And now for a sneak peek at the drawing that will eventually become the illustrated cover art for Matters of Convenience
Sunday, May 1, 2016
THE GIRL ON THE SUBWAY
Did you ever see someone who made your heart sit still for just a moment, but what a moment? I hope you have, for that’s the most accurate description I can give of the girl on the subway.
She was usually reading a magazine, the kind with plenty of glossy photographs of beautiful celebrities hobnobbing with one another. Perhaps she wished to be one of them. Perhaps she was content to admire them from afar. I could only guess, for I did not have the nerve to ask. This was okay though. For forty minutes a day I was able to take her in, and this served my needs just fine.
When I first saw the girl on the subway, I happened to be halfway through a relationship. Of course I didn’t know yet that Sharon and I had already peaked and would be starting the decline of our relationship within a matter of weeks. I was reasonably content with the way things were going at the time, so the state of my social life went unaffected by the crush I had developed. I must confess, however, that I did consider if I would be willing to leave Sharon for this stranger, provided that such a scenario ever presented itself. It was not a serious thought, just idle contemplation to help make my morning journey pass more quickly.
Perhaps I should have felt guilty about these thoughts, but resistance to them was futile. This girl I saw five mornings a week possessed the sort of beauty that did not boldly pronounce itself, but made its appearance known in a quieter, steadier manner. She was the owner of impossibly high cheekbones and lioness eyes that beheld the world with seeming indifference. Her hair was simply styled, straight and about shoulder length, somewhat on the stringy side. She habitually twirled strands of it on her fingers, sometimes examining the loose ends, other times paying it no mind. Her body was not of the voluptuous type I favored, in fact she was rather thin, but somehow this worked to her advantage in my eyes, for a sense of fragility and vulnerability was exuded that made me want to protect her. The baggy clothing she favored put me in mind of a little girl in hand-me-downs she had not quite grown into. Adornment was kept to a minimum. She wore no jewelry of any kind, putting her in stark contrast with her glittering female counterparts. Her ears were not even pierced. Her fingernails were unpolished, perhaps for health consideration, because sometimes she chewed on them, usually when the train was stalled. Perhaps she was a little claustrophobic. The only make-up I could detect was rust red lipstick that stained the lid of her Starbucks coffee cup.
She struck me as the active type, perhaps a tomboy, for the flesh of her arms compressed sinewy muscle, and based on a succession of bumps and bruises, I concluded that she played rough and tumble games with reckless abandon. No doubt there was a boyfriend somewhere with whom she scaled walls, roller bladed, and partook in other trendy activities intended to procure perspiration and encourage the purchase of designer water. Sharon preferred more intellectual entertainment such as poetry readings and lectures by Pulitzer Prize winners.
One morning I was surprised to find a cast over the forearm and wrist of the subway girl’s left arm. I saw this as an opportunity, for it gave me a feeble excuse to comment on her condition. Perhaps I would come off as charming if I asked to sign her cast. I prepared to speak, but the words remained locked in my throat. She kept her eyes glued to the pages of People magazine for the entire ride, and I kept my own pupils focused on her pretty profile.
Sharon and I went on vacation together to Barbados in August. Petty arguments had been spoiling a substantial share of our time. I thought that tropical breezes, the dazzling water of the Caribbean, and frozen daiquiris might be the proper remedy to our woes. I thought wrong. We were still together when our airplane returned us to New York’s Kennedy airport, but our relationship was hanging on a thread.
On my first day back to work I stepped onto the F train at a quarter past eight in the morning. My eyes welcomed a sight that surprised me by how much it had been missed. She looked up shortly after I had secured a position. Her eyes rested on my face for a beat longer than they ever had before. Then her gaze returned to the magazine in her lap. Her expression remained blank as she looked at me, but I felt certain that my presence was recognized. My absence had been noted, and perhaps my new tan as well. I hoped to catch her eye one more time, and if successful, perhaps I would finally venture a smile. She did in fact pay minimal attention to her reading material on this ride, peeking up frequently to observe the advertisements that bordered the walls of the subway car. With much frustration I tried but failed to intercept her path of vision. I had just about given up when three stops before my destination, she looked at me once again. I sensed that something monumental was about to occur. Instead, she opened up her purse to look for something and the moment was lost.
