Saturday, April 27, 2019

A Treat for lovers of West Indian Literature and Folklore

Here is a real treat for all lovers of West Indian literature.

There I was at NALIS chatting with my friend and he mentioned that he was doing research on Trinidad and Tobago folklore.

And I remembered that I have a copy of a novel that is no longer in print and I can share at no cost to anyone who wants a read.

It is an anthonlogyof Caribbean Folk tales "Madame Teteron and the Serpent and Other Stories."



Sunday, March 31, 2019

Wanderlust and Travel, Readings and Writings

So, I'm on a wanderlust, reading and writing binge again. Heading off to read at least 400 novels this year, so far I'm up to 139 and some of them have been extraordinary.

Last year, I discovered several new authors to me, J.M. Madden, Evelyn Adams, Tess Thompson, Kait Nolan, S.J. McCoy, Mary Crawford, Makenna Jameison, Ana E Ross, Marie Force, Carly Phillips, Jill Saunders, Colleen Thompson, Mary Buckham, and my newest 'must read everything she has written' Vickie McKeehan.

Have you read Promise Cove, the first novel in her Pelican Pointe series? Or Mary Buckham's Invisible Recruits series? Or Jennifer Maddens Embattled Road/Lost and Found series? or Makenna Jamesison's Alpha Seals series? You guys are serious missing out.

But this all begun, again, when I was laid up in bed bored stiff. I blame Nicholas Sparks and his lousy novel, The Best of Me, (which in my opinion was the worst of him; but that's another story), for this avaricious reading habit that has returned with a vengeance.

I remember, struggling with Sixth form European History, until I found Jean Plaidy in the Holy Faith Convent library and read everything she had written on the French Revolution. I bet Sister Magdelina never knew  innocent looking Jean Plaidy, wrote steamy romance, underneath those stiff collars of the French court. Needless to say I ACED European History at A'Levels.

By then I'd discovered Harold Robbins and Jackie Collins and read everything that Danielle Steel had written to that time. Even going so far as writing my own novel over the course of the summer vacation, and reading an excerpt for my Literature class. I remember this because 'Bumpy' our Literature teacher, Ms Ramsumair kept rolling her eyes during the reading.

That image of Bumpy has stuck with me, even now, all these years later, through readings at international forums and public speaking engagements for work. I've grown a thicker outer garment since those early, 'Bumpy' days. I'd like to think my writing has got better.; but what I haven't yet figured out is why there are so many detractors crowding your space when you decide to pursue your dreams.

I have pretty radical views on a lot of things, I don't fit into the 'normal' mould any more than Daffy Duck. I've played the part of the toe-the-line Public Sector Communicator for years, smiled like a politician when I really wanted to tell you to 'fuck-off' and swallowed my words with a poker face.

Now it's time for me to loose my tongue and rest my bitch face. So now that you've been notified (take this as a public announcement), please remember I use words, I've written them for profit all my adult life and I can use them better than any weapon.

If you see me in an airport, come over and say hi..I'll even give you a copy of my novel for free.


 


The Uninhibited Diplomat

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NEW RELEASES:

LE NOIREAU- Prologue

There was chaos in Scotland Bay Village. Everywhere, everyone was busy; packing, unpacking, leaving burnt bare lands for the Americans.

Away from the noises and confusion the aquamarine Caribbean waves played a soft calypso rhythm, strumming, rippling, kissing bare toes, feet and ankles dug deep into the cold, clammy sand.

The air was laden, ready, thick with the rancid scent of seaweed, salt and smoke carried in the spray; pushed by angry, crashing, foaming waves against a stony coastline up and around the Bay’s end.

She was misted; creating an eerie appearance as she sat back hunched on a fallen tree trunk embedded in the sand; knees tucked under the wide folds of her skirt. Damp grainy sand and the sea waters rushed up; bubbling in between her fingers and feet. Gently she rested her chin on her knees and looked out at the fading horizon, watching the day in its brilliance and splendor of death at sunset. The fiery gold of the sun’s rays; fingering, shimmering on the aquamarine canopy of the sea, dazzling blinding and ever so slowly, churning to taunting, tangerine orange and saffron reds; cascading into purple, violets and royal blue of evening time with ballet like precision. And later as stars peeping first play hide and seek with the naked eye, streaks of charcoal gray strut into midnight black, shadowing the earth into illusions of peace-fullness, as twinkling jewels finally sparkle in the phosphorescent gleam of a splendid Caribbean moonlight.

