Guest Post: Poet, Barrie Cole

What a Generous Sort of Object

By Barrie Cole

Once, a writer named Barrie Cole, who, even though she wrote poems, essays, short stories, performance monologues, and hybrid pieces, mostly identified as a playwright. She’d written more than 15 of them and that seemed like quite a few to just abandon ship on the role. It didn’t make sense.

In 2024, Barrie Cole was lucky enough to have two theater companies put on a festival with 5 of her plays. Seeing so much of her work at once, she was struck by how much the stuff of not only language, but poetry in particular appeared in them:

In Elevator Tours, Ruth and Will analyze Wallace Steven’s poem, “Of Mere Being.” In Fruit Tree Backpack, Ceil and Anna discuss Anna’s strong feelings about punctuation and metaphor. Later, Anna describes beaches as embarrassing graduate thesis projects and ellipses as stepping stones leading into the unknown. She talks about her failed relationship as an empty vending machine. In Capacity, Shelby and Vivian go on about their enthusiasm for abbreviations and decide they’d like even more words abbreviated. They are also utterly convinced that the best thing a person could ever turn into, were it possible, would be a Shimmering Aspen tree. In Meaning is Tricky, Clare and Mark discuss the concept of binge-watching the world.

This should not have been nearly as surprising as it was because in 2018, she wrote a play called Reality is an Activity, about two middle-aged women who decide to use what they deem poetic interventions to save the world from fascism. They have a dining room table with a removable leaf. The space without the leaf becomes, through the power of imagination, charged with strangeness and transformation. Early in the play, Miranda talks to Mr. Howard, about a tiny magnifying glass as a metaphor for a poem:

Miranda: “Oh, how I love tiny things! Once, I saw a photograph of a tiny magnifying glass and it was as small as the tip of a finger. It was resting on the palm of someone’s hand. I thought it was deliciously ironic that something so tiny could be used as a thing to make other things look larger. Do you enjoy when things are magnified, a leaf for example, or a word in a book? I do. I like to see things up close. And do you love tiny things too, Mr. Howard, yes or no? And do you think irony is fortifying in the same way iron is? I do. How about a paradox? Would you like one? And wouldn’t it be wonderful, Mr. Howard, if a roll could be sliced in the same way bread is sliced? The slices would be so incredibly tiny! I believe adorable, sliced rolls would be the best things since sliced bread. Don’t you agree? What a lucky hand to have had a tiny magnifying glass resting upon it. And isn’t it peculiar Mr. Howard that magnifying glasses cannot magnify themselves but only things other than themselves? What a generous sort of object!”

Okay, I’ll stop writing about myself in the third person now because I am who I am writing about. Sometimes, I find beginning in the third person a useful tool. It’s a trick to gain perspective through mild distancing. And then, after some time, I can allow myself to get nearer bit by bit and jump back into the first.

The truth is somewhere along the line, I must have rejected even the notion of identifying as a poet. So, I just snuck poetry into my plays and other writing wherever I could, like some kind of midnight graffiti artist. The idea of making poetry central to my life and work seemed radical, impossible, slightly embarrassing, and even a little reckless.

I wouldn’t let myself have poetry. I wouldn’t call myself a poet. It wasn’t rational. I was already in my 50s. The festival had received great reviews. We could explore remounting these plays. I could write another and another.

What’s funny is, I really thought there was a choice. There wasn’t. I understand now why nuns become nuns, why birdwatchers travel thousands of miles in the hopes of seeing a particular one, their favorite maybe, with a rainbow crown, turquoise speckled wings, and a mating call that sounds like laughing underwater.

And sometimes, I realized, just like a dog, a leash is placed around your neck, and you are taken. I was and I seem to be still on the walk. The genre of poetry itself seemed to become a miles-long salad bar meant for my fortification. I had no choice but to go with the all-you-could-eat poetry package. This was where meaning was, where what mattered most lived. The alternative was bound to lead to angst at best or a miserable depression at worst. I’d been depressed before. No thanks.

