripple spread north and south
'Cause all I can hope for is your word-of-mouth

So if you you come here--if you find what you like
Please take your finger out the hole in the dike
Let the flood happen, let me float home
Like, tweet and chirp, from LA to Rome

From Tel Aviv to San Diego, from Sydney to Delhi
Don't hesitate, dear friends: go ahead, share me!

★★★★★ Book Review:
Deeply Moving!, September 14, 2012
By Dolores Ayotte
"Home" by Author Uvi Poznansky is a well-written compilation of poetry and prose. She shares some of the works of her father Zeev Kachel as well as her own talent.

This is the second book that I have read and reviewed by this gifted author. It is hard to put into words the emotion one feels after reading her work. There is a great sadness found here...almost sorrowful in its content. Her writing touches my heart to the core as I sense the courage it takes to show such deep feeling and pain. Yes...the release of pain is what I hear in her words. Her artistic gift is the expression of Ms. Poznansky's experiences. Perhaps, she is vicariously living and writing through the eyes of her father and touching our lives with her unmistakeable ability to share her feelings as well as her dearly departed father's innermost self with her readers...

To read more, click the link:
http://www.amazon.com/review/R1HJGPOP...

When first I spot it, all seems still
But in my heart--a sudden thrill
The cables sing with a raspy sound
And into place I am now bound

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/th...

My father Zeev Kachel, an author, poet and artist, knew many languages, and he knew them because of the trials and tribulations of his history. Born in Russia, he knew Russian, Polish, Yiddish and Hebrew from early childhood. French, German and Spanish came later: he left home at seventeen, moved to France for his studies, and upon the German invasion he was imprisoned. He escaped the camp, and climbed a foot trail over the Pyrenees mountains, which...

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/my...

Shimmering luster, let me try, let me reach you
Layers beyond layers of red, all aglow
With trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissue
It comes down upon me, folding high into low

I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,
Entangled in fabric, I can no longer flee
Can't breath, for now I can see the strange fusion
Now I know: this tissue is me

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/01/wh...

Here is an excerpt from the Editorial Notes in Apart From Love

"In all, seven notebooks were discovered, one in a secret desk drawer, the rest in one pile, under a heap of sheet music that laid on the floor, in the corner of the living room, under a marble bust of Beethoven.
The notebooks were of different bindings, shapes and sizes, and contained written or typed blurbs of text, which appeared so tight and so dense as to make reading practically impossible.
To decode their meaning I had to look at them through a magnifying glass, and then, with a fine brush, mark tiny white dots between the letters, in places where I figured that spaces should have occurred.
In several cases, the pages were clearly out of order. It took me the better part of a month to set them in place; more precisely, in what I assumed to be the right place. As the author would say: it seemed as if someone had cast the notebook up in the air, and let the pages fall as they may, descending like parachutes behind enemy lines."

When I was a little girl, my father kept an on-going diary in which he jotted down his conversations with me. It was written almost like a play, centered on the dialog between us. Six years ago, when I came back to my childhood home to mourn him (during the Shiv-aa, the seven days period after his passing) I unearthed many of his long lost documents, and among them--the diary.

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/09/th...

"The last thing I want to see is his face, when he comes home to realize that—poof!—the grand piano is gone. Vanished! My father is known to have an eccentric attachment to things, especially to that old, massive, ornately decorated, polished white beast. Why, you may ask? I have wondered about it, too, and can offer only this: it brings back to him a certain presence, the presence of mom, playing. So perhaps for him, it is a remnant of love: namely, guilt.
By the time I turned sixteen, mom had developed an unexplained fear, a fear of getting lost, which was quite pronounced, even as she headed out for a short walk, such as to the grocery store on Wilshire Boulevard, not more than a couple of blocks away. She seemed to rely, with an increasing sense of anxiety, on the familiar, and would become ferociously shaken if a chair was accidentally moved out of position. We all knew that the instrument—which was only hers, because I had stopped playing by then—was sacred. It was not to be touched.
And so, too, was she."

Ben, in Apart From Love

Shimmering luster, let me try, let me reach you
Layers beyond layers of red, all aglow
With trembling fingers I touch... Flimsy tissue
It comes down upon me, folding high into low

I dance with abandon, with no inhibition,
Entangled in fabric, I can no longer flee
Can't breath, for now I can see the strange fusion
Now I know: this tissue is me

To read more about the cover image of Apart From Love, which is inspired by my art, click here:
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/01/wh...

