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  2. Mya is an expert at blanket fort. I'm an introvert. While that may surprise some who know me from social events, the reality is while I can be quite gregarious in public, I pay a heavy price for my energy outlay. (Case in point: I am still recovering from the intense 'peopling' during Arisia.) For folks like me who are introverts and also creatives, the internet was supposed to be the great equalizer. Be social on your terms! Discover a tribe, a community, an audience while never leaving your safe and comfortable blanket fort! Be protected behind your screen persona! While to some extent, all those promises are part of the internet and social media, it's more of a "yes, and" proposition. The "and" part being that even asynchronous and curated interaction can be stressful. And that's when the interactions are relatively benign ones. For the time being, I'll put trolling and harassment to the side here, though those negative interactions seem to hit the introvert and/or socially stressed harder than the socially comfortable/confident. And I certainly can't speak for all introverts on the internet. This is my experience. These are my musings. YMMV. I tend to be an early adopter of all things techie and social media was no exception. I was part of the early AOL message board community and then jumped to blogging in 2004. RSS readers were my jam. They helped me keep up with folks all over the world using blogs to do short and longform essay writing, prose, poetry, and sharing images. Then came the more overtly commercial platforms: facebook and twitter and pinterest and tumblr and google+, among others. I made logins for all of them and for a time, tried to keep up with the communities of users in each one. It was exhausting and instead of focusing on my blog and my own writing, I went from new posts here every 2-3 days to maybe writing something once a month. It was as if the entire landscape of social media morphed from a place to express myself to a place where I needed clicks to validate myself. It got to the point where I felt I was only interacting to get that little seratonin hit whenever someone would notice me. And you know what? It was all draining. Being noticed is exhausting. Not being noticed is exhausting. Managing all those communities is exhausting. I am not a small-talk kind of person. If I have a conversation, I want to dig deep and wrestle with the problems of the universe with you. In my offline life, I have a handful of intense friendships and even those folks understand that I may not see them or talk to them in weeks or months before picking up where we left off. I am the kind of person who will drop everything for a friend in need, but have a panic attack if I get too many social invitations in a month. Computer based social media should have been the perfect place for me. And I thought it was. Until I realized how many hours I spent relentlessly refreshing notifications. Part of this understanding has come by way of the loss of Google+. I spent a lot of time and energy cultivating relationships on G+. I found an amazing contingent of fellow creatives and just fascinating people talking about really interesting things. We shared long conversations, friendly arguments, and terrible puns. I invested a lot of myself there. And Google basically sabotaged the place - both actively and through neglect - until they announced its shuttering. By then, I had dropped my investment in the other platforms to maintenance mode. Which is primarily where I am now: make minimal comments on posts that amuse me, try to post witty things that will garner notice. It feels narcissistic and shallow, but I can't seem to help it. The thought of putting any more work into a siloed network where users create the content and the value, but are only an afterthought to the commercial interests behind them makes me want to scream. We've been sold the belief that social media is there for creative people to reach their audience. But I no longer think that's true. WE are the audience. And what social media is selling is our own attention back to us, but fragmented in an endless, recursive loop. I am trying to find my way back to using the internet in a way that sustains me, rather than drains me. But I'm not sure what that looks like, to be honest. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  3. TheRealLindsey