I had revised a great number of old poems, sometimes reworking them past recognition. I wrote dozens of new poems, read a zillion books, applied for residencies, went to one in Oregon, took so many online workshops that I thought about putting a bed in one of the squares on zoom so I could rest. Soon, I began submitting poems. I wrote “Lacquer is a Thrilling Word” to learn how to put together a book of poems. I did not think it would be accepted for publication for a very long time or perhaps ever. I made all kinds of mistakes. Still, the book is a celebration of language, imagination, experimental forms, images, and sensation. It’s a celebration of seeing and seeing is high-level caring.

The best poems can make the reader care about anything: garbage, a blade of grass, a speck of dust. Once, I looked at a bandaid as deeply as I could. I marveled at the tiny little air holes, the packaging with its hard to grasp red thread like a tail and a smile, the stretch of the elastic, the tiny little square of cotton like a pillow for a dragonfly. Then, I discovered the late Tony Hoagland’s poem “Bandage,” which made me care even more about bandaids and in his poem, the bandaid written about isn’t even new.

Wallace Steven’s wrote “Description is revelation.” Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

In his book Best Words, Best Order, Stephen Dobyn’s writes, “When we pick up a poem for the first time we are in a wonderful paradox. We have our defenses, opinions, prejudices, yet we want them challenged and overthrown.” Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

In Ten Windows, Jane Hirschfield writes, “A metaphor is language that simultaneously creates and solves its own riddle within that minute explosion of mind is both expansion and release.” Yes, yes, yes, and yes again.

Some poets and lyrical writers I’ve been inspired by, influenced by, and recommend reading or eating at the poetic salad bar:

Mark Doty, Gabrielle Calvocoressi, Jason Shneiderman, Diane Seuss, Ellen Bass, Marie Howe, Mary Ruefle, Tony Hoagland, Dorianne Laux, Mary Oliver, Linda Pastan, Toni Morrison, Gertrude Stein, James Baldwin, Clarice Lispector, Virginia Woolf, Chen Chen, and many others.

A big thank you to Barrie for sharing her love of poetry. 

Stay tuned for my review of Lacquer is a Thrilling Word next week.

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Guest Post: Poet and Author, Luanne Castle

Michelle asked me to write about my writing process and how it differs from my other published works. I love this question because yes, the process for Scrap: Salvaging a Family is very different from the process for my four poetry collections.

Because my writing focus has primarily been poetry and, more recently, flash fiction (less than 1,000 words), the writing projects I would envision were quite small. I get an idea for a poem from an observation or experience, or sometimes from a writing prompt generated by another poet. I usually submit my poems to journals for publication.

Poem published by Storyteller Poetry Review 

takes up where a flash story in Scrap ends (p. 16).

For my two full-length collections, Doll God and Rooted and Winged: after I had a fair number of journal publications, I printed out all the poems that had been published as well as those which had not but that I particularly liked. Then I studied them for themes. Once I had my themes for the books, I knew which poems to include and which ones to leave out.

Sometimes, I start to obsess over a particular topic. That is how my two chapbooks formed. After I wrote two dozen poems based on my genealogy research, I compiled a manuscript that became Kin Types. Our Wolves came together from my fascination with the story of “Little Red Riding Hood.”

So where does Scrap, a hybrid memoir that relies on flash nonfiction more than any other genre, come into the above process?

Eighteen years ago, I decided to write a memoir about my father and my relationship with him. I had been writing poetry most of my life and had studied the subject for my MFA degree. But I had no clue how to write a memoir. So, I decided to learn and began to take online memoir workshops through Gotham, Stanford, and Apiary Lit (which appears to be defunct).

Think of it this way, the process of writing Scrap was a different journey of my life than writing poetry. I wrote both simultaneously, but for a very long time, these two paths did not cross. I wrote at least two different versions of a traditional chaptered memoir. It might have been three. I struggled at first with the definition of memoir as “memory plus reflection,” meaning what happened and what did the writer learn from it. Reflection is far from what a poet does. Poetry is more like sketching, shaping something “slant,” to use Emily Dickinson’s expression. Reflection requires the writer to directly confront memories to learn from them.