"Back home after the funeral I cannot find a moment alone. The place is buzzing with neighbors and distant relatives, including my three aunts, each of whom has eyebrows painted in, in place of the real ones. At first they talk in low voices, afraid, perhaps, that grandma might hear what they say, or come out to scold them for their manners. They bend over me and pinch my cheeks so hard that instantly, I forget all about the pain in my foot inside the bandages.
So I am forced to hide from attention. I stand there, very quietly, in the corner behind the tank, and feed the new fish, which dad got for me earlier that morning; just a smidgen between the fingers, like he told me... And then maybe one more smidgen, or two, because I hate learning lessons, and because I am bored and lonely here, in this crowd, and also because of the fish, because they look so hungry for these little specks. You can see them flocking up in a big haste, competing to reach the surface."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

As you already know, the launch event of my book Home is in progress between now and Oct. 10. As part of the activities in the event, I have announced a writing contest.

We have 22 entries, all describing the meaning of Home with various shades of emotion, in poem and prose. Please give a big hand to all the participants, for sharing their memories, imagination and talent!

And now, you are invited to stop by the poll and vote (one vote per person) for your favorite entry. On Oct. 10, by the end of the launch event, the winners of will be announced.

http://uviart.blogspot.com/p/contest....

"I imagine him coming back home, later this evening, and taking a step back—away from the mat—to make certain he has unlocked the right door.
He would call, “Anyone home?” and an echo, a crisp echo would rattle the air, as if to announce an unusual depth, an emptiness.
He would then raise the key to his eyes, staring incredulously at it. It must be the right one, or else the lock would have jammed—but even so, the old man would check it again carefully, as if some bend, some scuff on the metal might, perhaps, explain the wrong turn of things.
He would rub his eyes, amazed to discover Beethoven's bust planted down there, in the dust, on the floor, its eyes frozen in dumb confusion. Discarded. No longer perched on top, it seems to have shrunk—or else the space has, somehow, ballooned around it.
The marble head seems cropped by a beam of light on one side, and a pile of music notebooks on the other. The sculpted shoulders lean against streaks of peeling wallpaper, blackened streaks that have previously gone unnoticed, crumbling away in the shadows, behind the bulk of the piano, which is now missing.
I cannot begin to guess what my father would say, if he would say anything at all, I mean, before he starts shouting."
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Then he says, “She still walks on both feet, still looks the same, more or less. To a stranger, Natasha still looks as if nothing at all is wrong with her. The shell, so to speak, is intact. You are young, son, and may laugh at what I say, but to me she is beautiful. Pure. As if only a few days have passed since I first laid eyes on her. But on each visit I see changes. Each time, her mind disappears a little bit more.”
“Dad, you still didn’t give me an answer.”
“Do I miss her? No, son,” he says, and takes a long, painful pause. “Not all the time.”
“Was it difficult for you, bringing her here?”
“For several weeks, I had dreaded what she would say. That morning I got up from bed, and found her talking to the mirror. I said, This is a special day, Natasha! Let’s go out for breakfast. And pointing straight ahead, at the glass, she said, OK, and what about her, is she coming, too? And I said, No, not today. Just you and me. Oh, she said, OK. And to her reflection she said, Goodbye. And so we came here.”
“Again, dad: you still didn’t give me an answer.”
“Was it difficult to bring her? No,” he says. “The difficult part was to leave her behind, and go home, and find myself lonely, lonely and empty and, at long last, free. I stood there, on the threshold, without her, not knowing what to do with my hands.”

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

‎"Then he says to his son, You should go, because this place can’t hold the two of us for much longer, and because a young fellow like you must be hungry for adventure, and eager to see the world, and the last thing you want is to remain here, stuck in this stuffy place, with a grumpy old man, so here’s some money, it should be more than enough—if spent modestly—for travel expenses, and stay in touch, and good luck with everything.
And Ben tries to say No, quite to the contrary, there’s much more space now than there ever was, with the grand piano cleared out of the way, just look at Anita over there, stretching her arms and doing quick twirls, all across the room.
At hearing all that, Lenny just clenches his jaw—but he don’t even grumble or nothing, and I bet he’s holding his tongue just to drive home the point, like, how calm he manages to be, and how there isn’t no sign of anger in him, or nothing.
All the same Ben seems to know that he’s being punished. So without even glancing at me—like I’m the one to be blamed for all this—he bites his lip and goes into his room, where he can’t help kicking the wall once or twice, after which he comes out to the kitchen, and kicks the refrigerator and then opens it, to look for an ice pack."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-Love-Uvi-...

