If life goes in a circle
Why am I walking a straight line?
If life goes in a circle
Why am I walking a straight line?
Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it.
Her online journal spans a decade, beginning with the day a thirteen-year-old inherits an extreme form of the family “gift.” Every day whatever she touches converts into something new: bunnies, bubbles, bombs, and everything in between.
Lette’s search for a cure leads her to Stefan, whose fairy-tale looks hide a monstrous legacy, and to Rag, an arrogant, crabby ex-angel with boundary issues. The three face an army led by a monster who feeds on children’s fear. But it’s their own inner demons they must defeat first.
Lette wakes up on her thirteenth birthday and inherits a terrible problem.
A problem she neither wants nor needs.
Despite the seriousness of her plight, I was impressed by her sense of humour and the way she gets to grip with her often distressing problem.
Don’t Touch is, without doubt, a fascinating, delightful read. Extremely well written, I read it in one sitting. I followed Lette eagerly as she sought a solution, surprised by her ingenuity. Such an unusual story had me laughing at times, sad at others and I loved the romantic entanglements too.
I must confess, I loved George, the cat! Such a character, he tried his best to put a normal slant on Lette’s far from normal life.
I thoroughly enjoyed reading Don’t Touch and can heartily recommend it.
“I was having a terrific dream that Rag was carrying me into my bedroom. The bed dipped as he lay down next to me, and I could smell cinnamon and lemon. More, I wanted more, so I scooted closer and stuck my nose into his neck. I felt his hands move down my back and realized… Not a dream.
My eyes flew open, and my head shot up.“Ow!”
He was holding his hands over his bleeding nose and yelling and laughing at the same time.
“Raguel?” I asked cautiously. When he nodded, I ran for a wet washcloth. The bleeding had stopped by the time I got back, but he eyed me warily.
“Are you still mad at me, Lette?”
“I was asleep, you stupid ex-angel.”
“Um… Is this one of those boundary things?”
I gently wiped the blood from his face. “That depends.”
He took the cloth and wiped his hands. “On what?”
I sat down on the bed and said in the most serious voice I’d ever used with him, “On why you left. And why you came back.”
He sat next to me and took both of my gloved hands. “I left because I saw what you were willing to go through to save Stefan. And then I heard you tell him you loved him. There were so many times I wanted to call you and argue like we used to but I kept remembering you telling Stefan you loved him.”
I started to protest but he put a finger over my mouth and continued. “Oh, and there might have been some cellphone smashing. I couldn’t stand the thought of riding on the Metro, so when a friend in France needed my help for several weeks I went without a phone or laptop. I only came back because Stefan sent a message through Poppy. He said that you were just friends. And that I was a shit for making you cry.”
“I don’t cry.”
He wiped the tears from my cheeks. “I know. And I am a shit. But that’s not the amazing part.” He kissed me, and in about a nanosecond I completely forgot what we were talking about. I might have also forgotten my name. I’m pretty sure I moaned a complaint when he pulled back to continue talking. It wasn’t fair. How come he could still talk?”
In halcyon days BC (before children), Barb Taub wrote a humor column for several Midwest newspapers. With the arrival of Child #4, she veered toward the dark side and an HR career. Following a daring daytime escape to England, she’s lived in a medieval castle and a hobbit house with her prince-of-a-guy and the World’s Most Spoiled AussieDog. Now all her days are Saturdays, and she spends them consulting with her occasional co-author/daughter on Marvel heroes, Null City, and translating from British to American.
Until now I had viewed the Null City books from a bit of a distance thinking that I don’t really do fantasy, let along urban fantasy – whatever that may mean – and I’m certainly not YA so these can’t be for me. Right? Wrong…how wrong could I be? I was hooked from the moment I read this:-
‘Hope flares each morning in the tiny flash of a second before Lette touches that first thing. And destroys it.’
Lette (short for Roulette, fabulous name!) is our heroine here and she has a pretty tough time from the moment she hits 13 and inherits the family ‘gift’ where whatever she touches each day changes form. Some days this is great, diamond rings and opals appear alongside cup cakes for example, on other days life becomes precarious when her touch causes things to levitate or explode. Lette learns to cope. She wears vinyl gloves all the time to protect others and isolates herself to live alone. Stefan arrives in her life one day encouraging her to come with him to Null City where they can live a normal life. Stefan, you see, has his own family legacy he is trying to escape from and for a brief time Lette is able to experience the blossoming of a romance. The ‘cure’ of Null City doesn’t go to plan for Lette and she has to move on making another contact with Rag, an ex-angel with boundary issues, along the way.