One week after she stopped sporting a cast on her arm, she appeared with a bandage on her forehead that did not fully conceal the bruise beneath it. It was likely the result of excessive enthusiasm in squash or racquetball. I pictured her running after a ball with total abandon on the court of a New York Health Club, and this image put a smile on my face. But I could spare little time to fantasize about her on this day. My thoughts were occupied by the turmoil of the previous night. The stress Sharon was dealing with at work had overflowed into our love life. Arranging time for us to get together was growing increasingly difficult, and when it was managed, it ended up hardly worth the effort. The night before we had argued passionately. Things had been said that were eventually apologized for, but could not truly be taken back. The end was near. It took no great gift of foresight to recognize this. We would promise to remain friends, but this would be an easily broken vow.
Two weeks later I grasped a strap with one arm while holding up a folded newspaper with the other. I did not usually read the newspaper on my morning commute because of the overcrowded condition of the train. However, Patrick Ewing had returned to the Knicks lineup after a long injury plagued absence and I was anxious to find out how he had done. The sports section engrossed me so deeply that I paid little mind to the object of my infatuation, who was seated just off to my right. An occasional peek at her sufficed. When the train pulled into my station and the herd of midtown white collar workers moved as one towards the open doors, I looked at her for the final time that day. The last thing I expected to see was a single teardrop rolling slowly down her cheek.
Sharon and I broke up that night. It was a mutual decision, although I allowed her the privilege of broaching the subject and simply agreed with all she said. Agreeing with Sharon had always been the best, if not the only way to keep the peace with her. Now it was the best method by which to withdraw our respective troops and call a truce to our affair. In a great many ways, Sharon was perfectly suited for me. My friends and family certainly felt as much. Maybe if our timing had been better. Maybe if we had both shown more willingness to compromise. When things between us were at their best, we had had some amazing times together. As our goodbyes were being said, I realized that I had almost loved Sharon. Too bad “almost” never counts in love, or in much of anything else.
On the morning of Columbus Day I stepped into the third car of the F train. Since it was a paid holiday for many people, the train carried only about a third of its usual load of passengers. For this reason I was able to get a seat. Not just any seat, but one adjacent to you know who.
She did not look up from her magazine for what seemed like forever. My countless glances went either unnoticed or ignored. The jerking of the train caused our knees to occasionally touch, sending tiny shocks of electricity up my leg. I wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, though not necessarily to flatter her and make my interest known. I happened to be in the earliest stage of a new relationship that seemed promising. The words which begged release from my tongue were simply what I felt so strongly, believed so sincerely, that I felt I would burst unless this essential truth was proclaimed. The only motive behind my desire to speak was honesty.
Finally she looked up from her magazine. At first she stared vacantly into the space before her. Then she turned towards me. When she did, I no longer thought of giving testimony to her loveliness. I was startled by an obscene marring of her delicate features, and even more so by the most unmistakable expression of misery I had ever been witness to.
I did not believe that her black eye was sports related. I did not presume this time, as I had often before, that her injury had been suffered accidentally. Instead, I said my first words to her.
“Why don’t you leave him?”
“I’ve tried to.”
We spoke as if old friends with no secrets between us. For almost a full year I had been communicating my affection for her with carefully aimed glances. Now I spoke of my concern plainly, leaving no room for misinterpretation, leaving her no option to deny the painfully obvious truth.
“He doesn’t love you or else he wouldn’t do this to you.”
“It’s complicated,” she said so quietly that I only made the words out by reading her lips, which I imagined to be as tender as the first flakes of winter, and her kisses perhaps as fleeting.
“It seems pretty simple to me. He hurts you, so you have no choice but to get as far away from him as possible.”
