WORDS, WORDS, WORDS

“The words always flowed though, somehow, as though they were hidden in some old dusty chamber of my mind, a treasure-chest of thoughts, connected, somehow, to my fingers -knowing exactly when I held a pen, or touched the keyboard- to come rolling down, like precious pearls and rubies, and be embedded in ink forever.

“Ah words– beautiful words; old words; heard words; forgotten words; dismissed words; loved words; lost words; new words; magical words; this word and that word… rushing out on paper to fulfill their destiny, to be read, to be heard, to be felt and to be honoured.

“Words can beautify the everyday ugliness, mask and sugarcoat the humdrum of routine, brighten the dull and silver the grey… Is there anything more exquisite?

“And that is precisely why the writer writes, robed in words, to be undressed by some insightful reader who beholds the raw, pure truth behind the veil of words, and loves it in all its ugliness, and all its eloquence; knowing every secret, and extracting every ounce of wisdom from it; knowing every fear, and taking heart from it; knowing every darkness, to believe in the light; and seeing every bit of reality, covered in fiction and sweet rhyme; for words connect souls, and it is only through words, that one can be vulnerable enough to be truly known, truly understood and truly loved….”

Ishaisms

I read somewhere that one should never sit to write without an idea of what one is going to; yet ever since that really young age, when I began letting my demons out in ink, I always found myself venturing out on the journey of words without a predetermined thought, or a preconceived destination, or any clue as to what I was really on to… I do not know if that makes me a really brave or a really stupid writer- maybe both; the line is pretty thin anyway.

Maybe it was the smell of printed books, the exhilarating shuffling of pages, the feel of ink-stained fingers that goaded me on – the inner me, the core of my soul, always knowing what she was doing – I being just the physical channel.

The words always flowed though, somehow, as though they were hidden in some old dusty chamber…

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Individualism

FeaturedIndividualism

A good blog post by the Hyacinth Girl, in which I’m quoted. It opens,

“Scrolling through my Twitter feed the other day, I came across this picture posted by the History in Pictures account. It’s a box of wedding rings found by liberators at a concentration camp in 1945. Each ring belonged to a person, and each person disappeared into the camps….”

http://www.thehyacinthgrrrl.com/2017/12/individualism.html

 

Manchester

FeaturedManchester

Again comes the cry, again comes the mourn,
Clutched fingers in hair over flowers forlorn;
Candles all lit till the night wetly glows,
Coffins wrapped neatly in black satin bows.

Shadows beg mercy where mercy’s unknown,
Prayers and peace offerings all fruitlessly sown,
The desperately hoping more love will suffice
For those taking no less than blood sacrifice.

There’s left but one answer to those who love death,
Whose sword demands kneeling until the last breath,
Those blinded to reason, faith shrouding their eyes
Till torn from their skulls, their creed’s final prize.

There’s left but one choice, for those who love life,
In answer to those sworn to murder and strife:
When faith-deafened minds every argument shun,
When no word can turn what no logic has won,
When pleas have been met every time with a gun—
Swift granting of death is the deed sooner done.

Genesis featured on Free eBooks & Tips today

Look what’s featured on Free eBooks & Tips this morning!
http://fkbt.com/2017/02/03/fridays-featured-free-kindle-book-genesis/

Genesis is currently #17 in the Historical Literary Fiction category.  “In the twilight of the Roman Empire, as the darkening forces of mysticism descend on Western Civilization, the daughter of itinerant traders is falling fast for a local boy—the apprentice and adopted son of a sculptor. The old master, concerned for the boy’s future, recalls his years as a younger man in bustling Alexandria, where he had found the love of his life before having to flee the threat of religious persecution. Now, having finally rebuilt his life and career in a village far away, an enemy from the past reappears, threatening all he holds dear….”

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THROUGH MIDNIGHT TONIGHT, FRIDAY 2/3.

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Oh, but you are . . .

FeaturedOh, but you are . . .

Oh, but you are an artist ~ you are the sculptor of your character, the painter of your style, the composer of your attitude, the architect of your future, the writer of the story of your life.

 

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Genesis cover art 100215 w borderEnjoy Genesis, Part I of Idolatry  

In the twilight of the Roman Empire, a sculptor struggles to keep an 800-year dream alive while honoring the love of his life and raising his adopted son. Part I of the epic five-part Idolatry saga, the story of a wealthy young heir and a devout Christian girl who find themselves at the heart of a 2400-year struggle for the soul of Western Civilization.

“Beautifully written, on the order of Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth, with the historical insight of James Michener, it brings to life a time of great thought, great art, and its clash with religious fanaticism. Cordair writes with a poet’s sense of scene and nuance and gives us a great deal of insight into the mind of a sculptor; I found this an exciting and easy read.” ~ Alan Nitikman

genesis

Genesis, Part I of Idolatry, is now on Amazon in paperback & Kindle editions here…

Panem et Circenses

FeaturedPanem et Circenses

And came the hour for panem et circenses, for the promised bread and circuses, and the people’s demands grew louder until they were given, not as much as they wanted or expected, but it was what they were given, and they ate the bread while laughing in the circus at the fear and pleading on the faces below, faces which had once been above. They laughed and chewed as pale flesh was ripped and bones broken, as the dark blood pooled across the circus floor, and when the cries below had gone silent, the people drifted home, sated and mollified for that day and the next, praising their new emperor and forgiving him much, until they began to grow hungry again, and the emperor was slow in providing, and another rose up among them, promising to provide panem et circenses, and faces below which had once been above.

Character

FeaturedCharacter

Character always matters. Always. The character of a man is who he is. Character is definition, self-made. It defines what a man will do, how he will do it, and what he will not do. Discount or dismiss the character of a man at your peril.

The predator preys at convenience. Awaiting opportunity, he employs camouflage, subterfuge, stealth, while studying and testing his targets’ weaknesses, vulnerabilities. The weakness of many is simply their failure, their refusal or inability to identify the predator for what he is, their failure to take seriously the threat of what he has proven himself to be. . . . The mind, too, fights or takes flight. The danger is in the mind taking flight while the body, vulnerable, remains. . . . The predator lies low, slinks in, bush to bush through the grasses until he is within the herd. The danger is sensed—the subtle sounds, not quite right, the unusual lines shifting through the tall blades. The wary few raise alarm. The herd stops, raising their heads, scanning, listening. But the stalker has stopped too, holding, waiting – waiting until their guard is lowered again. The prey always lower their heads again eventually, their hunger winning out over mindfulness.

Out of the thick silence, the dust boils and the strike is made. The screams of the dying will long remain with those who escape — until it is forgotten again, forgotten that the character of a man always matters. Always.