    Ask the Author – A.H. Wang Part One

    Uh oh! Looks like you’re not a member yet! Check out our membership options to get access to our exclusive content. Already a member? Click here to sign in. The post Ask the Author – A.H. Wang Part One appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  4. Lirael: Daughter of the Clayr, Format: Audiobook, Rating: 5/5 stars I loved this second book in the Old Kingdom series. It was even more enjoyable than Sabriel (the first one), and has remained my favorite in the entire collection (with Clariel being a close second). First of all, the narrator, Tim Curry, did the best job with voicing Lirael. It is the best example of voice acting I have experienced to date. I especially loved how he depicts Lirael as she’s whining to her dog about life. It’s adorable and spot on. When I first read Sabriel, I fell in love with it so much that I seriously considered naming my daughter Sabriel. (There’s still a part of me that wishes I had, though I’m sure she will thank me for not doing that later in life.) I was prepared to have this second book not be quite as good because the first was the best thing I had read ever. But it surpassed that. Also, I completely forgot that I had read this years ago. As I started reading, my mind accessed all these prior images I made up for it and it was a wonderful rediscovery. (Hence my new implementation of reviewing books a year later.) ***MINOR SPOILERS*** As soon as I started it, I recalled an image from memory of a prince and a girl on a mission floating together in a bathtub down a dangerous river. And I thought “That can’t be right. My crazy brain must have jumbled things up since I read this.” But then that exact thing happened and I couldn’t believe it, because it actually made sense, and I had to jump up and down with delight. I love that ridiculous scene so much. ***SPOILERS OVER*** Lirael is a girl who desperately wants to be like all the other girls around her, but her right of passage mysteriously hasn’t happened yet. Most girls in her society are chosen by a mysterious “sight” or prophetic gifting at varying ages, but usually quite young. She is nineteen, and still not able to enter into her community’s version of being a grown up. She is very upset by this, and becomes a solitary figure in a dangerous library. If you are as much a reader as I am, those two words alone should have you running to pick up this book and it’s predecessor. The library…oh that library! The journey she takes from outcast and lonely girl to strong heroine with agency over her own life and that of others was the most pleasant and refreshing thing I’ve read in a long time. It felt wholesome without dripping sentiment. The whole book felt dangerous and on edge, like something could happen at any moment that would frighten me, but then delivered something amusing and truthful. I am definitely going to give these books to my daughter (and son) when they get older. Lirael, along with the other Old Kingdom books, have earned a permanent place in my library and I will eventually be collecting print versions just so I can stamp them with my personal library stamp (my husband gave me one and I love it), and then loan them out. You do not have to read Sabriel first to understand or enjoy Lirael. However, the story does end in the middle. Nix originally intended Lirael and Abhorsen to be one book, but it was too long. So beware, if you do pick this up, you will likely pick up Abhorsen as well. I read the rest of this series in 2018, so you’ll see reviews of the other books come up now and then. But I do want to say regarding the series as a whole: each and every book in it is unique to itself and a gem. If you haven’t discovered this Old Kingdom series for yourself yet, add it to your list. View article on original site
  5. Reesha

    I’ve been reading some things

    Thanks for sticking around, reader. I know it’s been awhile. Since my last post I’ve done a lot. I’ve written several books to varying degrees of polish. I’ve read a lot of books that I’m dying to tell you about. I’ve parented two darling kids through lots of developmental stages. I’ve grown as a person, and I’m excited to get back to writing a blog. Update on the kiddos: they are still adorable. Even more so. Little girl started talking at 15 months. Little boy is not quite three and learning to read. They bring me joy every day. Update on myself: I’ve discovered a lot of good things about myself and how I am at my best when I can maintain a routine. Part of that routine now involves early morning kickboxing, among other things. I’ll probably talk more about it in a different post. Update on the writing: Back in November I wrote another book (fantasy) and am finishing it up now in January. My other book (cyberpunk) is almost done with final edits and I hope to have a publication date soon. Now my favorite part: the reading. In 2018, I managed to read 24 books. This year, 2019, I hope to read 30 or more. Part of this is because I set aside my writing completely in December and instead read like a maniac. Every time I itched to write, I read instead. It was a boon to my creativity. And after NaNoWriMo, I really needed the refresh. Let’s step back a bit so I can talk about reading speed. I went to readingsoft.com to calculate my average reading speed and comprehension, and it turns out, I’m exactly an average reader. I read 251 word per minute on a screen, which is more than average, but only had a 60% comprehension afterwards. Part of that is because Little Girl decided to interrupt me halfway through, but since that is a factor in my everyday reading that can happen, I’m letting the number stick. The site claims that reading from paper is faster, so my reading speed from printed books would likely be more than 251 wpm. And since I read in all three formats (audio books at typically 1.25 speed, eReader, and print), I’m going to say that between them I’ll have an average of 240 wpm, slowing down a bit to gain more comprehension. Because the genres I read typically span about 70k-90k words per book, I can get an estimate of how many hours I’ll have to spend a day to read 30+ books in a year. But I don’t want to go for just an amount of books. I want to build a habit (as mentioned earlier, building up a routine and habit is important to me). So let’s calculate how many books I could read in a year if I spent an hour a day reading. 365 days a year times 60 minutes a day (21,900 minutes) times 240 words per minute (5,256,000) divided by average book length of 80k words = 65.7 You can go to the site linked above and figure out your own numbers for your reading speed. And your genre of books might not be as long as mine. Science Fiction and Fantasy tend to run longer than other books. If I were reading non-fiction, at an average of 50k words per book (or one NaNoWriMo novel), I could potentially read 105 books in a year. So that’s my goal: read an average of an hour a day, and complete 30 books (or more). The reason I’m not increasing my reading goal beyond 30 is because frankly, even though the math tells me it’s possible, I don’t believe it. I believe I can read an hour a day. But the idea of reading 65 books is beyond me. I can’t even imagine it. Plus, none of these numbers are for sure. I may end up reading faster or slower than the reading test, or reading longer books. Also, I’m not sure I will finish all the books I start or invest time in. I want to give myself room to try books without feeling like I have to finish. This is new for me. I used to be a stickler for finishing every book I started. But then I found myself not reading because I didn’t want to spend time slogging through something I found boring. I think there’s a fine line between being a wishy-washy, hard-to-please reader and genuinely giving a book a chance to succeed or fail. It will be ok if I don’t finish a book. Just like no writing is ever wasted, I don’t think any reading is ever wasted. I may not be able to quantify the amount of reading put into an unfinished book, but the benefit will be there all the same. One other new thing for this year in my reading habits: I’m going to review the books I read last year on the date that I finished them. I don’t want to put all that time in to read and comprehend a book, only to forget it a year later. I’m hoping that by reviewing the books on delay I will both have more clear thoughts on them and increase the chance that I retain their benefit. It’s also a good marker for me to remember where I was at a year ago. For instance, a year ago today I finished reading Lirael (which I will post a review about separately), and I remember feeling, thinking, and doing life completely different while reading that book. This will be an exciting and interesting journey, and I can’t wait to share it with you. I would love to have you share your reading speed, reading goals, or ways you manage your reading time. Happy 2019 and happy reading! View article on original site
  6. TheRealLindsey

