I am so delighted to have Harmony Kent visit Fiction Favorites. If you don’t know Harmony you should. She describes herself as a Multi-Genre Author. Editor. Proof Reader. Beta Reader. Reviewer. Also a rather mad amputee with a wicked sense of humour! She also recently became engaged.
Harmony is here today to give you an advance look at her new book. Without further palaver from me, here is Harmony Kent.
Hello, everyone. Harmony here. First up, huge thanks to John for hosting me today! He’s letting me visit today so that I can tell you about my latest book, Backstage. It is an erotic romance novel and deals with some of the sexual coercion scandals that have hit the acting industry in the last year.
Here’s a bit about the book for you:
SHE’S A HOPEFUL ACTRESS
Just when Emma thinks she’s found, love. Just when her big chance…
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I have never once thought that blogging could be detrimental to your health, but just lately, I have come to think that it could be.
Surely not, I hear you say, and I will admit it doesn’t seem likely, not on the surface, anyway.
I was nervous when I first started writing/blogging. Could I get to grips with the technology involved? Would I be any good at it? Would anyone ever talk to me?
I had a million questions, which are all very natural when you embark on a new adventure, and although at times it has been a frustrating and difficult journey, overall I have enjoyed every single minute of it.
So what on earth am I on about?
Just lately, a strange feeling has been creeping in, insidiously, like wisps of smoke. The blogosphere is like a mirror, reflecting everything we bloggers do. As a good proportion of bloggers are writers, you get to see what their lives and careers are like and it can be very reassuring if they are struggling just like you, facing the same problems and difficulties, but the more successful ones are an inspiration, showing you what you can accomplish if you work hard.
We have been blogging for nearly five years now, and have met some amazing people, helpful, considerate people, generous with their advice and friendship. You gradually become part of their world, a world where anything is possible and you can afford the luxury of dreaming.
I can hear some of you tapping your fingernails, wondering where all of this is going, so I will try to explain.
Everyone says that with patience and hard work you can achieve your goals. But I have been patient and worked as hard as I can, but no nearer to anything even remotely like my goals.
And this was my epiphany… maybe my goals are wrong?
Something has to be wrong with me, for on a bad day my enthusiasm wanes. All that wonderful optimism seems to leave the building.
I have been thinking about this year and it is clear that I must come up with some resolutions that work before the men in white coats come to take me away!
Not that this year can be the same as before for so many things are different now, starting with my number one symbol of a New Year, Big Ben…
Big Ben has always been a very special symbol in my life. I grew up in London hearing the deep resonant tones of the bell. The imposing majesty of the building is one of my most enduring memories of my time there.
London has many such landmarks and I love them all, but that tall clock tower on the river Thames embankment is by far my favourite. By rights, my favourite should be the river itself, feeling as I do about water, but no. Very close though.
‘Big Ben’ is really just a nickname for the great bell itself, inside the famous clock tower at the north end of the Palace of Westminster in London. Built in 1858 and 96 metres high, it is the largest four-faced chiming clock in the world. But the big bell itself is not the biggest. St Pauls Cathedral has a slightly bigger one, weighing in at 17 tonnes.
Scarily, the tower leans slightly to the North West, apparently caused by the tunnelling for the Jubilee Line Underground train.
I came across this picture of Big Ben a few weeks ago, and I was instantly transported me back to another New Year’s Eve so many years ago.
That particular year, my friends and I had decided to celebrate the coming of the New Year in style. We would attempt some kind of pub crawl, visiting as many bars and public houses that we could manage, in spite of the volume of people all doing the same thing; ending up at the embankment for the fireworks and Big Ben’s majestic chimes.
We had such fun that night even though I knew I would not contemplate doing it again, as the number of people all seriously intent on having as much fun as possible, created more madness and chaos than I ever thought possible and a lot of the time I was scared to death.
You see all the crowds on television, but could you imagine being there?
Of course, there could have been so much more trouble that there actually was, that many people, most of them hysterical with excitement and booze could have deteriorated into a riot. But it never seems to. No matter how squashed, drunk or freezing cold you happened to be, there is some kind of reverence going on, as if it would be a sin to ruin that night in any way.
