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Tuesday, 31 March 2015

WICKED WITCH CAST A SPELL
ON THE ONLY BATHROOM STALL
AT THE SALEM MALL

gosh golly gee
it must be me
cause the whole
darn world is frantic,
dying for a pee

that must be cause
URINATE
doth rhyme with
PROCRASTINATE
which basically means
that after a while
YOU JUST CAN'T WAIT

oh it does
me heart good
to see the crowd
that howled
for me blood
forget all about it
and scream
for a standing spot
or a cracked pot
in which to pee...

(tis wicked i know
for me to gloat
and get such pleasure
from communal
bladder bloat)


Manuela Cardiga

Monday, 30 March 2015

BRILLIANT REVIEW for "LONESOME ME" by Oyez Olatunde Rex! Highly Recommended!

* * * *
Raw and elemental life - growing up the hard way

By Ian Mathieon March 22, 2015

Format: Kindle Edition

Being written in African vernacular English gives Lonesome Me a charm of its own and makes it an interesting read once you get tuned in to the author's voice.
Rea's description of his dysfunctional family and his resultant straying into incipient criminality is as amusing as it is alarming, and the reader feels almost obliged to share his bereavement when his aberrant parents some to a sticky end and he is left all alone in the world. It was interesting to see that, like teenagers the world over, he rebelled against against the kindly influences which set out to help him conform and find a place in the world, until recognition of their value finally came from an unexpected source, and he began to grow up. Other parents might so easily have given up on him, but the saintly Sister Monica, having committed herself to his future, never failed despite numerous disappointments, and offers an interesting counterpoint to his erratic behaviour.
A literary masterpice this isn't, but it is a good read, as the author is a consummate story teller. He weaves an intricate net of detail and emotions into his tale, which brings it vibrantly to life and shows life in a Nigerian city environment in its most raw and honest state. I shall look forward to seeing how this writer develops in future years, and expect good things from him.


STEAK AU POIVRE

I'm a card-carrying
Carnivore
But that don't mean
I likes my meat raw;
I likes it well done,
Kinda like charcoal,
Cause if you gets bored
With the company
You always can draw
On the wall.


Manuela Cardiga
DADDY'S GIRLS IV
BEG FOR ENCORE
for Janet


Oh my dear
that astonished pain
(surprising because expected)
will fade; what replaces it
is the constant
of an emptiness;
a silence louder
than any blessing.

Amputees know this;
the tickling humming
drain from the brain
that demands
they scratch
at the invisible
presence.

Or like an inadequate poet
left dangling wordless
at the end
of a sentence.


Manuela Cardiga

Saturday, 28 March 2015

VICTORIAN LACE CUFFS

Work, girl,
Work, girl
Says the man
With the whip,
Work harder
Don't give me no lip

So I work,
I work
I work on that tip;
I carry the coal sack,
Ladle the shit,
Soak them ashes
In the urine pit.

Later the Lady
With the ivory skin
Pulls back her skirts
Flares her nostrils
And squirms:
"Really! How can
The poor expect
To get a-head
If they cannot
Keep clean?"

I nod and prod
A coal to life
And she sniffs
At the lavender
Tucked in her cuff.

MC

DESIRE'S DETECTIVE CLIMBS THE CHARTS!

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #82,431 in Books 

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THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

PLEASE HELP US GET INTO THE TOP 30.000!

EXCERPT:

In the gloom of the armory the blades flashed like lightning: again and again the Master moved to strike and parry, and found his every move blocked.

The metallic striking and screeching of the blades against each other, the hoarse gasps and sharply indrawn breaths as the two adversaries sparred were the only sounds in the huge empty space.

Astounded, Noelle, watched as a swordsman in a mesh-metal face-guard fought D’Artagnan; the great D’Artagnan III to a standstill. With a laugh and a lunge, the mysterious man struck the Master’s foil from his hand.

“Darling!” D’Artagnan affected tones belied the steel glint in his eyes and the tell-tale warrior’s spring in his step, “You RUINED my favorite lace cuffs!”

The swordsman laughed and tossed his mask aside gracefully. “You let me win, you bloody pansy.” Noelle gasped! It was Jean d’Orleans. The King’s brother!

At the sound both men turned and looked at her. Noelle stepped forward and curtseyed gravely.
“Gentlemen.”