Ten years into wrestling with Scrap, I started to write flash fiction. Flash fiction isn’t a shorter than usual short story, but its own genre. Flash fiction has as much in common with poetry as it does with short stories. After I felt comfortable with flash, I realized that flash nonfiction made more sense than chapters to me as a vehicle for my memories. And once I opened my mind to flash for memoir, I realized that a hybrid or combination of genres could also be useful. For instance, much of the reflection in Scrap is told through mini “essays” where I directly discuss certain memories and revelations.

Photo of flash story “What Goes Into Being a Father,” 

published in Bull. This story references events in Scrap.

In this way, my poetry path and my memoir path have merged into Scrap: Salvaging a Family, a book that feels true to me and my identity.

A big thank you to Luanne for sharing her writing process. I'm always interested in an author's method.

Stay tuned for my review of Scrap, coming Tuesday, May 19.

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Poet Anique Sara Taylor discusses Inspiration in Poetry

Welcoming today Anique Sara Taylor, the poet behind the new collection, Civil Twilight.

From Inspiration to Exploration

Inspiration, from the Latin “to breathe into.” The subject of inspiration has followed many concepts through many centuries.

• The Greeks believed it came from the Muse.
• The Nordic peoples considered it the voice of the Gods.
• Israelites deemed it an overwhelming need to share God’s voice.
• Christians thought it was a communication from the Holy Spirit.

     The Romantics considered the poet a willing receiver of inspiration because of developed inner sensitivities.

     More recently inspiration has included ideas of courting visions, mystical winds, the inner psyche, a divine fury. Endless discussions continue about connecting with inspiration as a form of ecstasy and fervor. Even frenzy and madness. Or being transported, as if this were something the writer hadn’t asked for and couldn’t resist or control.

     In searching for an open connection to creativity, writers have utilized Ouija Boards, meditation, automatic writing, various substances, all in the pursuit of open access to inspiration, and therefore genius. This has inspired philosophers, theologians, psychologists to write many books, with a variety of viewpoints.

     Growing up, I remember teachers referring to creatives as having inspiration, as if this was a magical gift given to only the lucky (or perhaps insane) few.

     I used to wait for the thrilling rush of inspiration, the burning trigger to tell my story. I loved riding the crest of that wave. But in my studies, classes, reading and friendship with other poets, I’ve observed that inspiration doesn’t always swoop down reliably, in full and complete usable form. Working on craft that deepens over time, is a less romantic version that’s often ignored.

     Many serious writers come to learn a more sober, and perhaps more deeply fulfilling mode of working: Read. Study. Research. Have a daily writing practice. Ask questions. Follow threads of completely new and unfamiliar resources. Delve deep into various crafts, professions, and sciences. Write down what comes to you in dreams and meditation. Make friends with phrases. Compose and refine phrases. Explore with curiosity to discover what can be built. Thoughtfully combine materials that have been gathered.

     Welcome the uncut, the wild and the unvarnished parts. Let in what’s unsettling and what’s on fire. Take your time. Sort it out in the rewrite. Then rewrite again. And again.

     Below I’m sharing ways phrases can begin. These are both the tiny lighting strikes and the nuts-and-bolts of inspiration. I hope these will give you insight into the endless ways you can shift from inspiration to curiosity and exploration.

How a Poem Can Begin

• A poem can begin in confusion or passion. A wild inspiration that pulls you away from everything that needs to be done that day.

• Phrases can begin with lines in disarray that you’ve gathered in notebooks where nothing connects. You don’t know what to do with them, or where they’ll go.

• Words come to you while you’re driving or cooking, taking a shower, answering the phone, or stirring the oatmeal.

• A poem begins with the way morning light glitters off the telephone wires.

• Writing begins when someone tells you they have Lyme Disease and you research lists of symptoms and causes, and then you wonder what it’s like to be a spirochete.

• Memories topple in when a phone call comes from a childhood friend. You flash back to a rock ’n roll party in her driveway. Records. 45s spinning on her portable record player, a B-side slow-dance, and the sweet boy who swayed you to the music on a June evening.