    Fall 2018 Flash Fiction Contest Winners

    Here are the winning stories from F-BOM’s Fall 2018 flash fiction contest, Darkness Spreads, judged by Chrysoula Tzavelas. Did you miss the contest this quarter? Our next topic will be revealed in February. Follow us on Facebook for updates. Click here for submission guidelines. Winner, Most Imaginative Scenario: Nemesis by Courtney B. She lowers herself onto her knees before the… Read More The post Fall 2018 Flash Fiction Contest Winners appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  7. Here’s our spoiler-free review of The Imperial Alchemist by A.H. Wang. Get your copy by becoming a member today and then join us in the brand-new Member Portal to get your questions answered by A.H. Wang! Two thousand years ago, Emperor Qin sent his trusted adviser Hsu Fu on a quest for immortality. He was never seen again. Now,… Read More The post The Imperial Alchemist: F-BOM Book of the Month Review appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  8. Not *that* kind of medium, though I wish I could predict the future. Image of John William Waterhouse's 'The Crystal Ball" used under a creative commons license: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:John_William_Waterhouse_-_The_Crystal_Ball.JPG I didn't set many specific writing goals for 2018 at the close of 2017. For the most part, this was because of my prior experience of setting goals and watching them crash and burn when confronted by life. However, the one major goal I had - finish the Halcyone Space series and publish A STAR IN THE VOID, was accomplished. Albeit with a lot of blood, sweat, and tears. When I look back over the year, it's pretty astonishing that I was able to get anything written. The political climate following the 2016 election and leading up to the 2018 one was a confounding factor for so many creative people I know and I was no exception. It was hard to write when I was obsessed with following political news on twitter. When news broke and kept breaking about women coming forth with their #metoo stories, I was shaken. Memories of my own childhood trauma that I had thought dealt with, constantly broke my concentration and sapped my creative energy. I wrote anyway. Because I'm a stubborn cuss and I had made promises to myself, my characters, and my readers that I didn't want to break. Instead, it nearly broke me and from the time I finished drafting A STAR IN THE VOID early last year until this month, I've struggled to do any kind of consistent writing. But not all is gloom and doom. When I looked back at 2018's work, I realized that I had accomplished more than I'd feared. I wrote (and the process was painful, filled with stops, starts, and the delete key - just ask the editor of the collection) "Perpetual Silence" for the collection OF GODS AND GLOBES. It's a story that emerged from sadness and loss, and yet, I found hope in the writing of it. Creativity is weird that way. Toward the end of the year, I was approached by the editor of LONGSHOT ISLAND and UNFIT MAGAZINE to submit for their inaugural edition of UNFIT. I dug through my story folder and found one that served the magazine's theme. "Persistence of Memory" was a story I had self published in my first collection of short fiction and took the opportunity to give it another editing pass before sending it on to be published alongside some of Science Fiction's heavy hitters. There are a few other short stories written in 2018 that will be published in 2019 and I'm at about the 10% mark on a new novel that I'm excited to be working on. The other writing I did was non-fiction: I took space in this blog to chronicle the incredible year I've had connecting with a birth family that I hadn't known and who hadn't known about me. I will be continuing that series, as I have so much more to share and new discoveries keep surprising me. If you want to read along, part 1 is here. If you are so inclined to recommend any of my work to friends or for any applicable awards, I would be incredibly grateful. I wish you all a happy, healthy New Year. May 2019 bring you joy. #SFWApro Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  9. This afternoon, I was listening to WBUR as I was prepping dinner, and heard a moving story about Elie Wiesel's life and legacy as told by Rabbi Ariel Burger, a former student who became a colleague and then a friend. Rabbi Burger had put together this from his time in Wiesel's classroom and so much of it spoke to me. Ten Commandments of Elie Wiesel By Ariel Burger Listen to a witness to become a witness. Don't kill the dead again by forgetting them. Enter madness if necessary to awaken sleeping communities. Don't let the enemy define you. Any one life is worth more than all that's been written about life. True prophets don't comfort; they disturb. Remember to laugh in spite of all the darkness. There is always something you can contribute – even if it's just your protest. Worship God by arguing with God. Sometimes there is no meaning. But then we must make meaning. Of all of these, I am most struck by the last one. Sometimes there is no meaning. But then we must make meaning. That speaks to me as a poet and a writer. In a world that seems dark and ominous and where I feel so very vulnerable, writing is an act of valor, of defiance, and of creation. I have a friend who is struggling to make sense of her past and to find a path for her future. I have urged her to start journaling, not as a means to make a living with words, but to bring clarity and self-compassion to her life. Until I have written down the words, I often don't truly know how I feel. Finding the way to describe an experience is akin to sorting through a pile of stones for a handful of the right size, color, and heft. I often consider each word - alone and then next to its fellows. Does it fit? Does this phrase carry the meaning I need? Do the lines resonate with one another? And above all, will the language I craft organize the tangle of emotion into something I can understand and view from outside of myself? Then I find peace and acceptance. Patience and compassion. Words are my tools to make meaning from the chaos of existence. This is more than capturing the accuracy of a memory. Our minds are not video recorders. Our memories are always in flux. Our interpretations of those memories change, depending on current life events, emotions, and our interactions with others. In effect, our lives are in a constant state of creation and recreation. Without the transformational power of art, I would argue that we cannot make meaning. Events would crash over us like the relentless tide on a rocky beach. Without transformation, we react, lacking the space for reflection. Without reflection, there is no understanding, no wisdom. That final commandment is an obligation. We must make meaning, especially when there seems to be none. And yet, there is a danger in this, too. Especially if the meaning we make is one that distorts rather than illuminates. As I have lived through the political upheaval in my country these past several years, it occurs to me that we have become vulnerable to letting meaning come from without rather than from within. We practice less introspection and reflection and instead abdicate our responsibility to self by accepting prefabricated and neatly packaged versions of our experiences. Is it any wonder that so many of us feel fragmented? Strangers to our selves? It's been far too long since I've kept a journal consistently. Perhaps it's time to return to my old practice and use it as a way to interrogate my emotions and beliefs. Maybe the meaning I seek is waiting for me there. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  10. In part three of this interview series, Chrysoula talks about feminism in her writing. Watch it here:
  11. In part two of this interview series, Chrysoula talks about her novel publishing journey. Watch it here:
  12. In part one of our interview series, Chrysoula talks about her novel Citadel of the Sky. Watch it here:
  13. 1665688751_OutofthePocket.jpg.d11506a8c12943d2af1929c275ebe8e2.jpgFor over a century, the town of Green Beach has frightened its children with the tragic legend of Joshua Thorne. He’s the reason it not only locks its doors at night but nails its windows shut. Steeped in romance and revenge, his is the kind of story Angela Ironwright lives for.