“Why! It is the beauteous Noelle!” D’Artagnan smiled with genuine affection.

“My dear Noelle, alone?” Jean d’Orleans peeked around her hopefully, “Where is that pretty little nun?”

“Not well, Sire! Someone struck her unconscious in Francois the Jester’s rooms, which,” she turned to D’Artagnan, “is why I’m here! I need help, it is getting too dangerous, and now my little ward, Desireé, is involved.”

Tres bien,” D’Artagnan twirled his thin elegant moustache and smirked, “From my friend Jean’s preoccupation, I surmise your ward is not so “little”…”

“…which is why I am asking for your help.”

Cher! I’m so sorry! I leave today for Calais! But perhaps..?” He turned to Jean, “My friend here can help you?”

Jean grinned. Ha! The ripe peach would fall from the tree straight into his hand.
“It would be a pleasure to help such lovely Ladies.”

Horrified Noelle realized she could not refuse the King’s brother’s help.
She’d just offered up her lamb to the big bad wolf...


***


Will be Desireé's convent-bred purity be proof against the vaunted skill of France's best "swordsman"?
Will she insist on maintaining her eccentric virginal state in the most debauched Court in the entire world?
Or will she in fact convert the sensuous Rake into a serious man for her love's sake?
Oh-lá-lá...

The plot thickens!
SHORTEST STORY
SHARP AND SWEET OF
BOY MEETS GIRL FROM
THE MEAT-DISTRICT

He lied,
She sighed;
Love died,
She cried.

He lied
To the wrong kind:
He died,
No-one cried.


MC

PS: Modern lust story: Boy meets Girl/ Boy cheats Girl/ Boy meats Cleaver... Or is that way too clever?

Wednesday, 25 March 2015

YAY! REVIEW FOR "DESIRE'S DETECTIVE"!

First review for Desires Detectives by Petula Warrior Woman Winmill.
★★★★
This is short but fun look at the debauched French court of Louis XV .
Someone is murdering the court jesters. The kings guard can´t seem to find the killer so Noelle and her cousin Desiree set about trying to find the culprit.
Noelle is a typical courtesan, but Desiree is a virgin fresh from the convent. How she see the things happening around her is what makes this so funny.
There are some very sexy scenes written so irreverently the will make you laugh. Some will make you say EEEW. They will also make you think. If the court was that bad no wonder the people of France rebelled. Still a royal court must have it´s scandals, they are at the root of so many good books.
I look forward to the next adventure, I just hope it´s a little longer.


Available in print and as an e-book!


The INK-BLOT GUEST SPOT PROUDLY PRESENTS! "How EASTER met DELLA" by Vera Alexander

Easter is a Bunny, a special bunny made of love and fairy dust, and he is destined to belong to one very special child, Della! This is the story of how these two meet and become best of friends and go on to live many wonderful adventures together.

A wonderful gentle story for children from the pen of teacher Vera Alexander- full of delightfully old-style illustrations-  that restores the magic and simplicity of childhood storytelling at its very best.

This is the very first of The Della and Easter Series, so there is lots more to read!







Tuesday, 24 March 2015

If you are enjoying The Chronicles Of a Middle-Aged Vampire, YOU WILL LOVE THIS SEXY FRENCH HISTORICAL WHO-DONE-WHAT-TO-WHO...

DESIRE'S DETECTIVE

FOLLOW LINK AND BUY WITH JUST ONE CLICK..


The authors are not responsible for any side effects occasioned by the consumption of this product such as scalding sexual encounters with unlikely partners at Vivaldi Recitals, unplanned pregnancies, or sudden urges for all things French...

Oh lá lá!



In glamorous Versailles someone is murdering the Jesters...

Feisty Coursesan turned Detective Noelle de Jouissance investigates the crimes and finds herself embroiled in the sex-mad Royal Family’s erotic secrets; her virginal sidekick, Desiree, is being pursued by the King's lecherous brother; the King is out to seduce the Queen and her Mistress, and the only clue to the suspect's identity is a tattoo on his scrotum...

A deliciously raunchy Historical satire: a funny, tongue-in-cheek take on the sexy shenanigans at Louis XV’s notoriously sinful Court.


Excerpt:

The coach sped over the bumps and stones, mercilessly throwing its young passenger back and forth against the velvet cushions. Desireé sighed. She could hardly believe she was leaving her childhood home and refuge behind. The lovely landscape of poverty-stricken rural France unspooled before her eyes. The picturesque villages and cultivated fields; the charming chateaus were a grim contrast to the pinched faces of the bare-foot children.