“I have walked out on him before,” she told me. “He finds me and tells me how sorry he is, how badly he feels, how it will never happen again. My friends tell me not to go back. They say he’s no good. I know they’re smart and they have my interest at heart, so I try to follow their advice. I pray for the strength to stay away from him, and sometimes it works. Almost.”
Our train pulled into the next station. She stood up and walked out. This was not her usual stop. Ordinarily she would still be on the train when I departed. I considered getting up to follow her, to speak to her, to help her. Instead I watched her recede into the distance growing between us.
I never did see her again. Perhaps she switched cars on the train or the timing of her commute so she would no longer encounter me each morning. If she could not escape her torment, she could at least avoid my questions. On a more hopeful note, maybe she finally listened to her friends and moved someplace far away, free from the violence of deformed love.
I try not to think of the worst case scenario. I prefer to believe that wherever she is, she is safe and she is happy. .
My wedding day is fast approaching. Dana, the woman I began to date after breaking up with Sharon, turned out to be the one. A strong sense of unreality colors my days now. I’m going to be someone’s husband soon. Eventually I will probably become someone’s father. A whole new life is about to get underway. This is a good thing, an incredibly wondrous thing, a somewhat terrifying thing.
I reflect on days past and inevitably recall my rides on the third car of the F train. I remember the girl who stopped my heart for an instant, right on cue five days a week. I think about the last time I saw her and wonder what would have happened, how different my life might be if I had gotten up and followed her out of the train. Perhaps nothing would have taken place other than her pleading with me to leave her alone, and my slightly late arrival at work that day. But just maybe she would have allowed me to continue speaking, and our conversation would have moved from subway platform to a more intimate setting. After that, who knows where the road might have led?
What I do know is that I’ll always remember her. I’ll always remember that I chose to follow her, to save her life, to forever change my own. Almost.
x x x x x
And now for a sneak peek at the drawing that will eventually become the illustrated cover art for Matters of Convenience
Friday, April 22, 2016
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Not Prince. No— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
WATCH: One of #Prince's final performances of 'Purple Rain,' taken in Atlanta just days ago.https://t.co/fz2tjWHQgJ— Good Morning America (@GMA) April 22, 2016
4-21-16 The day the music died. The "real" music anyway. R.I.P. to true rock royalty - the man who made it rain purple. #Prince— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
Sometimes it snows in April— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
Sometimes I feel so bad, so bad
Sometimes I wish life was never ending
But all good things, they say, never last
Prince was so special that it's weird to think he'd do something as mundane as *die.*— fredara (@fredaraMareva) April 21, 2016
there's no one left...— The Weeknd (@theweeknd) April 21, 2016
🔥 RT @BrianVibberts: the world turns #purple for #Prince #RIPPrince #GoneTooSoon April 21, 2016 pic.twitter.com/JxPd1CWCd1— Fatima (فاطمة) (@ItsFatima) April 22, 2016
Put Prince on the $50 bill— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
My Prince story: Took a girl to a late-night Paisley Park show. Bodyguard approached girl, "Want to meet Prince?" Never saw girl again. Fin.— Rex Sorgatz (@fimoculous) April 21, 2016
So many hilarious Prince anecdotes in my book "I Want My MTV." Here's one, from video producer Howard Woffinden: pic.twitter.com/8RiaU8ispH— Rob Tannenbaum (@tannenbaumr) April 21, 2016
Prince kicking Kim Kardashian off stage at a concert is a top 10 moment in American history https://t.co/myUuN8vhAo— Isaac (@WorldofIsaac) April 22, 2016
Prince had NO TIME for your hang-ups about gender, sexuality, spirituality or race. "Cut you, cut me - both the blood is red". from RACE— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
Prince produced, arranged, composed & played all 27 instruments in '78 debut album “For You” https://t.co/QaBbGPLpLW pic.twitter.com/d2unyuxKgI— Los Angeles Times (@latimes) April 21, 2016
Youngsters, is your fave proficient at even one? To be nice I'll include triangle and tambourine. https://t.co/3YGd6TIOVk— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 22, 2016