• A poem begins when you finally have time to write, and you can’t think of a thing to say. And you feel everything you write is wrong. But you write anyway. On the day you finally had time to write.

• Phrases come when you’re walking the unpaved circular mile around the town pond in early morning, when everyone else is still asleep.

• Words tumble in quickly with a workshop prompt, in the class you were afraid to sign up for. You don’t know where it’s going, and you feel exposed because you’re afraid they’ll ask you to read it out loud.

• Phrases come to you when someone on TV has obsessive-compulsive disorder, and you search websites, and then your life, for a vocabulary of obsessive-compulsive traits.

• Strange dream-words flood in from blurred clouds on first waking up. You feel they’re trying to tell you something, even though you don’t understand. But you write them down anyway.

• Images rush in when you’re stopped at the red light, and you have less than a minute to capture words for the scene at the intersection.

• A poem begins with your journal when you’re sad and alone, and there’s no one to call.

• Phrases pour out over a collection of seashells. A list of first times, last times and turning points. A history of places where you’ve lived. Shoes you’ve worn. Cars. Jobs. Past loves.

• An elegy begins when you write about one loss as if it was a reflection of every other loss.

• A poem begins when you research snakes or frogs, or how you learned to walk. Or how the rocks below you were formed billions of years ago.

• Imagery begins when you catalogue all you see around you. Or hear, smell, taste, feel, touch.

• A poem begins when you’re reading someone else’s poem, and it sparks an idea in you that continues on your own tangent.

• A new thought opens up when your cousin calls to say she’s taken the kids to Arizona’s Saguoro National Park. And although you only know New England forests, you read about the cactus that take 50-75 years to grow their first arms.

• A project can start when you make a date to meet a friend at the mall for tea. You sit and write together quietly.

• Poems begin when you enter your daily writing practice and continue the work you'd left unfinished and breathing from the day before.

• Writing begins with a wild body-surfing wave, or on thin ice. With too much time, or not enough time. With what is disconnected, broken, messy and uncertain, But begin in any way you can.

A Poem Begins With Possibility

     With these possibilities, I bring you back into the little world of my own beginnings and disconnected phrases. These lines are from unwritten poems, slips of paper and old computer files. Maybe someday, some will grow up to become poems.

Lines:

Bass sax threads a warm perfume around the slow dancers.

*

Another Lucky Strike between her red lips,

she inhales with a magnet of breath until embers glow scarlet.

*

Thistles, nettles and thorns of night where owl shadows

and hawks gather, where no one has ever been so alone.

*

It was the year of seven monkeys and the structure of dragon kites.

*

As shimmering fish intersperse with ruins and castles,

soaking up the sadness of shipwrecks.

*

White noise ripples in my ears, I can no longer hear the angels.

Spirochetes dive into my tissues, I ask for grace.

*

Even with theories of atonement, the deeper difficulty remains.

*

Among the sand and mud of protected bays,

submerged lilies sway with pond grass.

*

a similarity of corresponding mouth parts

*

its nature smoother than glass, rounder than pearl

*

Just before the roses bloomed, just before you left me

*

memories of ten thousand cigarettes

beside discarded J&B Scotch bottles

*

Birds swoop past unaware, their music first urgent, then tender

*

The silver planets of my thoughts

*

How a Poem Grows

     Early writers often try to tell their personal story. But magic can happen when they loosen their personal grip on the story and consider the limitless possibilities of the universe. If we open our senses to the cornucopia of material ceaselessly seething all around us, we might find that all we’d wanted to say would still follow us.

     When you gather phrases of possibility, when you combine them, you might discover something you’d always wished for, but didn’t know how to find.

*

What are the silver planets of your thoughts?