Desireé knew her life’s true mission was among these people, tending to their needs, nurturing their souls; and not in glittery Versailles, in high-heels and satin. She clasped her delicate hands together and closed her eyes tightly.

“My dear, you must be strong”, the voice of the Mother Superior at St Cyr echoed in her memory. “God calls and we must answer. Do not doubt there will be many thirsty souls at Court: you will be a fount of goodness, a shining light. Perhaps more needed than you could imagine…”

She had been about to enter the Novitiate when the fateful letter had arrived, ordering her to present herself at Court; and place herself in the care of her cousin, Mm. Noelle de Jouissance, her only living relative. Desireé remembered her vaguely, a green-eyed angelic-looking girl seven years her senior. She could hardly believe all her plans for the future, her tranquil life with the Sisters could so easily be overturned by one letter.

The cracking of a whip and a vicious scream of invective from the coachman tore her from her reverie. The coach now trundled between stunning gardens, manicured lawns interrupted by fountains where nude statues reposed in languorous poses, sometimes spouting water from… gasping - Desireé averted her eyes.

Before her, Versailles unfolded in all its splendor; like a fanciful sugar confection cast into stone by a dizzy Fairy-Godmother. The sour-faced coachman threw down her luggage, then leapt down and opened the coach door. Trembling, Desireé alighted and stood riveted, as he drove away. Never had she felt more alone, more abandoned than at that moment, not even as a six-year old orphan.

“Desireé?” A husky voice, with a lilting quality spoke from behind her. Gasping, Desireé turned and found herself facing (had she but known it) the woman who was to be the single most important influence in her future life: a tall figure - lissome, but somehow voluptuous - moved gracefully towards her. She glimpsed glistening emerald eyes, and a lush scarlet mouth, before she found herself enveloped in an intoxicating cloud of jasmine, pressed against firm springy breasts.

“Oh my dear, Sacré Dieu, how you’ve grown!” This, this lush fleshed woman with the full pouting mouth, her rouged nipples peeking over the edge of her scandalously low-cut bodice must be Noelle. Her cousin Noelle! Desireé found herself flushing. How could she stand there, her breasts overflowing, her waist so tightly strapped her hips swelled with obscene ripeness under the farthingales. She found herself fascinated, unable to draw her horrified eyes away from a black velvet patch glued onto Noelle’s left breast, an inch above the crimsoned peak.

“My little Desireé, you are so pretty! We must find you something to wear, you look like a nun.” Desireé found herself being firmly herded through a luxuriously appointed sitting-room, up a narrow staircase, two floors, a long corridor, and into a large but modestly furnished room.

“Here, darling, you will stay here with me.” Noelle sat on a graceful chair and gestured Desireé onto another.

“Tell me about yourself, what can you do? Do you speak English? Italian?” Noelle leaned forward eagerly “Do you sing, or play the clavichord? Perhaps you are talented in other pursuits?” Her cousin was turning out to be quite disturbing in her mannerisms; her pink tongue seemed to lick out her words, “we de Jouissance girls must move up in the world, my dear.”

That evening, dressed in a pale grey silk gown with a very modest décolletage, the work of the St Cyr seamstress, (after refusing point-blank a frothy scarlet voile confection proffered by Noelle as «sensual» that left her shoulders and her small breasts practically nude) she attended her very first Versailles dinner and masked ball.

The people were astonishingly friendly: not at all what she was expecting from the notoriously standoffish aristocracy. The Ladies smiled openly at her, running admiring eyes over her dress and upswept – and un-powdered - hair; the Gentlemen were even more amiable, stopping Noelle to beg for an introduction. Really, these people had a most unsettling habit of licking their lips. It looked very unpleasant, animalistic even. A few of them actually slavered. One elderly Gentleman, overcome by paternal affection, kept planting moist kisses on her hands and wrists, and was shortsightedly moving up her arms when Desireé finally managed to extricate herself from his grasp.

Noelle watched sympathetically as she patted her hands dry on the back of her skirt.

“I hate that, especially on my tits.” Desireé gaped at her cousin in horror. “Oh please! You telling me no-one’s drooled on your boobs?”