    When the specter of Joshua appears to her, insisting she’s the only one who can help him piece together the fragments of his own murder, she follows him without a second thought into a place he calls the Pocket, a beautiful hidden world of jumbled memory and imagination. But the Pocket holds more than magic and myste
    ry. Before long, its other reclusive inhabitants begin to call out to Angela, warning her not to trust Joshua and begging for her help to escape his dark power.

    Angela’s sure there must be some misunderstanding, and she’s determined to set it straight. Otherwise, finding justice will mean betraying the only boy who’s ever liked her.

    Smart and genre-savvy, Out of the Pocket is a dark, honest, subversive take on the modern paranormal love story.

    $15.00

  14. I have voted. My husband has voted. My sons will vote. I have talked to friends & neighbors about voting. I have written post cards for contested races. I donate money to social justice causes. I call out racism/sexism/ableism/hatred when I see it. I still feel powerless.— LJ Cohen (@lisajanicecohen) October 30, 2018 This was the start of a thread I posted on Twitter this morning. I wanted to keep it all in one place, so I am sharing it here as well. In every quiet moment, I try to focus on hope. And I repeat this over and over: May all beings be held in lovingkindness. May all beings be at peace. May all beings be free from suffering. I struggle on social media about boosting all of the terrible acts of evil around us. Am I adding to the despair? Or helping to warn people of good conscience? If I let the evil pass without comment, am I complicit? If I celebrate small joys, am I minimizing the pain & suffering around me? If I deny those small joys, am I allowing evil to win? A dear friend posted this to my FB wall. Because I love word-based puns, & I'm a potter. I had two loved ones send me silly things today that made me laugh. I am grateful for the momentary respite. It feels right and good to find something positive to cling to. Right now, it's a blue VW Bug with the license "Alonzz" my son sent me. My son took this when he was stuck in traffic this morning. Any day that starts with a Doctor Who reference is a good day. Maybe that small joy is what allows someone a burst of hope & energy to keep fighting. So I will keep sharing silly dog pictures & groan-worthy word play. And I hope you will keep sharing those with me, too. As we fight. As we keep fighting. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  15. Our synagogue sent out an email last night inviting congregants to gather for a service in remembrance and in honor of those who were slain in Pittsburgh. I am not a religiously observant Jew, despite attending Friday morning services nearly every week. I don't keep kosher. I don't quite believe in a biblical God. But I am Jewish and have been part of my local synagogue community for nearly 25 years. When I do attend services, I meditate. I read the English translations of prayers and argue with that God I'm pretty sure doesn't exist. I breathe. I lift my voice in song with melodies that have carved their way through me to my core. Melodies that link me in an unbroken chain with my far away ancestors. In those moments, it doesn't matter what I believe: I am whole. Today, I woke up early on a day I might have slept in. I dressed and drove to the synagogue. As I parked in the midst of other cars, I wondered if any of the other people here came with hatred and harm in their hearts. I went in anyway. Inside the small chapel, I gathered with other congregants. Some of whom I knew, others I did not. Their eyes all wore the same haunted look. Many were red rimmed. Others were openly weeping. It was an act of resistance: raising our voices together in prayer in a sacred space knowing that just yesterday, someone had violated such a space. In that terrible moment, our community became inextricably tied to other communities of different faiths whose peace had been desecrated by hate. To classrooms of school children whose joy of learning had been shattered. To victims of violence in our streets when a normal trip to the market or a night out dancing became a death sentence. This is not a Jewish Issue. Or a Black Issue. Or a Muslim Issue. Or an LGBTQ Issue. This is an Human Issue. ______________________________ I am afraid. Not so much for myself, but for my loved ones. Particularly for my children and the world they have come of age in. The world I have helped shape. I cannot absolve myself of my part in a terrible complacency that has allowed hatred to flourish. We believed that things were getting better. That society had moved beyond narrow tribalism to embrace a multi-ethnic culture. Perhaps the truth is I allowed myself to believe that because I was prospering. Over the past several years, a small voice inside keeps asking the same question: At what cost? ______________________________ What can I do to help repair a wounded world? It feels so trivial to gather to say a prayer for the dead when the living are in so much pain. Even in my current anguish, I argue with the translated blessings. Instead of reciting the Amidah, I meditate. May all beings be held in lovingkindness. May all beings be at peace. May all beings be free from suffering. To those reading this, thank you for being here with me. May you be held in lovingkindness. May you be at peace. May you be free from suffering. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  16. Coincidences and Connections If you haven't been following along and want to catch up, here are all the prior installments of this strange and mostly marvelous tale: Part 1: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-1.html Part 2: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-2.html Part 3: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-3.html Part 4: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-4.html Part 5: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-5.html Part 6: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/08/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-6.html Part of the weirdness of this journey for me was watching all these odd coincidences unfold. Realizing that I had a circle of friends in common with my Uncle Paul was certainly one of them, but not the only one. Another delightful discovery was that I had a cousin who lives a few towns over from me. He and I met for an extended breakfast last December and pretty much talked nonstop. G's father is my maternal grandmother's brother, so I *think* that makes us second cousins. (Parenthetical aside: No matter how many times I look up the difference between a cousin and a cousin once removed, I can't keep the distinction in my head. It makes sense when I look at the genealogy charts, but vanishes after a few minutes.) I realized, when putting this blog post together, that it's been nearly a year since G. and I met and I definitely need to reach out to him and reconnect. So to recap: In October of 2017, I found the adoption file that I had believed was lost in our 2010 house fire while looking for something in the attic. I fired up google and typed in my birth mother's name I found her; but she had died in 2010 Through the family tree that was posted for her, I found her brother, my uncle He and I were connected by a circle of science fiction & fantasy creators Through Paul, I was embraced by my large extended maternal-side family (cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, and my birth mother's 2nd husband) with one exception: My maternal half brother utterly rejected me That brings me up to the Spring of 2018. To that point, I had not yet connected to any of my paternal family. During this process, I had signed up with both Ancestry and 23andme. Despite my initial misgivings about the confidentiality of my genetic information, I decided to go ahead with the genetic testing mainly because I hadn't known at the time if I would ever get my health history from any relatives. Given that I have children, and given how much we are discovering about the importance of genetics in health and disease, I chose to risk the privacy issues. One of the things that 23andme does is sends you periodic reports when it finds genetic matches and gives you their best estimate on how close a relationship you share. In late June of 2018, I got an update from them with a new genetic match. RB was listed as a likely 1st or possibly 2nd cousin. And his last name was the same as my birth father's. This was my first clue to discovering my paternal side family! I sent an email through the website and got a response back a few days later. Here's where it gets tangled. The person who answered my email was LA, the daughter of RB. She had been the one to manage the DNA test for her father. It turns out that her father, rather than being my 1st cousin, is actually my half-uncle on my paternal side. RB's half brother is my birth father, but R did not grow up with his half-siblings. They shared a father but had different mothers, as my paternal grandfather divorced his first wife, who moved with her child (R) to Utah. My paternal grandfather then remarried and had multiple children with his second wife, one of whom is my birth father. Through this half-uncle, I was connected to a huge branch of the family, much of which live in Utah. I have corresponded with multiple levels of cousins only to discover that one of my (2nd cousins? Removed? Gah, this gets so complicated!) is a science fiction writer with whom . . . wait for it . . . we share an entire network of mutual friends. Yes, folks, there are bone fide science fiction geeks/writers on BOTH sides of my genetic code. And it was utterly delightful when I discovered that both Paul (my maternal uncle) and Karen (my 2nd cousin, something something removed on my paternal side) were both attending WorldCon in California this summer. The two of them found one another and took a photo together for me. Paul and Karen - the 2 sides of my heritage meet! To be continued. . . P.S. Happy "Foundaversary" Paul! It was just a year ago that we spoke for the first time! Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  17. Here’s our spoiler-free review of Citadel of the Sky by Chrysoula Tzavelas. Get your copy by becoming a member today and then join us in the F-BOM forums. We look forward to hearing your thoughts! On Chrysoula Tzavelas’s author website she describes Citadel of the Sky as the first installment of a pentalogy that explores “what happens generations… Read More The post Citadel of the Sky: F-BOM Book of the Month Review appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  18. TheRealLindsey