*

Anique Sara Taylor’s book Civil Twilight is Blue Light Poetry Prize 2022. Where Space Bends was published by Finishing Line Press 2020. A Pushcart Prize nominee, her chapbooks chosen Finalist in 2023 are: When Black Opalescent Birds Still Circled the Globe (Harbor Review’s Inaugural 2023 Jewish Women’s Prize); Feathered Strips of Prayer Before Morning (Minerva Rising); Cobblestone Mist (Long-listed Finalist by Harbor Editions’ Marginalia Series). Earlier Chapbook Finalists: Where Space Bends (In earlier chapbook form 2014 by both Minerva Rising & Blue Light Press.) and Under the Ice Moon (2015 Blue Light Press). She holds a Poetry MFA (Drew), Diplôme (Sorbonne, Paris), a Drawing MFA & Painting BFA (With Highest Honors / Pratt) and a Master of Divinity degree. Follow her on Facebook, X, Instagram, LinkedIn, and her blog. Sign up for her newsletter.

Add to GoodReads:

Available at Amazon and Barnes & Noble.

About the book:

Anique Sara Taylor’s chapbook Civil Twilight is the winner of the 2022 Blue Light Poetry Prize.

As the sun sinks 6 ̊ below the horizon at dawn or dusk, it’s 5:30am/pm someplace in the world. In thirty shimmering poems (30 words/5 lines each), Civil Twilight probes borders of risk across a landscape of thunderstorms, quill-shaped mist, falcons that soar, the hope of regeneration, a compass to the center. Tightly hewn poems ring with rhythm and sound, follow ghosts who relentlessly weave through a journey of grief toward ecstasy. Spinning words seek to unhinge inner wounds among sea shells and hostile mirrors, eagles and cardinals––to enter “the infinity between atoms,” hear the invisible waltz. Even the regrets. The search for an inner silhouette becomes a quest for shards of truth, as she asks the simple question, “What will you take with you?”

Advance Praise:

“Taylor’s award-winning collection is mesmerizing. 30 poems, 30 words each shimmer with a refined intensity at once both taut and expansive … her emotional richness is as lyric as it is restrained.” ––Leslie T. Sharpe, Author of The Quarry Fox and Other Critters of the Wild Catskills

“Experience each poem, woven [with] great intimacy and rare musicality … Read all 30 poems aloud in sequence and feel yourself transformed.” ––Sharon Israel, Host of Planet Poet, Words in Space Radio Show and Podcast

“Civil Twilight is a stunningly crafted sequence of small poems … keenly attuned to the language of the natural world and all the mysteries that come with it.” —Sean Nevin, Author of Oblivio Gate

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Author Elizabeth Bruce discusses the characters in her new collection, Universally Adored & Other One Dollar Stories

I grew up in a small town on the Gulf coast of Texas, though I haven't lived there for over 50 years. I left a week after I graduated from high school and went off to college in Colorado. I’ve spent my entire adult life either in the urban centers on the front range of Colorado or in NE Washington, DC, with a one-year layover in New York City.

However, most of my characters are regular, “analog” folks who live in small communities.

People ask me why I don’t write more about my own urban adult life. And my answer is that I kind of do. I couch my insights into the human condition in my forthright, plain-spoken characters who embody a resilience I’ve found everywhere—in the people who shaped me growing up, who have befriended me in adulthood, with whom I’ve worked or collaborated—

individuals with whom I have found such a profound community.

So many people I know—be they friends, family, neighbors, co-workers, fellow artists, etc.—have faced real hardships in life.

Indeed, I’ve tended to live and work in places where people are “strivers.” They’re survivors. They’ve gone through hard times of sorrow, of affliction, deprivation, war, or violence. Maybe they’ve come here from somewhere else—another country, another region of the U.S.—or maybe they’re trying to get away, but mostly they’re striving for a better material reality, a better inner reality, some measure of equilibrium. They’re the models for my characters. While my characters don’t always succeed, mostly they soldier on. And I find that heroic. My fiction is an homage to their grit.

The reality is, I'm not an academic. I don’t have an advanced degree. While I have a sweet little BA in English from a great liberal arts college, and a ton of lifelong learning, I don’t belong to, nor do I write about “the academy.”