Our journey around London that night was exciting, but I was glad when we found ourselves by the river just before midnight. We had left most of the throng behind and it was almost eerily quiet by the water. The fireworks were further up river and we seemed to have Big Ben all to ourselves.
It was very cold that night, but at least it wasn’t raining. I was one of the few people in our group that didn’t have a partner, something I knew I wanted to change in the New Year. I had no idea of the direction my life would be taking, no plans and not many dreams either, for I had already learned that dreaming was futile.
So that evening ended up on quite a solemn note, and as the hands of the clock above us moved closer to the 12, the tears were not far away.
I had never been that close to Big Ben before and was not prepared for how loud the chimes would be. First came the melody and the vibrations seemed to travel up my legs until my whole body seemed to be humming. When the big bell started to chime the hour, the vibrations became longer and deeper and it felt as though my heart would break.
More than fifty years later, the sound of that bell has the same effect, instantly transforming me back to that lonely young woman who had already taught herself not to believe in dreams.
I obviously knew a thing or two back then, for my life has not been full of the stuff that dreams are made of, rather the opposite. But I am still here, not quite ready to give up. So is Big Ben, although undergoing major refurbishment along with the Houses of Parliament. Seeing all that scaffolding around the tower was worrying. If anything went wrong, we could lose Big Ben forever…
It was a dark place, akin to madness
Wrought by a grief held in stasis;
Buried alive by choices
Made in assumed ignorance
And wilful blindness.
Rooted in the memory of a past long dead,
That rattled its chains in waking nightmares
And brittle laughter.
Afraid to be seen, afraid to be ignored
To pass into oblivious eternity
Without having lived.
There was a glimpse, a fleeting flicker
A pause in the cadence, a heartbeat skipped,
When the world stopped.
A point of flame, unwavering,
Steady as ancient stone
That sang my name
And laughed at eternity.
Mirroring the universe
With my soul.
How many times
Had I not seen
Joy to lead my feet
And take me home.
Don’t touch that dial. You’ve landed on Lisa Burton Radio, coming at you with 1.21 jigawatts of power all across the cosmos and beyond the veil. I’m your host, Lisa the robot girl, bringing you characters from the books you love.
Today we’re going to have a little chat with Danny Caruso, owner of Nightforce Security, a new-ish company in headquartered in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania whose employees have rather impressive skillsets.
“Welcome to the show, Danny.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ma’am! Such formality. Call me Lisa.”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard. Thanks, Lisa. Uh, glad to be here.”
“Don’t sound so enthused. This is supposed to be fun.”
“I know. I’m just not much of a showboat. I do my best work out of the limelight.”
“Then why’d you agree to come on the show today?”
“Because my employees insist I need to do more publicity. We haven’t been taking on the…
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He’s right… by the time you reach an age with double figures, fairy stories are for babies… and you are no longer a babe. In just the same way that we cease admitting to the guilty affection for the music our parents liked as we grew, so do the books of early childhood get left upon the shelf… at least when anyone is looking.
We ‘progress’ to more complicated reading. Quite often the books we read as teenagers say more about how we would like to be percieved by the world, or reflect the adventures or romance that we long for at that age. Most of those stories, too, are as wildly fantastical as the fairy tales… but being set in ‘reality’, they are more acceptable to our fledgling egos.
Those who loved fairy tales may be lucky, making the early discovery of fantasy and science fiction… which may simply…
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A warm welcome back to Susanne Swanson of Cats and Trails and Garden Tails who is sharing the second of her posts from her archives. This week a surprise visitor to the garden .. and we all wondered where he had gone!
A surprise visitor to the fall garden by Susanne Swanson
While strolling in my garden this fine day I came across an unexpected visitor..
It wasn’t this squirrel storing up supplies for the coming winter…
And it wasn’t this pair of kinglets who stopped by for a drink and bath.
It wasn’t Tiger who drank the flavored water after they left..
Nor this spider who made a home in the rosemary..
The turtle stands daily, stone cold on the stream’s edge, so it was not him.
No. It was in the woodpile.
Where I found the visitor hiding.
How he got there I will never know. But…
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