We all know & love the hits but Prince was SO MUCH MORE than them musically. Now listening to what IMHO is one of his top masterpieces: COME— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 21, 2016
The guitar never came down! pic.twitter.com/uDJjxPMvvt— Barry Petchesky (@barryap1) April 21, 2016
Prince once privately donated to the family of Trayvon Martin & even arranged for Eric Garner’s family to attend one of his concerts.— Affinity Magazine (@TheAffinityMag) April 22, 2016
Freddie Gray died. All these rumors about performers wanting to come to Baltimore but the one that did. Prince.— Reet Pozelle ☔️ (@theNFLchick) April 21, 2016
In memoriam: Prince gave black kids the license to be who they wanted to be, not what society thought they should be https://t.co/2AqTaz3id8— Los Angeles Times (@latimes) April 21, 2016
Enough reading. Time to listen.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
I, along with just about every one else, was mesmerized by every minute of The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story. Kudos all around to the people who were involved in the making of this TV gem, with a special shout out to Jeffrey Toobin who wrote the book that the series is based on. I'm long enough in the tooth to have watched the actual proceedings in real time. FX did a fantastic job of bringing us down memory lane. It was called The Trial of the Century for good reason. This was an important moment in our history, unlike, say, a Gap Kids ad daring to have a white kid leaning on a black kid's head in one of the pictures, or some random white guy with "the audacity" to wear his hair in dreadlocks. No need to whip yourself into a frenzy over such trivial matters back in the mid-90's. OJ Simpson's murder trial was legitimately a Very Big Deal that brought critical issues to light for inspection by society. Polar opposite reactions to the verdict by many blacks and whites was all too real, no faux outrage required. People too young to have experienced it first hand were gifted with an impressive simulation over the course of several weeks rather than a whopping 8 months. Below are some of my thoughts stated on Twitter as the series unfolded, along with commentary from others. Now I need a new TV show to fall in love with while waiting for more OJ Simpson documentaries. Hopefully not another program that will be over with far too soon. Any suggestions?
Keep your #PeoplevsOJSimpson think pieces coming, people. Those I'll actually read. I miss it so much already. https://t.co/cGGQW5ni8z— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
I loved the People vs. OJ Simpson but the 7.5 hour OJ doc, coming this summer, is even more incendiary: https://t.co/K2Iei1y0Zl— Anne Helen Petersen (@annehelen) April 6, 2016
OJ shld be doing life for murder, but his Vegas case was bogus. My friend Sterling Brown right about parole. @ACSFX https://t.co/WQ1SuXUhcx— Jeffrey Toobin (@JeffreyToobin) April 6, 2016
Flavor Flav -- Do I Own the Real O.J. Statue? Yeaaaaahhh BOYYYYYYY!!! https://t.co/dWZ4Y6Yk3Q— TMZ Sports (@TMZ_Sports) April 6, 2016
An O.J. Juror on What The People v. O.J. Simpson Got Right and Wrong https://t.co/8MXYbRSrRv via @vulture - Very interesting read— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
The most obscure figure in The People v OJ Simpson was the man at its center. https://t.co/8k6QuaZkxA pic.twitter.com/lTIY0hGGER— New Republic (@NewRepublic) April 7, 2016
Twitter couldn't have handled #ThePeoplevOJSimpson IRL. Only thing keeping ppl from losing their minds now is it seems so much like fiction.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 30, 2016
I felt sad for families of Ron Goldman and Nicole Simpson watching #PeoplevsOJSimpson. I'm not proud that at the time I pumped fist for OJ.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
It was such a strange case. Our history of gross inequality made many hope for OJ's team to strike a blow against racist police brutality.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
This made many forget the case wasn't about America's f'd up racial history. It was about a crime of passion with tons of damning evidence.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
Justice should always be sought and hopefully found on a case by case basis, not based on broad generalities.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) April 6, 2016
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
I need to start researching in case Trump improbably wins it all. Which country should I move to for at least 4 years?— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 25, 2016