There’s a very insightful analysis that emerged in recent years by British author David Goodhart about “anywhere” people and “somewhere” people.” “Anywhere” people have skill sets and social capital that enable them to live anywhere and make a good living. “Somewhere” people, on the other hand, have livelihoods that are not so transportable and for whom place is a palpable and essential ingredient of their lives. For whom family, friends, community institutions, and the land itself weave together the meaningful tapestry of their lives. They live local lives.

There’s a fabulous museum in Baltimore, the American Visionary Art Museum, that describes itself as “America’s official national museum, education center, and repository for self-taught and intuitive artistry.” One of its first goals is “to expand the definition of a worthwhile life.”

I love that—expanding the definition of a worthwhile life.

Those are the lives I write about. My characters are not particularly hip or prosperous. They’re not the cerebral, “logocentric,” often alienated or cynical “anywhere” characters of much of contemporary Western literary fiction.

But I love them all. I relate to them all.

I read a beautiful commentary 30+ years ago by a woman writer in a series of interviews in the Washington Post. This writer wrote about how, once she’s conjured her characters into existence, she feels a deep commitment to finish telling their stories. It’s like a moral obligation, and I completely agree.

There’s this thing that happens when a reader is totally immersed in a story. They call it “narrative transportation.” This happens at a very deep level for writers themselves. It’s a magical, sometimes painful, but always deeply empathetic experience, even with unsympathetic characters. As a former character actor, I find it so much like the actor’s process of embodying a character.

In fact, speaking of theatre, there’s a great play your readers might know by the early 20th century Italian playwright, Luigi Pirandello, entitled “Six Characters in Search of an Author,” in which characters whose authors had not finished telling their stories, barge into a rehearsal with a bunch of actors and demand that they finish acting out their narratives. I completely understand their urgency!

So that’s who I dedicate my writing to—my own characters in search of an author. They’re who’s in my new collection, Universally Adored & Other One Dollar Stories, in which every story begins with the words “one dollar” and pivots in some way around the meaning of a dollar.

There’s a ladies’ room attendant escaping an abusive husband, a stable owner and her alcoholic father, an urban street vendor of ice-cold water and a laid off ammo factory worker. There’s a street jazz musician, a color-obsessed artist, a germaphobe bartender, a migrant farmworker girl, and an odd-job bibliophile. There’s a jaded humanitarian doctor, an older brother in charge of his neurodivergent younger brother, a vagabond healer, and some middle schoolers, single mothers, and more. And there’s a subset of characters embroiled—voluntarily or not—in the underground economy: a drug mule, a soon-to-be conscripted-into-prostitution young girl, an ex-con, and a wrongfully convicted lifer.

The collection was just released by Vine Leaves Press. Your readers can find out about it or purchase a copy here or learn more about me or my other work at https://elizabethbrucedc.com.

Thanks so much for this opportunity to share a bit about my work.

Elizabeth Bruce’s debut story collection, Universally Adored & Other One Dollar Stories, is forthcoming in January 2024 from the Athens, Greece-based Vine Leaves Press. Her debut novel, And Silent Left the Place, won Washington Writers’ Publishing House’s Fiction Award, ForeWord Magazine’s Bronze Fiction Prize, and was one of two finalists for the Texas Institute of Letters’ Steven Turner Award for Best Work of First Fiction. Bruce has published prose in the USA, UK, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Israel, Sweden, Romania, India, South Korea, Malawi, Yemen, and The Philippines, including in FireWords Quarterly, Pure Slush, takahē magazine, The Ilanot Review, Spadina Literary Review, Inklette, Lines & Stars, and others, as well as in such anthologies from Paycock Press’ Gargoyle series, Weasel Press’ How Well You Walk through Madness: An Anthology of Beat, Vine Leaves Literary Journal: A Collection of Vignettes from Across the Globe; Madville Publishing’s Muddy Backroads, Two Thirds North, multiple Gargoyle anthologies, and Washington Writers’ Publishing House’s This Is What America Looks Like. Follow her on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn.

Add to GoodReads:

Available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Vine Leaves Press.

About the book:

In Universally Adored and Other One Dollar Stories, Elizabeth Bruce gives readers 33 ways of looking at a dollar. Her empathetic, humorous, and disarming embrace of plain-spoken people searching for a way out, charms and provokes. These are bittersweet stories of resilience and defiance.