"Before I can move, I can sniff trouble. Here it is, the smell of bread baking.
Tinged with vanilla and honey, the scent has come in, perhaps sneaking around the door, finding its way through a crack, or puffing through the keyhole. It is forming, even now, into a channel, an invisible channel floating somehow in midair, right above me, swelling up there as if it were an extension of my nostrils.
By now, my stomach is growling, so I have no choice. Up, up and away flies the pillow, off come the blankets! I walk out of my room—hair uncombed, chin unshaven—and find myself waking up to hunger. Or at least, to an undeniable craving.
Framed by the kitchen door, standing there with her back to me, she cranks open the oven. Fume comes out of its gaping mouth, inside which lay two freshly baked loaves, shining with the gloss of egg wash, and sprinkled generously with crispy, toasted sesame seeds.
With a large oven mitt, this woman—my father’s new wife—puts her hand inside, and takes hold of the baking pan. I can hear a slight sizzle. Now her thighs tighten. One foot is rising behind the other as she pivots, bringing the loaves right under my nose."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Apart From Love is not for everybody. Let me quote from the numerous reviews on Amazon, whenever they talk about the type of readers that would appreciate the story:

"I did enjoy this book and thought it made both sad and amusing reading and I laughed and cried while I was reading it. I thought the passages about Natasha and her illness were very well done. I would recommend this book to anyone who would like to read something a little bit different from the normal run of fiction." [By Damaskcat]

"Highly recommended, especially for those whose tastes lean toward innovative literary fiction." [By Marcia Quinn Noren]

"This novel was a true pleasure to read and I recommend it to anyone that loves a compelling story of family struggles and affairs of the heart." [By Ashley Fontainne "Ashley"]

"Apart from Love has a feel of modern art, inviting readers in to enjoy, explore and eventually wrap themselves in the mystery of lives and loves drawn together and thrown apart. An intriguing tale, it's not an easy read but it's certainly an involving one that doesn't necessarily go where the reader expects." [By S. Deeth "Sheila Deeth"]

"Reading this novel is like gawking at a tragic crime scene; you know you are intruding into something way too personal, but you NEED to know all the details--who was hurt and how, who was the guilty party, and most importantly how do I avoid this?" [By Melodie K. Starkey]


This and a lot more can be found here:
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

"I bet that like me, he remembers that night, the first time we danced, ‘cause now that the tape recorder has finished giving out the long, rustling hush, and the music comes on, it’s the old song, doubled by a ghost of its sound: something slow from the sixties, which years ago used to bring tears to ma’s eyes, ‘cause like, it awakened her to being lonely, and now it brings them to mine.
Lenny cups my face in his hand and pecks me lightly on the cheek. Then he starts showering me with the littlest kisses, all along the trail of tears, his mouth slipping down the skin of my neck. And I laugh—not only on account of being ticklish, but because suddenly I’m aroused, and even a touch nervous. And I say, “Let’s just dance,” which is echoed, like, by the laughter of the walls.
So Lenny backs away and I come, and then in reverse, he comes as I back away, and we go and come, come and go this way for a long while—but we don’t hardly move from the same spot, here by the sofa, even though there’s so much space now around us, for dancing and what not."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

I am so grateful that a long excerpt from my novel, Apart From Love--nearly a full chapter--comes to a boil today, in the caldron of FrontRowLit. Are you curious? Would you like to taste it? Here, take a sip, but careful--it's hot!
http://frontrowlit.com/?p=3857

I am so grateful that a long excerpt from my novel, Apart From Love--nearly a full chapter--comes to a boil today, in the caldron of FrontRowLit. Are you curious? Would you like to taste it? Here, take a sip, but careful--it's steaming hot! Here is how it starts:

"At night I lay there, wide awake, annoyed by my misfortune, having to listen to the creaking of their bed. I cannot help thinking, Oh no, not again; not like last night!

Well, what do you expect? The walls are so thin here, in this apartment building, that you can easily hear snores and sighs—not only of the old man, but also of the next door neighbors. The pipes are gurgling inside the walls. And if not for the wind outside my window, which is sucking the blinds in, sucking them out, you could probably hear what some kid—out there, in the next building down the street—mumbles in his dream..."