“N-No!” she gasped “N-never!” Noelle drew her into one of the doorways and stared at her in horror.

“Desireé, are you a virgin?”

“O-of course!!!”

“Bon Dieu de la Merde! A virgin.” Noelle was dead white, “What am I going to do with a virgin in Versailles?” Her hands trembled as she handed Desireé an egret’s feather mask.

“You sit, you don’t talk to anyone, you don’t go anywhere. After the ball we will talk. Now, I have work to do…”



First review for Desire's Detectives by Petula Warrior Woman Winmill.
★★★★
This is short but fun look at the debauched French court of Louis XV .
Someone is murdering the court jesters. The kings guard can´t seem to find the killer so Noelle and her cousin Desiree set about trying to find the culprit.
Noelle is a typical courtesan, but Desiree is a virgin fresh from the convent. How she see the things happening around her is what makes this so funny.
There are some very sexy scenes written so irreverently the will make you laugh. Some will make you say EEEW. They will also make you think. If the court was that bad no wonder the people of France rebelled. Still a royal court must have it´s scandals, they are at the root of so many good books.

Monday, 23 March 2015

THE INK-BLOT GUEST SPOT PROUDLY PRESENTS: "SWEET SORROW" by Wairimu Mwangi



Title: SWEET SORROW
Author: Wairmu Mwangi
Genre: Women’s Fiction / Romance
Publisher: WDA Publishing

BLURB

Claire and Ida are two beautiful bright young women at odds with tradition and the expectations of their families and communities, fighting for love and to fulfill their ambitions.

But young women are faced with choices at every turn, and one misstep can lead them to their doom...

Can you make the right choice against what is in your heart?
Can you live with the consequences of putting love above what you know is right?

This captivating and unusual love story takes us from Kenya to America and back again,
as Claire and Ida fight for happiness and a future beside the men they love.

The price for a misstep is high, and one of them will pay it; and the ultimate revelation
will either free, or destroy the next generation...


About the author: 

Wairimu Mwangi is a brilliant young Author, well-known in her Native Kenya for her books

directed at young children and adolescents. Wairimu is a Journalist by profession; she
started writing at a very young age encouraged by her Father, and hasn’t stopped since.
She is deeply commited to spreading the love of books and learning through out her community, and is engaged in starting a Foundation promoting AFrican Literature and literacy.


Contact links


EXCERPT
Ida was the only daughter of Mr. Shaaban, who was a shopkeeper at Matunda village, while her mother was a small scale farmer in the same village. She had two elder brothers who lived in Khalama. The elder brother was also a shop keeper, while the younger one was still trying to get a job as a doctor.
She had been brought up in a Christian family and was educated up to secondary school level.One fateful day, when she was in the third grade, she had been sent home by the boarding school management to collect the school-fees balance of the year, and as chance would have it, she had gotten acquainted with Malvis.
She had walked home that day, scuffing her school-shoes through the white dust of the clay road, worrying about the money, inwardly praying for her brother - who was still unemployed - to get a job.
Over her, the green branches of the acacias danced in the breeze, showering down spirals of red blossoms to stain the long bright road ahead. So engrossed in her thoughts was she, that she didn’t realize that she had dropped her school identity-card until a young man, slightly older than her brother, stopped her.
“Hello there! How are you?” he hailed.
“I am fine, thank you,” she replied.
“But to me, you don’t look all that fine, maybe I could be of help,” he offered cheekily.
“I am not sure what help you think I might need, besides we are strangers,” Ida countered smartly.
“I see you are in your school uniform, have you been sent home due to lack of money for the school fees?” he persisted.
“Stop bothering me with impertinent questions,” she retorted, getting irritated by his inquisitive nature. “If there is anything you wish to say, get on with it, and be gone!”
“Hey don’t get angry! I was just interested. By the way, I am Malvis Mathenge, better known as Mr. Mathenge to my pupils at Masomo primary school. I bet you have heard of the school. But you don’t have to be formal with me; you can just call me Malvis.”
“Mr. Mathenge; am okay with that if it is what you wanted to know. I am…”
“No need for that, Ida,” he interrupted her.
“And why is that?” she asked, a tinge of irritated embarrassment evident in her voice. “And how do you know my name?”
“Because…” and he handed her the identity card. She looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t get the wrong impression of me,” he said defensively. “I just found it, and thought it must belong to you since you are the only student on the road at this moment.”
Her lips parted in a grateful smile as she thanked him prettily: “Thank you Mr. Malvis Mathenge!”
“Just Malvis, please, Ida…”

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Print Book + Beaded Cuff

ABOUT MANSCAPES....