In “Universally Adored,” a color-obsessed artist draws a facsimile of a dollar—a masterpiece universally adored—to win her girlfriend back. While checking for spare change in the laundry, in “Bald Tires” a Tennessee housewife with a malcontent husband finds an unused condom in his Sunday trousers. In “The Forgiveness Man,” a runaway teen with a newborn follows a vagabond healer absolving the bedraggled godless through hugs of forgiveness. And in “Magic Fingers, a ladies’ room attendant tracked down by her abusive ex finds refuge in a cheap motel with a 1970s era bed massager.

Riffing on the intimate object of a dollar, Bruce’s humane short fictions—from a great mashed potato war to the grass Jesus walked on—ring with the exquisite voices of characters in analog worlds.

Advance Praise:

“Elizabeth Bruce’s stories have that rare quality of feeling as though they have always existed, the way the best stories always do. In a lesser writer’s hands, the conceit of beginning each story with ‘one dollar’ might seem like a gimmick, but here they echo Wallace Stevens’ ‘Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird,’ and I found myself eager for what came next, curious to see how each new story amplifies the previous story while also diverging from it, often in dramatically different points of view and styles. These are exquisite short stories that give me hope.” –John McNally, author of The Book of Ralph and The Fear of Everything (USA)

“This collection contains inventiveness, voice, and vivid characters grappling with life and love, pouring forth on each new page. Together the stories weave a remarkable tapestry around a theme with a shockingly familiar starting point. By the end, we see in how the author guides our attention, new ways of seeing ourselves and the constellations of our closest relationships. It’s breathtaking.” –David A. Taylor, author of Success: Stories and Soul of a People: The WPA Writers’ Project Uncovers Depression America (USA)

“I’ve been eagerly awaiting this collection of one of a kind short-shorts from the author of And Silent Left the Place. Keen-eyed and with a great gift for stand-out narratives at whose heart is a profound appreciation of the particular, Bruce takes us on a magical realist journey through the lives of ordinary people whose lives turn on a dollar. A gifted storyteller, Bruce is at her best here. The stories sing with ingenuity and keep us in her spell. Just how far can one dollar take a person? You’d be amazed.” –Naomi Ayala, author of Calling Home: Praise Songs & Incantations (USA) Winner, Martin Luther King, Jr. Legacy of Environmental Justice Award

“Elizabeth Bruce’s stories shine a light on the conflicts–big and small–that we face in life and our struggles to resolve them. She writes thoughtfully and elegantly about the pain and beauty of being alive.” –Eric Stover, author of The Witnesses: War Crimes and the Promise of Justice in The Hague (USA)

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Eden Robins, author of Gold: Heart of a Warrior, talks Greek myths

Thank you for inviting me to the True Book Addict. I’m grateful for the opportunity to share more about my writing and myself!

Let’s talk Greek myths!

I’ve had a bit of a crush on myths for quite some time. Okay, “a bit” is understating my infatuation with them. But hey, what’s not to like? Myths tell us the truths we know, but don’t always talk about. And they’re told in ways that take us on fascinating journeys of discovery and revelation that are simultaneously foreign and familiar. Though the world in which the myth is told may not be our own, the message, or take away from the story, is one that resonates with us.

In The Power of Myth, Joseph Campbell talks about the importance of remembering that myths have a pedagogical function, showing us how to live as humans under all sorts of circumstances. Greek myths, in particular, provide a plentitude of different conditions and circumstances from which to show our human condition. In addition, many Greek myths teach us something through a cautionary tale.

Think of King Midas and how his desire to make everything he touched turn to gold ruined his life. Or Narcissus, who loved his reflection so much that he couldn’t stop looking at it and wasted away. Or Echo, who was deprived of speech (except for the ability to repeat the last words of another) by Hera for distracting the Queen of the Gods from spying on one of her husband Zeus’s many love interests. Then there’s Icarus, who ignored his father’s warnings and flew too close to the sun while wearing wax wings that melted, sending him plummeting to his death.