    Into the Drowning Deep: A Feminist Book Review

    In 2015, Imagine Entertainment sent a ship filled with media personalities, scientists, and crew to discover whether or not mermaids exist. No one truly expected for the made-for-TV voyage to be successful, but when the ship turned up weeks after being lost at sea with horrifying video and no bodies, it was obvious they had… Read More The post Into the Drowning Deep: A Feminist Book Review appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  19. TheRealLindsey

    Summer 2018 Flash Fiction Contest Winners

    Here are the winning stories from F-BOM’s Summer 2018 flash fiction contest, Lead Astray, judged by Fiona J.R. Titchenell. Did you miss the contest this quarter? Our next topic will be revealed in November. Follow us on Facebook for updates. Click here for submission guidelines. First place: Longing for Addiction by Catriona Huber It caught the sun just right, always.… Read More The post Summer 2018 Flash Fiction Contest Winners appeared first on F-BOM. View the full article
  20. Photos taken by me at the Museum of Prehistoric Thera The Potter of Akroteri*She has no patience for the way the wind whips the hair into her eyes and mouth and binds it with a leather strap. Her back is broad from digging, her firm arms wedge the clay free of air, her right leg drives the kick wheel in a relentless rhythm as a pot blooms between her capable hands. She rises from the wheel to ease the ache in her hip, takes a sip of cool water drawn from the cistern below her shop. Her assistants roll coils of clay into fat snakes that swallow their own tails round and round as amphorae grow tall and straight. Far below in the harbor, ships bear treasures from Crete, from Egypt, from Turkey. Her vessels will fill theirs, trading olives and wine from her beloved island to strangers across the sea. We are ghosts to one another – this potter and me – we share only the dust of dried clay and the secret knowledge of our alchemy. In the museum, docents glare as I stand close to each display as if they know my secret desire to hold that delicate cup, to stroke the surface of this burnished pot. Some were untouched by time, freed whole from the ground that had sheltered them. Others lovingly pieced together, archaeologists able to separate fired clay from rock and stone. I lean in to study the decorations: complex spirals and tiny swallows, their upswept wings captured in a single deft brushstroke. These shapes are so familiar. The belly of her cups will fit my palms exactly, as if this ancient potter had just emptied her kiln and set them out for me. --LJ Cohen September 2018, Thira (Santorin), Greece *Inspired by our current travels in Greece, my love of pottery, and the recent discovery that a skeleton discovered on Crete with unusual patterns of wear is in fact of a woman master ceramicist. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  21. Stevie can alter her appearance through genetic manipulation. Her job affords her considerable power. And she uses both to clean up her corrupt City, one evildoer at a time... as long as she doesn't get caught.