I can’t begin to tell you how entertaining this book is. I’ve loved Taub’s writing on her blog for a while now, it’s perceptive and witty and this book is no different. A strong, beautiful heroine (who doesn’t see herself as that) with a superpower that is both humorous and heart-breaking, an original story, handsome hero’s with their own tragic pasts, a hopeful but ultimately doomed romance and plenty of action…oh and there’s an evil cat, George, …what more could you want in a book!
This year has been a series of difficulties. More downs than ups, to be honest. So it should come as no surprise to anyone to see a Christmas tree, seemingly floating upside down in mid-air in our front room.
Being white, it looks ethereal, the string it is suspended on almost invisible as it moves slightly on invisible air currents.
It wasn’t easy to do, for these trees are not designed to be upside down, and the top part parted company with the base at the most awkward moment, almost resulting in our giving up on the idea and being conventional after all.
Beneath the tree, looking remarkably like Miss Havisham’s abandoned wedding feast from Dicken’s Great Expectations, we have created a display to reflect the dinner we will not be having in our house.
The idea came to us because this Christmas will be like no other we have ever had or imagined. For the first time in the history of our family, we will not be here on Christmas Day. Relatives will not be arriving, full of Christmas cheer to share our carefully prepared feast of turkey and all the trimmings. There will be no fun and games at the table when we don’t pull the crackers.
There will be no toasting the cook or pulling the wishbone, not in this house, anyway.
We will all be somewhere else…
The next generation in our family is now of an age to change things, to take charge of traditional celebrations and create new ones of their own. This is the way with families.
It came as a bit of a shock for me and for a while I didn’t think I welcomed the invitation. For nearly fifty years, I have been cooking the turkey and mince pies, and I suppose I thought it would continue. I mean, what would I do with myself?
I have accepted the idea now, and the notion of someone else manhandling an uncooperative turkey into an equally uncooperative oven is making me smile.
It will seem odd to have nothing to do on Christmas day, but you never know, I might like it so much I will arrange it for next year too!
Some of you may be familiar with some of the trouble I have had since I began to organise our writing career on the Internet. It is probably simple for all you single people out there, but as soon as you are a partnership, trouble arrives big time!
Not that we could ever separate our writing business, not even to make our lives any easier. It is all far too complicated, but it works for us though, so that’s good.
We tried having separate websites, so as not to overcomplicate everything, but as we share a PC, this didn’t seem to work. Plus it was twice the work. So we reverted back to having a joint website on Blogger. Still managed to confuse half the population, including ourselves, but all our links seemed to be working. But it still didn’t feel right, so I approached WordPress and discovered that we could actually share a website. How very civilised.
I have since managed to share Anita’s Facebook too.
Goodreads almost cater for the two of us and we have our own pages, but only one of us can have our blog showing.
There are still a few places that refuse to understand, that although we share a PC, we do still have separate email addresses and passwords. I won’t name and shame, but they have driven me mad for the last time and I have resigned myself to sharing these awkward sites under Anita’s email address.
It goes without saying, that if I had known this marketing and promotion lark was so complicated, I might have had second thoughts, but on the whole, it has been interesting, and dare I say it, fun? The fact that I am almost certifiable is unimportant, as I think you have to be barking mad to approach a computer in the first place!
When I saw these lovely fractured pictures the other day, I was fascinated, probably because half the time, my brain is in pieces too…
This morning I had gone upstairs to get dressed and make the beds, the way I do each day. Then I went back down to the kitchen to make us coffee, taking Anita’s into the living room, but she wasn’t there.
I found her sitting in my office chair reading Sue Vincent’s post on the computer. I put my coffee down, thinking she would vacate my chair but to my surprise, she said she wanted to finish reading.
Sue’s post was all about how she hates wearing shoes. Anita has the same problem and has never worn anything with high heels in her life. She was at the bottom of the page now and I thought she would soon give me my chair back.
Turning to me, she said that she wanted to type a comment. Tickled pink, I showed her how to do it and let her loose. I couldn’t help smiling and marvelling at the sight, for in five years Anita has never touched my keyboard. Tell a lie; Anita does clean it for me from time to time, when she insists on removing the dust in the office.
Anita hates computers far more than I do, but maybe curiosity will achieve what I haven’t been able to do, I just hope she isn’t after my swivel chair…
A million stars shine underfoot
The grass ripples in the sky.
We do our washing in the mud
And all pigs must learn to fly.
Clouds crawl along the ground
Trees roots grab the air
Black sun freezes hard
Destruction lives on everywhere.
Our seasons are all backwards
We see no sounds at all.
Our thinking has gone haywire
There are no visions on the wall
We see no light in the darkness
We are confused and glad
We cry at flowers growing
We are both happy and sad…