To read more click the link: http://frontrowlit.com/?p=3857

A fin, a flap, a froth of waves
The breaker rises, then it caves
The boat will sink and so will I
No one around to hear my cry
Food flakes afloat, the flick of tails
I pray for wind to fill my sails
I pray that I may stay the course
And ride the wave, or maybe force
My way deep down under the tide
So I may flee, so I may hide
In Jaffa bay, or in Tarshish
And not be swallowed by a fish

To read more, click the link
http://uviart.blogspot.com/2012/11/a-...

Hi Uvi,

I have a good question for you: How have you dealt with a writer's block?

Nice to meet you too! *shake hands*

Hi Livia! *shake hands*

The only way for me to deal with writer's block is to write through it. Write anything: even ABOUT thrashing through writer's block... That actually makes for an entertaining story...

Are you in the midst of one? How do you deal with it?

Hi Uvi,

Yes, I'm going through a writer's block right now and that's why I asked. I haven't written anything at all but I've blogged through it. Blogging is fun. I really wanna get back to actual writing.

I don't know how I deal with it YET. It's been my first time I've gone through it.

Thanks for the advice! :)

Livia wrote: "Yes, I'm going through a writer's block right now."

Wishing you the best with your writing. Another way is to choose one of your blog posts, the one you had the most fun with, and expand it--flesh it out more fully in the craziest ways possible. This is good because you have already started it, AND it already started 'flowing' in your mind, so the page is not empty and it does not scare away the words.

Let me know if this is working for you... Would love it if you posted an excerpt here when the dam is broken and the sentences start flowing with no way to stop them!

Join me in celebration of the bonds we have with our parents, bonds that at times are stretched to the limit through life challenges, which I describe in my books: my novel Apart From Love and my poetry book Home. With this theme in mind I invite you to take part in a variety of fun-filled activities leading up to the Thanksgiving weekend.
http://www.facebook.com/events/299302...

“After a while I whispered, like, Just say something to me. Anything. And I thought, Any other word apart from Love, ’cause that word is diluted, and no one knows what it really means, anyway.”

I am thrilled that this excerpt and others, along with my interview appear in the "Hottest Book Club on the Street"--namely, the DJ GATSBY BOOK CLUB.

http://djgatsbybookclub.wordpress.com...

★★★★★ Bookreview: A novel to be savored
By Juliet Parnell - See all my reviews
Amazon Verified Purchase(What's this?)
Liberally salted with buttery smooth prose and fascinating insights as to the mindset of a dysfunctional family, Uvi Pozansky's Apart From Love chronicles Ben, Anita and Lenny's struggle with their desires, hopes and dreams as they clash with decency, moral values, and tragic secrets unveiled. Pozansky vividly illustrates the cracks in the fragile relationship between these characters. So much so, I felt was inside their heads speaking and acting for them. Seldom has a book gripped my imagination as Apart From Love did.

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

At first my father seemed relaxed enough to tell me—at more length than usual—about my grandfather, whom I never met, because he had died long before I was born. I got a distinct sense that dad was, somehow, still afraid of the old man, who had pressed him hard to achieve that which he himself had failed to become: a lawyer.
“So,” I asked, “what did you do?”
A brief laughter erupted on his lips. “I told him that I had registered at the university, and would be majoring in Law, just as he had always wished—but somehow I neglected to mention that the closest I ever came to registering was flipping through an outdated course catalog, while sitting on the toilet, and dreaming about something else.”
“And,” I hesitated to ask, “did he ever find out?”
“Well,” said my father, and in a flash, his face turned red, “if it occurred to the old man that this might have been a nasty lie, he admirably concealed it.”
I listen to his voice, which is still here, echoing in my head, and all of a sudden I grasp that he grew embarrassed not only because of his obligation to his father—but to me as well. Perhaps a sudden sense of shame caught up to him, shame for falling short of becoming an acceptable role model. Or else he had a premonition—a fear, even—of how I would treat him, not too far in what was then the future.
Which makes me realize one thing: up to a certain point, I wanted to become a man just like my father. And from then on, I wanted to be anything but. Which made me spend a whole decade in diametrical opposition to him, so that I wound up living a life based directly on his, as though I had never left home.