So much dumbed down. Reality TV rules tube. 50 Shades tops Bestseller list. Journalism: ugh! But I thought we already bottomed @ POTUS w/ GW— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 25, 2016
Trump would be lower than I at my most pessimistic ever thought we would go— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 25, 2016
Whether you've made up your mind or you're still undecided, know that whichever candidate you vote for will be flawed & a truth fudger.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 26, 2016
Maybe you'll go with candidate who seems the least flawed and has flung the least amount of BS. Maybe you have different selection criteria.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 26, 2016
Whoever you vote for, you're voting for a politician and they are what they are. Unless you vote for Trump - then you're just an idiot.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 26, 2016
Donald Trump wavers on disavowing David Duke, the white nationalist and ex-Ku Klux Klansman https://t.co/1vK3hcbLbK pic.twitter.com/YoLwncLsEB— NYT Politics (@nytpolitics) February 28, 2016
America's first black president cannot and will not be succeeded by a hatemonger who refuses to condemn the KKK.— Bernie Sanders (@BernieSanders) February 28, 2016
Trump was quick to condemn Latinos & Muslims, and mock a disabled reporter. But when it comes to the KKK, he needs time to think about it.— Lisa Bloom (@LisaBloom) February 28, 2016
If Trump wins the presidency I will personally track down and smack every eligible voter who chose not to vote at all.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 28, 2016
How do you feel about David Duke is one of those gotcha questions like what magazines do you read. Where does America find these people?— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 1, 2016
Even David Duke would rebuke any semblance of an endorsement from David Duke.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 1, 2016
if the republican party is committing suicide via toxic racism, its in our best interests to help and hope something better rises— Oliver Willis (@owillis) March 1, 2016
Think I'll take a pass on giving racism an assist. Plenty of institutions have been built on it rather than destroyed by it.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 1, 2016
This @CNN #SuperTuesday fight between @VanJones68 and Jeffrey Lord got ugly FAST: https://t.co/YEPfWILePd pic.twitter.com/R5eRKeajzk— Matt Wilstein (@TheMattWilstein) March 2, 2016
As I think on it I grow less surprised by Trump not rejecting David Duke which = openly courting bigot vote 100%. It's calculated.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
While the establishment GOP was wondering how to steal back some of the Latino/Black/etc. vote won by Obama, Trump went the other way.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
Trump saw there were many ppl pissed about 2 Obama terms, rise of #BLM movement, strengthened gay rights, etc. He courted those people.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
Trump went all "throw out all Muslims & Mexicans" and rednecks ate that sh*t up. They feel they've been opressed for 8 years, poor idiots.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
Trump captured good will instead of serious flack for pushing that birther nonsense and decided to run with it.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
I suspect that Trump's run is a sprint, not a marathon. Saner voices will be heard in general election. GOP primary is catered to crazies.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
Trump supporters caught on video pushing black woman out of rally | theGrio https://t.co/lkhbnLzs9V via @theGrio— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 2, 2016
Enough is enough.
Oh wow... pic.twitter.com/4sCwh2sV2I— Frank Thorp V (@frankthorpNBC) March 5, 2016
Saturday, February 13, 2016
People want Bey 2b > she is. They want her as spokesperson 4 all their convictions. So they turn all she does into statements of solidarity— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 12, 2016
Feminists want Bey 2b feminist. Natural hair cheerleaders want Bey as their leader. #BLM civil rights activists want Bey to be woke as hell. The list of causes that people want to recruit Bey as face/body/soul for goes on and on, but what her fans want Beyoncé to be doesn't magically transform her into what she simply isn't.
Bey is none of these things. She's a performer & great self promoter who wants max $ success. No time for or interest in your passions.
Fortunately for Bey, her fans are happy to fill in blanks. She gives an inch and is credited with a mile. She reps whatever u want her to.