I have written a book called "MANscapes- Journey into Light" about a woman who lives in an abusive relationship all her adult life, and discovers there IS a way out; and that once she has taken that first step, life/love/ comes out to meet her halfway into her "Journey into Light". I got it published! By WDA Publishing, which was a victory in itself.

Now, while I love this book dearly, and believe it has some important things to say, which is why I wrote it, (there were women out there, victims of rape, suffering under the yoke of psychological violence all their lives who might find some comfort in knowing they are not alone) I expected no flurry of sales, this is not a popular theme, not the stuff of bestsellers, and that is quite alright. If I can reach and encourage one woman, my job is done.

So what is my gripe? What is NOT alright?
Let me explain. During the course of the launch, "MANscapes" was sent to bloggers for divulging and reviews, and I am very happy to tell you what they all agreed on: it is a good book, and (blush) well written. I am proud of that, proud that I did Clara and woman like her justice, made their pain real and palpable to the reader; and now we come to the crux of the matter.

Though none could actually come up with a single complaint about the storyline, the plot, the writing, the depth or construction of characters? They all universally did complain that they felt UNCOMFORTABLE reading the book.

These were all women reading MANscapes. Women who could all be subject to the trauma of rape, violence. Women who have all, at some time in their lives, been afraid. The feeling I had is that maybe this should not be spoken of... My book is just too REAL.

GOSH! Can't we read something FUN that does not make us think? Let's sweep all those icky issues under the rug, let these ladies go to encounter groups, or shelters...Let them accomplish their liberation and regeneration of the self in the same suitably discreet silence they suffered the abuse...Curiously enough, the violence or the rape are not lingered on. These comprise maybe two or three paragraphs out of the entire book. SO what is the problem? Is Clara weak? NO! Is she someone with an odd personality that basically "asked for it"? NO! Was she unsympathetic, unpleasant, aggressive? NO!

So? I ask again, what is the problem? Why did they feel uncomfortable? Most of the book is a paean of hope: a woman growing from the moment when she was frozen by the abuse like a fly in amber, into a mature human being, capable of choices; reaching and achieving her dreams, who does not define herself by her scars.

Finally someone said - shamefaced- "Manuela, it could have been me."
That is the truth about abuse: it could be us, and often, behind the silence and the charming smile, it is.

Don't let them avoid us; look away from us, neither our pain nor our rejoicing in our victory.
Their looking away is THEIR shame.

Manuela Cardiga




Sunday, 22 March 2015

COME A HELL OF HIGH WATER

I ask of thee
Gods of the sea,
For a tall mast
And a trembling sail,
Cupped to catch
The gentle breeze;
Good people
Besides me
To follow the trail
Of silver foam
Where ever you lead,
And further more
I plead;
Should night fall,
Keep fear at bay
And over
The sliver moon
Set high
In the eastern sky,
Fair Venus
To show the way
Over the edge
Of the rose-froth-sea,
To cinnamon-scented
Silk-kissed shores
And the blessing
Of a new dawn.

MC

Fool's Philosophy:

While moving a dressing-table I had a thunderous revelation, the kind that can change you life: you cannot walk backwards in slippers.

At least not the back-less kind. Think about it! (this is REALLY deep)

We should always wear slippers. Not only would that be the end of lots of problems with callouses and ingrown-toenails and stuff like that, but it would keep us always in the right track and the correct frame of mind to leave the dastardly past and our regrets behind.

PS: If you are addicted to high heels, you can always wear mules.


MC


VENHA MAR; VENHA VENTO

E tudo que vos peço,
Deus do Mar
Clemente,
É o mastro alto
E a vela trémula
E ao meu lado
Boa gente;
Leve o vento
E cai a noite
Sois vós indulgente
Sobre a estreita lua,
Brilhe Venus
Caminho para leste
E o raiar do sol
Ardente;
Sopra perfume
Manhã de canela
Espuma
Do mar-rosa
Beijo sedoso
Do doce
Oriente


MC

Saturday, 21 March 2015

Highly Recommended: ELLE KLASS' "EYE OF THE STORM"

ANOTHER GREAT 4 STAR REVIEW!!!