    In Book 1 of Daughters of Anarchy, Stevie's beleaguered world struggles to rebuild itself after decades of war. The City is bankrupt. The shaky economy benefits the wealthy. Greenery is scarce. Women genetically enhance their appearances to attract a shortage of men. Perhaps worst of all, the Feds have instituted mass surveillance to prevent more terrorist attacks.

    Stevie has only one goal: restore balance to her native City. And she does so with great finesse... until her dangerous endeavors begin to catch up with her

    Note: When you purchase the print copy you also get the e-book copy included. Download the e-book copy from the "E-book Download" area. 

    $24.00

  22. Roxal doesn’t want to die.

    And after watching the brutal execution of accused blasphemers, she wonders how long she has to live. Because Roxal knows she’s only pretending to be a believer. How long will it be before her “gods” know it, too?

    Lauren's on the verge of making a technological breakthrough when a sudden illness stops her in her tracks. Desperate visits to a hypnotherapist show her that an alien named Roxal is responsible. Is this alien real? And, what does she want?

    For these two women, knowing the truth is a death sentence. Can they find a way to survive?

    Note: When you purchase the print copy you also get the e-book copy included. Download the e-book copy from the "E-book Download" area. 

    $24.00

  23. Roxal doesn’t want to die.

    And after watching the brutal execution of accused blasphemers, she wonders how long she has to live. Because Roxal knows she’s only pretending to be a believer. How long will it be before her “gods” know it, too?

    Lauren's on the verge of making a technological breakthrough when a sudden illness stops her in her tracks. Desperate visits to a hypnotherapist show her that an alien named Roxal is responsible. Is this alien real? And, what does she want?

    For these two women, knowing the truth is a death sentence. Can they find a way to survive?

    $15.00

  24. Stevie can alter her appearance through genetic manipulation. Her job affords her considerable power. And she uses both to clean up her corrupt City, one evildoer at a time... as long as she doesn't get caught.

    In Book 1 of Daughters of Anarchy, Stevie's beleaguered world struggles to rebuild itself after decades of war. The City is bankrupt. The shaky economy benefits the wealthy. Greenery is scarce. Women genetically enhance their appearances to attract a shortage of men. Perhaps worst of all, the Feds have instituted mass surveillance to prevent more terrorist attacks.

    Stevie has only one goal: restore balance to her native City. And she does so with great finesse... until her dangerous endeavors begin to catch up with her.