If Bey actually was who you want her to be, you'd grow bored. Best to be a blank slate that each fan can fill up to their personal liking.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 12, 2016
Beyonce is Chauncey Gardiner. Pat yourself on back if you get the reference.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 12, 2016
btw - None of that is meant as a slight of Beyonce. To the contrary. Bravo! What she has pulled off puts her in rarified air. No easy trick.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 12, 2016
Protests planned against and for @Beyonce https://t.co/RkugcUpiV0 #BoycottBeyonce #Formation pic.twitter.com/ELrPpXk28k— CNN Entertainment (@CNNent) February 10, 2016
Just enjoy the music, the videos, the intoxicating live performances. Let that be enough. And if you can't beat them, join them?Boycotting Beyonce is even more ridiculous than being a stan beyond reason. She isn't worth the energy to be so strongly for or against.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 13, 2016
Bey isn't the only one who can get into Black Panther mode. https://t.co/iWCaLegqhU #BHM pic.twitter.com/sNRk2pKPjx— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 13, 2016
You stan for Beyonce, I'll stan for Toni Morrison, Jesmyn Ward, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie and Zadie Smith. I win.— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) March 20, 2014
Or do I?
AND NOW FOR SOME BOOK REVIEWS.
A Drink Before the War by Dennis Lehane
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Dennis Lehane's debut novel that introduced us to private investigators Patrick Kenzie and Angela Gennaro is an example of him doing what he does best. He brings readers to the gritty streets of Boston where bad people do bad things and the good guys do all they can to make things right. If the line between good guys and bad guys gets a little blurred, such is the nature of life. That doesn't change what's right and what's wrong. The examination of racial tensions and unrepentant bigotry is a worthy effort within the confines of a crime genre novel. I've read novels Lehane subsequently wrote prior to reading his first effort, so I know that A Drink Before the War demonstrates raw talent destined to grow from book to book.
View all my reviews
The Axeman by Ray Celestin
My rating: 3 of 5 stars
This was a thoroughly entertaining read populated with interesting characters and intriguing situations right out of history books. But most appealing of all to me was the setting. New Orleans shortly before the onset of Prohibition. This book has the Mafia, vice, jazz musicians, voodoo, racial tensions, interracial love in defiance of the times, crooked politicians, determined police detectives, intrepid private investigators, and as you may have guessed from the title, a serial killer running amok. And let me not forget the predecessor hurricane to Katrina thrown in for good measure. It delivered what the cover copy promised. I can't ask for any more than that.
View all my reviews
NOS4A2 by Joe Hill
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
This book delivered and proved the old adage that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Stephen King's son has proven capable of giving his old man a run for his money. Taking the merriest of holidays and turning ho ho ho's into a tale of horror was a stroke of genius. Hear Jingle Bells in late November or December and it brings smiles to the faces of those who celebrate Christmas on December 25th. Heard in June and it's straight up creepy because it so obviously does not belong. I wouldn't be surprised if it was this particular event that planted the seed which became NOS4A2. Regardless, Joe Hill's novel is a well executed tale inhabited by characters who are easy to relate to. It features a protagonist who is able to conjure up a bridge with her mind that can take her wherever she wishes to go. We all wish at some point that we had a super power, whether it be invisibility or x ray vision or superhuman strength or the ability to take flight. In NOS4A2 we meet a woman who can find whatever is missing, wherever it may be. But taking too many trips in search of lost things comes at the risk of losing her mind. Or having everyone believe that is what's happening to her. This spooky, inventive story has me anxious to read more of Joe Hill's work, and to take down my Christmas decorations ASAP. Anybody can make Halloween scary but Mr. Hill appears capable of freaking out readers 365 days a year.