"Author Elle Klass creates a compelling story using tragedy, survival, guilt, repressed memories, visual triggers and storms to create a tale that encompasses so much more than you expect. The tragedy of three families is told in this one story. It is a well written and compelling tale with an amazing concept that is worth the read. Great for young adults and adults as well."

What can I say? The Lady is a great writer: a KLASS act!

Thursday, 19 March 2015

THE BULLET

There is
One friend
To call on

There is
One friend
To lean on

There is
One friend
To whom
I need never
Pretend;

Friend to me,
Friend to every
Part;

Friend who know
The good
And bad
Of my heart.

There is One,
Who wants more?

More than one
May spoil the score:

There is One,
I need no more.


Manuela Cardiga

Monday, 16 March 2015

SHORT DISTANCE STUMBLER

Why is it that I
Am constantly
On the verge
Of nothing?

Strive as I might,
Fight as I do,
I never win
Through.

It slips.
The dream slips
Falls from fingers
Grown numb.

I drop the baton
Alone
I cannot
Run.

MC

Sunday, 15 March 2015

The Ink Blot Guest Spot Proudly Presents! "BELONGING (the feud)" by Grant Harbison

v>

SERIES: BELONGING TRILOGY
Title: The Feud Book 1
AUTHOR: Grant Harbison
Genre: Thriller
Publisher: WDA Publishing
Cover Design: Manuela Cardiga

AVAILABLE NOW

BLURB
Religious intolerance and a struggle for dominion leads to a feud between two rival gangs in Glasgow’s brutal inner city.
The escalating spiral of senseless violence ends in a young man's murder, and the lives of rival gang members, Jimmy Henderson and Liam Malloy change dramatically.
Moving from Scotland to South Africa with their respective families, both young men find it difficult to adjust to life in their new country, and soon they are both once again fatally drawn into the deadly gang-culture...
In a chance encounter, Jimmy and Liam meet; but Liam's friendly curiosity turns to hatred when he discovers that Jimmy belonged to the Glasgow gang responsible for his brother’s death. Plans for revenge result in bitter frustration for Liam,  and when he eventually gets the opportunity to get even with Jimmy, vengeance breeds tragedy...
Book 1 of Grant Harbison’s BELONGING TRILOGY takes two Scots boys from the savage backstreets of Glasgow to sub-tropical Africa where they must learn to face the greatest of enemies: themselves.
BELONGING (the feud) portrays the savage heritage of gang mentality and it’s inevitable bloody outcome. Harbison’s voice is ferocious, savage, and utterly believable. Something incredible has begun...


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Scots-born Grant Harbison lived the drama of Glasgow gang-wars as a young man. He clashed with the establishment, and social conventions all his life. From warring on the streets to warring in South Africa's frontier war, Grant Harbison has directed his passion into his writing. He is now a thoroughly tamed cat-lover who lives with his lovely wife in South Africa, far from the icy cold of his beloved Scotland. He may have dropped the kilt, but he never dropped his Glaswegian accent. Or his love for his native city.

CONTACT: 




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Signed paperback & Kilt-Pin
March 15 – March 21, 2015


Saturday, 14 March 2015



When we are survivors of abuse we must be aware and beware: we are fatally attracted to, and attract, both the ruined and the ruiners.

MC

Tuesday, 10 March 2015

Talking about tartans and kilts...There is a rumour Scots Author bad-boy Grant Harbison will be baring all on Sunday at the lauch of the first volume of his Belonging Trilogy (THE FEUD)...BE THERE GIRLS!
A tartan is only a kilt if there is a naked man underneath.

MC

Monday, 9 March 2015

READ AN EXCERPT! Ami C. Samuel's "VALENTINE IN LOVE"



Buy Link

BLURB
Beautiful Valentine Dupond is haunted by her name.
“Valen-teeen…”she keeps telling people in her scrumptious French accent, “My name is Valen-teeeeen!”

And Valentine doesn’t just have a romantic name; she speaks French the language of love…
Only, her love life is very far from exciting, in fact she does not have one.

Lovely Valentine is a vegetarian veterinarian in Perth, Australia, and lives with a fat cat and a dance crazed-housemate with two left feet.

So where is “l’amour”,you may ask?
Where is the wild romance?
Where, oh WHERE is the French kissing!!!