    $15.00

  25. The Yiskor service on Yom Kippur is a powerful one. The whole day is powerful with its themes of repentance, atonement, and introspection and the memorial prayers for the dead seem to take on additional meaning. Even more so now that both my parents have died. This year, I spent quite a bit of time during the service thinking about the three mothers who have had a great influence on my life: the mother who raised me, the mother who raised my husband, and for the first time, the mother who gave birth to me. I am grateful for the mother who adopted me - who believed I was a special order from G-d to her. She instilled in me a love of reading, of learning, of art, of the importance of family and hard work. If she held on to me a little tighter than I wanted, it was from an abundance of love and a fear of losing what she loved. She was a woman who had experienced deep losses from an early age and lived her life always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I understand that now. I wish she had been able to let go of her fears and truly live. I am grateful for my husband's mother. She died far too young - when she was 50 and Neil was in his second year of medical school. I was fortunate to have known her. She was a force to be reckoned with - passionate, energetic, fiercely devoted to her principles and her family - which is often a difficult balancing act. She raised her son to be a deeply caring and emotionally healthy man. This year, I also said Yiskor for my birth mother. Her name was Robin. She was 17 when she discovered she was pregnant with me. Maybe if she had come of age a decade or so later, perhaps she would have been the mother who raised me, but in the 1960's single parenthood was a different proposition. For whatever her specific reason or reasons, she surrendered me for adoption as a 5 day old infant and set the course of my life on its trajectory. It's almost been a year since I discovered her name on a website and uncovered the network of my extended birth family and have been able to learn a bit about her. She died in 2010 at the age of 65. I never had the chance to connect with her. To let her know I was fine. More than fine - that I had a rich and fulfilling life, complete with work that I enjoy and an amazing family. I love and I am loved. This makes me fortunate beyond measure. When you're an adoptee, the question of nature vs nurture is one that is never far from your thoughts. While much of who I am has been shaped by my upbringing and my experiences, it is also true that there is much of my birth mother in me: the love of science fiction, the pride in the work of my hands, the drive to create, and the passion for local, sustainable food are things I seem to share with her. It felt right to remember these three remarkable women, all of whom have contributed to the woman I am. As part of my spiritual practice, and in the spirit of Yom Kippur, I will work to honor their memories in the new year. May you be inscribed in the book of life. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
  26. For anyone just stumbling on this story, the earlier installments are here: Part 1: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-1.html Part 2: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-2.html Part 3: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-3.html Part 4: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-4.html Part 5: http://ljcbluemuse.blogspot.com/2018/07/this-is-me-adoption-story-part-5.html I've taken a bit of a hiatus in the tale of my adoption search. Part of that is because life is busy and full. Part because this is an emotional journey and writing about it brings back the intensity of living through it. Part, because this next piece was difficult to write. In a prior installment, I talked about discovering I had a half brother. "[Paul] also told me that [Robin] had been married and had had a child - a son. My half-brother. J (and I'll be using initials for some of the people in this story, first names for others, all to protect people's privacy) had estranged himself from the family decades before. Paul had no idea why. Only that when Robin was dying, J never responded to their emails and didn't attend her funeral."I hadn't been ready at the time to contact him: it was more than enough to process all these new family member. Contacting J would be taking yet another enormous emotional risk. One I wasn't sure I was ready for. So in February, I got to see Paul again, this time at Boskone (another Boston area Science Fiction and Fantasy convention.) This time, my husband and older son got to meet him. And they got along like they had been long-lost friends. Paul meeting his "new" grandnephew In fact, when I had to run from brunch to make a panel, my son and husband stayed to chat with Paul and later Paul's wife commented something to the effect that my husband and Paul could have been related they had so much in common. At this point, it had been four months since I had found Paul and my maternal side family. I had been embraced and welcomed by them all: my uncle Paul. His half-sister. Paul's daughter. Robin's second husband Ed, Paul's cousin G, (who lives about 15 minutes from me!), and G's father, Paul and Robin's Uncle. Pretty much all of the family. Except for my half brother J. That February, I asked Paul for J's contact information. He gave it to me, but cautioned me not to expect much. That there was a strong possibility J would never even answer my email. And that I shouldn't take it personally. It was very sweet for him to be so concerned, and to want to protect me from being hurt. I assured him that no matter what happened, it couldn't be personal, since J didn't know me. And that I felt strongly about giving him the option to connect or not. So I sent J an email. I had few expectations, but I also didn't want to make the choice for him. I was surprised to get a reply right away. And his reply was similar to his grandmother's response so many years ago: essentially, prove who you are. So I did. I took pictures of my adoption documents and of the notes in our mother's handwriting that were included in the file and emailed them back to him, also clarifying that I wasn't looking for anything from him other than the opportunity to connect, or at the very least, trade health information. I also directed him to this blog for a chance to get to know me at a remove. I waited. And waited. It was weeks. By the time I got a response, I had been certain none would be forthcoming. I imagine J crafted his email carefully, aiming for whatever he believed would be most hurtful to drive me away. I won't share the specifics of what he wrote. The what almost doesn't matter. It was clearly untrue and it was clearly meant to ensure I kept my distance from him. While I don't like making assumptions, it's hard to read J's words and not see an intent to wound. This was the kind of response Paul had been worried about for my sake. And had I received that response at a far earlier time in my life, I might have been truly hurt by it. But I know what it is like to love and be loved. To trust and be trusted. J's response had nothing to do with me and everything to do with him and whatever hurt and anger he has nurtured all these years. I am sorry for him. He had every right to reject contact. Had he done so directly and honestly, I would have been disappointed, but that is the nature of choices. But by responding with cruelty and disdain, he revealed himself more clearly than he will ever know. And it saddens me that he chose to lash out. I worry that he doesn't have the kind of rich emotional life and support that I have. He may be a stranger, but his is also my brother. My *baby* brother. There is that part of me that wishes to take care of him and embrace him as I have been embraced. I did send him a reply. I didn't respond to any of the hurtful words, only told him that I would honor his wish to break off contact. I offered some of my medical/health information and let him know that should he choose differently in the future, I would welcome hearing from him. That was six months ago. I don't imagine there will be any reply. Subscribe to BlueMusings and receive my short story collection, STRANGER WORLDS THAN THESE, as my gift. Email First Name Blue Musings is a low volume e-newsletter containing notifications about book releases, sales, recommendations, and free original short fiction. Please click the box, then "subscribe" to allow us to send it to you via email. View the full article
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