The gulf steamer disregarding war time surveillance orders; tugged by, alerting Astral Le Noireau to the lateness of the hour. She sighed lifted tiny hands from the sand and stared as the grains quietly trickled back into their places on the seemingly un-rumpled shore. The signal light of the streamer as it passed by and answering flashed from the lighthouse, momentarily blinded her as she turned huge tear filled almond shaped golden eyes up and then out, taking in the silver-ness of the long familiar Scotland Bay coastline, now bathed in the beauty of a full Caribbean moonlight. The gentle breeze blew her blue black hair into her eyes and face, as one hand rose gracefully to whip the unruly strands back into place. Silently a figure standing in the shadows of a coconut palm tree observed her.

Astral stood crying silently, watching the village she so love fade into the night shadows as the steamer padded laboriously out into the first Boca. Every inch further way from Scotland Bay felt like a fist clenching around her lung, stifling her, killing her. She stood rooted until Chateau le Noireau was no longer visible as they rounded the bend at Delgada Point. Until tears of frustration overwhelmed her and she crumbled to the seat on the almost empty steamer. Astral Le Noireau and her precious possession were some of the last things to evacuate from her village.

The Marines had put her on the ferry.

(c) 2006 Cecly Ann Mitchell


Goodreads

Cecly Ann's books

Going Down Hard
really liked it
I always enjoy Rhonda Russell's novels. This one was no exception. Easy to read, wonderful charcters, interesting plot and her first line hooks are always attention grabbers.
The Doctor's Secret Bride
it was amazing
So much angst, so much love, so many twists and turns..Erik and Michelle, the charcters and plot are just perfect for a compelling reader experience.

goodreads.com

Review

Lighthouse Reef (Pelican Pointe, #4)Lighthouse Reef by Vickie McKeehan
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

I would give this novel 100 stars. Lighthouse Reef reminded me of my late father. Two months before he passed a friend from his youth visited. Up until that time, I have never imagined my parents as young people; teenagers, twenty-somethings- out having fun.. We met them as adults so we never think about them as young people.
That Logan carried the angst of his sister's disappearance for 20 odd years and had the strength to return to the place of her disapperance to discover what happened to her, is a testimony to the craftsmanship of Vickie McKeehan. The plot was on point(no pun intended) from the first sentance.
That the reader keeps circling back to the beginning; Baby Scott, Baby Nate, expected Baby Meghan reminds the reader that even in death there is life.
In an age where women are disappearing off the face of the earth, Vickie McKeehan gives us hope.
Hpe that there are Logans, Ethans, Nicks and others out there championing the case of missing and exploited people.
It made me as a reader reflect on those people who we uphold as exemplars in society, realizing all too often that while society may hold them in high esteem,we really do not know anything about them when they get behind closed doors.
This is a 100****** read. A noel for our times and a recommended read for all the right reasons.

View all my reviews

My Bookshelf

Goodreads: To Be Read Shelf

Cecly Ann's to-read book montage

The Green Mile
Quicksand
My Soul to Keep
Battle Cry
Cane
Midnight Robber
Four Seasons in Rome: On Twins, Insomnia, and the Biggest Funeral in the History of the World
Winesburg, Ohio
Everything She Ever Wanted: A True Story of Obsessive Love, Murder, and Betrayal
The Great Gatsby
Brandy and Bullets
The Edge of Midnight
The Edge of Dawn
Beyond Good and Evil
Living Dangerously
Paradiso
Victoria Line, Central Line
Push Not the River
Small Island
Against a Crimson Sky


Cecly Ann's favorite books »

I Write Like

What Type of Writer Am I?

Type -- J.D. Salinger

You are quite possibly one of the greatest creative minds of your generation... not that you want anyone to know, of course. Not only have you been in hiding for several decades, you refuse to publish any of your recent work. You would very likely be a perennial Pulitzer Prize candidate, but your writing sits in a de-humidified bank vault in your humble New Hampshire ranch, awaiting the day that your next-of-kin decides to make a few hundred million dollars. Why the secrecy? Afraid people will read too much into your repeated affairs with barely-of-age girls? Afraid people will begin to see you in every single one of your maladjusted, unstable characters?

See what type of Writer you are.Take the quiz @

http://roflquiz.com/r/73829/