Well, hold your horses, girls, cause gorgeous red-hot millionaire Joshua Hudgewich is about to enter stage-left and sweep Valentine right off her dancing shoes. Though not without some Drama, of course, and leaving a few dents and bruises on Valentine's tender heart...



EXCERPT:

Two weeks later and everything is back in order. My glowing bronzed tan has faded, my
blonde hair is tied tightly to my head and I have no make-up on during the day at work. I am back to
eating fast foods between patients, medicines, operations, lab tests and urine, faeces and other joyful
excretions and secretions of working as a vet in the largest private animal hospital in Perth.
“Valentine, are you ready for the next patient?” Judy, the receptionist, asks.
“Yes, thanks,” I reply saving the data I had placed in the system. I stood up, stretched my
back, by clasping my hands behind my back, and bending forward until my head touched my knees.
It feels wonderful. ”Mmmmmmm” I enjoy the stretch and slowly lift myself back up.
I finish my stretch straight up and find myself looking at the amused faces of my boss,
Standford Hudgewich and another man. A cute man.
“Oh, hi,” I mumble slightly embarrassed, grabbing a clipboard that happened to be near me
on my desk, and I try to look professional. I actually tap my pen on my clipboard.
Tappity, tappity-tap.
“Hello, Valentine,” Standford drawls in his strong American accent. “This is my kid brother,
Joshua. Josh, this is Valentine.” Kid brother Josh is drop dead, absolutely gorgeous and is not a kidhe
must be at least thirty-five, thirty-six.
He holds out his hand and shakes it warmly as I correct the pronunciation of my name,
” Valenteen, actually. Pleased to meet you, Joshua.” He has a nice firm grip and nice big
hands. My stomach flip flops as I look into his deep hazel eyes. I hope I don’t’ have any blood on my
coat.
I check it out, no- all clean.


 

BIO
Ami C. Samuel is the pen-name of a beautiful, bubbly Mauritian lady; so lovely you'd be forgiven for mistaking her for one of her heroines! Living in Paradise has inspired Ami to write deliciously funny and light-hearted romances, all with a Tropical twist...

Valentine in Love is her first novel, with a second delicious romantic adventure Crystal-balls & Croissants on its way, and a third already in the works!


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Thursday, 5 March 2015

Se os políticos Portugueses passassem tanto tempo debruçados sobre os problemas do País como passam de dedo apontado para escarafunchar insignificâncias, tínhamos a coisa resolvida. 

Infelizmente, quando os Senhores abrem a boca para falar não é para apresentar ideias ou estratégias para a recuperação do País, mas sim para falar mal dos rivais, e para encobrir os amigos!

Meu Deus! Elegemos as coscuvilheiras do Bairro para nos liderar!

Tuesday, 3 March 2015

I wonder what would happen if we spent as much time mulling and obsessing over the good memories as we do over the bad?

ACCIDENTAL HAPPINESS AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS

Manuela Cardiga

Sunday, 1 March 2015

SWEET JOYS OF MOTHERHOOD

Don't expect sweet
Sensitivity from me!
I am a Mum
And that means
That if someone pukes
We gets to look
To see if there is
A milk tooth there,

We gets to clean
Poo and pee
And see parts
Of the human
Anatomy
That no-one
But the medical
Profession
Understands.

We sticks hands
Down stinky loos
To save precious
Plastic jewels;

We cry rivers
Over goldfish
Floating upside
Down in dead-pools,
And over silk-moths
That fornicated
For 24 hour
In our lounge
Then just died.

We preside
Over milk
And cookies
For ravening crowds
Of budding psychopaths
With a beatific smile,

We keep sane
By guzzling vodka
On the sly while
Repeating mantras:
NEARLY BEDTIME
NEARLY BEDTIME
And vaguelly
Remember ourselves
As fierce believers,
Ferocious achievers,
Proud of our skills,
Our legs, our great hair,
And our unaugument tits
Which were always
In the upright position...

MC
GEE, MC!
YOU ONE SELFISH
SELF-ABSORBED
BITCH!

Isn't it funny
How others
Problems
Are always
BIGGER
Than mine,
And much
More SERIOUS
Than mine;

Which is
Basically why
They don't have
The TIME
(their's being,
of course,
scarcer
and more
precious)
To waste
(such a CRIME)
In bothering
To drop me
A line,
Or just return
A smile.

MC