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

"My little one would gurgle and coo right here, in my arms. I would be brushing my lips over his scalp—ever so gentle—careful not to touch nowhere close to the tender spot, right there at the top. I could almost feel the fine fuzz of his hair, real soft, tickling my cheek.
In my head I could kiss, I could almost swallow his tiny fingers. They would wrap around my finger, their nails so pink, so incredibly clear. And the little hands, they would stroke my hair or like, search for my breast.

Then I would touch the nipple to my baby’s lips, and watch him latch on and like, suck, suck, swallow, breathe; suck, suck, swallow, breathe.
All the while his eyes would be fixed on me, curious to see, to separate my face out of that blurry chaos, that first, misty sight of lights and of shadows. And so I promised myself: I would give him that which I never got. I would become such a good mama, like no mama ever was! I would keep him safe right here, close to my heart."
http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Please retweet:

"He has undone the buttons of my blouse, he loosens it this way and that, and then, in one firm pull it’s already down"
http://tinyurl.com/apartfromlove

‎"I can just see him in my head, like, holding the baby’s hand, guiding him already in his first steps. Then, letting go, he’s gonna take a step or two back, and hold his breath, waiting there for the little one to walk into his open arms.
Lenny’s gonna buy him a brand new tricycle, and teach him how to set his little feet on top of them pedals, and push, push harder, even harder—yeah! Just so! And again: Go on, push, until—oh boy! With great joy, he’s gonna clap his hands, because here—for the first time—you could detect a move, a slight move ahead.
And then, a few years down the road, he’s gonna surprise our child with a large, shining bicycle, and adjust the training wheels as time goes by, until they wasn’t needed no more; at which point, Lenny would remove them, and hold them in his hands, like, to weigh them for a moment, and try to wipe the rust, and wish that time would like, slow down, just a little, because it’s hard, so hard for the old heart to let go.
Yes, Lenny needs a son: someone to need him, trust him, and make him trust himself again."

http://www.amazon.com/Apart-From-Love...

Am I a leaf about to drift
About to fly away, to chance
The cold, the heat, the drop, the lift
Upon the wing of wind, to dance?
Or else, nestled in this tree
Am I to stay, and thus be free?
Here I am, Apart From Love
Flying Home just like a dove

This is now, just for Thanksgiving
Take my gifts of love, forgiving
Take them Home and I will sweep you
To a different place, a different view
Of how our bonds do make us free
Apart From Love we cannot be

(⁀‵⁀) ✫ ✫ ✫.
`⋎´✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•✫ *´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
..✫¸.•°*”˜˜”*°•.✫ (¸.•´ (¸.•`
☻/ღ˚ •。* ˚ ˚✰˚ ˛

http://tinyurl.com/home-ebook
http://tinyurl.com/apartfromlove-e
http://tinyurl.com/my-book-links

To those of you who have no Kindle: No Kindle? No Problem! Get a FREE Kindle app for your computer from Amazon.)
http://tinyurl.com/amazon-kindle-app-...
Then go here: http://tinyurl.com/my-book-links to get the Kindle edition of Home and Apart From Love.
♥ Uvi

*´¨)¸.•´¸.•*´¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•`

I'm waiting to be taken, but now, be forewarned
Don't you dare come near me, or else you'd be scorned--
Unless you delight in contemporary fiction
And enjoy reading a book with detailed scene depiction

If you let me pull you in, deep inside
Until you find yourself there, in my characters' mind
I'll make you burn in hell, ablaze in desire,
I'll let you swirl like smoke, ever higher and higher

I'll bring you down here: Santa Monica, Venice Beach
For a father-son meeting, with a blame and a breach
You'll hear Lenny, Natasha, Anita and Ben
And be tortured by guilt, again and again

Find a path to forgiveness, find a way to come clean
Find the words to explain what exactly you mean
Turn page after page, then fall to your knee
'Cause Apart From Love, no feeling is free

Woke up to a nice surprise: my interview on Digital Books Today is up! Asked to describe what I see when I look at my desk, I said, "Since I am an artist, poet and writer, the best way to show you the surface is my painting. As a creator, I see myself this way: I paint with a pen, write with a paintbrush. My art strives to tell a story, and my stories strive to bring you into the scene being painted, letting you sense everything my characters touch, see, or hear."

To read this interview, click the link:
http://digitalbooktoday.com/2012/11/1...

By getting Apart From Love, you brought it up to #3 in the Family Saga Amazon category!