View all my reviews
American Gods by Neil Gaiman
My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Intriguing premise. The various gods who have been worshiped by mankind over the centuries are real. When belief of them is at its height, when they are being prayed to and sacrifices are regularly made in their honor, their powers are at peak. As the years pass into modern times and memories of the old gods fade, they become shadows of their former selves. New gods are continually created because there are always new things that men believe in and live for and sometimes kill for. But plenty of the old gods, usually masked as common people walking among us, are still around. If enough of them band together, perhaps the ancient gods can vanquish the newer ones in a war. A man named Shadow, who toes the line between the world of man and gods, is enlisted in the cause. There are many books I've greatly enjoyed that I no longer recall many details about. Something tells me that American Gods is one of those books that for reasons I scarcely understand will stick with me.
View all my reviews
Thursday, February 11, 2016
BUT ENOUGH ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE THAT. THIS BLOG POST IS FOR TRUE LOVERS.
Looking to get a Valentine's Day gift for your favorite bookworm?... https://t.co/r6cc7vuNUQ— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) January 30, 2016
I love them all in my fashion. For me, love means never forgetting. http://t.co/2gChdexJ72 #FeedingTheSquirrels - A Novella Serialized— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 6, 2015
BEWARE THE FRIEND ZONE - ESPECIALLY ON VALENTINE'S DAY
My 2nd novel Matters of Convenience chronicles the hazards of this zone. Tread carefully. https://t.co/kqkJXwNYRD https://t.co/DXf9hf3fIL— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) February 5, 2016
It was almost as if she had willed him into existence, into standing before her at the precise moment she was willing to accommodate him, arriving not a minute too early or too late. ~ from MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE
Perhaps all love stories no matter how varied are essentially the same. We each search for the person put here specifically for us and play a guessing game with whoever comes along. One of them will be the one we were waiting for. In the midst of uncertainties this inarguable truth sustains us, even if it isn’t true. ~ from MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE
They all believed back then that love lasted forever. By now they surely knew as did he that forever was a treacherous myth, though probably a necessary one. ~ from PATCHES OF GREY
So he decided to suffer from selective amnesia. Forgotten would be the sound of Janet’s laughter; the feel of her lips against his skin; the way her hair spread out over his chest as they lay in repose; the look on her face as they made love; the sound of her voice when she said he was her sun and moon and stars. Only by deleting heaven from his memory did he have a chance to survive on earth. ~ from PATCHES OF GREY
The genesis of their love was physical attraction, and his complexion had lured her the same as hers undoubtedly pulled him. It was not his blackness that she fell in love with, but it was a part of him, and therefore, a part of what she loved. ~ from PATCHES OF GREY
Was love ever easy for anyone? If less complicated, would this make it less appreciated? Perhaps love was difficult for good reason. Perhaps everything on God’s green earth was the result of a flawless plan, even that which seemed most muddled. ~ from PATCHES OF GREY
LOVE TAKES SO MANY SPLENDID FORMS
NY Public Library Mapped the Best Love Scenes from Books Set in NYC
LOVE Has No Boundaries <3 This will bring a tear to your eye.. Share the Love!Posted by Cál Fox on Sunday, May 31, 2015
If you found anything of value in this blog post, by all means...
Saturday, January 30, 2016
There are a few things I'd like to confirm for you since we get an extra day of Black History Month in 2016. They will also apply when we go back to a 28 day February. Also, feel free to follow links to the supporting testimony that pictures and prose below will bring you to.
Yes, BLACK LIVES MATTER and THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES.
BLACK GIRLS ARE MAGIC.
Yes, BLACK IS BEAUTIFUL.
Yes, I fully believe in and celebrate BLACK EXCELLENCE.
Yes, NATURAL HAIR IS GOOD HAIR.
Yes, WE NEED DIVERSE BOOKS. I repeat, WE NEED DIVERSE BOOKS.
Yes, BLACK VOTES ARE CRITICAL.
Yes, BLACK COOL NEVER GOES OUT OUT STYLE.
YES, I don't care if you think I'm hotep or conscious or a cornball brotha or whatever. And it's none of my concern if you only celebrate BLACK HISTORY MONTH in February. I embrace it 365 days per year.
Blackest. Black. History. Month. Ever. pic.twitter.com/a0ja8WUIwE— Michelle LaVaughn (@meagnacarta) February 27, 2016