By revealing our human foibles to us through the adventures of mythical people, creatures, and circumstances, as well as the resulting consequences that come of them, we’re provided with a warning to heed and a lesson learned.

Pandora’s story is yet another example of just such a warning. Zeus commissioned Hephaestus, God of forge, to create a beautiful, irresistible woman as a curse on mankind in retribution for Prometheus stealing fire and gifting it to men. To create the perfect weapon that would both do his bidding and ensnare humans, Zeus instructed the gods to each give Pandora a gift. Athena dressed her in beautiful clothing and taught her how to weave. Hermes gave her cunning. Aphrodite gave her grace, but also desire, to weaken her resolve. Apollo taught her how to sing and play the lyre. She received a pearl necklace from Poseidon that would keep her from drowning. Hera provided Pandora with curiosity. Even Zeus gave her the “gift” of foolishness. Her name, in fact, means both “she who gives all gifts” and “she who was given all gifts.”

My interest in Greek mythology grew after buying my children the book, Usborne Illustrated Guide to Greek Myths and Legends. At that time, they were pretty young, so I thought having a colorfully illustrated book may catch their attention and spark their interest in Greek myths. Well, it caught my attention also, and as I revisited these tales of woe, war, battles, and love lost and gained that I had first learned about when I was a child, the idea to write my own stories about these rich characters and the complex lives they lived sparked in me. Although I didn’t follow through on that desire until later in life, the idea for my current release, Gold: Heart of a Warrior, was first kindled by reading that illustrated book with my kids.

Retelling the myth of Pandora in Gold: Heart of a Warrior arose from a process I call “relatable remembering” because this young woman’s story is truly a universal tale. Who doesn’t make mistakes? Who doesn’t live according to the consequences of those mistakes, including sometimes being defined by them in a way that’s neither fair nor accurate?

Pandora was destined to open the Jug of Woes. Zeus wanted to punish mankind and used a woman without power as his pawn to do just that. And yet, when he got what he wanted, the King of Gods still penalized the one who helped him get it.

How is that fair?

I began thinking about the way this myth related to life, and how its truths spilled into not only the stories of people I know, but also my own. How many of us have made mistakes in our lives and had to endure living bound by the constraints of that mistake because society stuck us in a box of their making, and we allowed it to become our reality?

Pandora’s story made me angry. I felt compelled to rip open the box she’d been forced into and give her a second chance. That led to me writing Gold: Heart of a Warrior. Instead of forever being known as the evil, disgraced woman who ruined the world, I decided to write a story of second chances. A tale in which the truth of Pandora being used and abused was shown, while also offering her the chance for redemption, and the choice to create a new life for herself, on her own terms.

Wouldn’t most of us want the same?

Eden Robins believes in second chances. She’s been lucky enough to have a few in her life and knows there’s a magic in seizing the moment to try again. As a mentor and founder of A Wholehearted ME, her heart’s purpose is to guide people into living as their full, innate, creative potential. As a writer, Eden’s heart leads her to inspire joy, love, and hope in her readers through her tales. Creating stories about people courageously living, loving, and experiencing life true to themselves, no matter how messy it gets, are the ones she wants to write and will keep writing for you…and for her. Connect with Eden at https://linktr.ee/edenrobins and check out her blog, Living the Path at https://awholeheartedme.com/blog

About Gold: Heart of a Warrior

It’s just gonna be one of those days…Empathic healer and business owner, Dora Alexander decided to celebrate her 25th birthday by exploring the stalagmites and stalactites in Kartchner Caverns. Kinda nerdy? Maybe, but you do you, right? Things take a nasty turn when an earthquake rocks the cave, leaving her alone in complete darkness. Searching for a way out, she accidently awakens an immortal warrior who’s kind of cranky after his 100-year nap. Wouldn’t you be?Philoctetes, one of Demeter’s immortal Gold warriors wakes up to the disturbing sound of a female sobbing. Thinking she’s one of the Silver demons he’s sworn to hunt down and destroy, he almost kills her before realizing she’s human. Correction. Turns out she’s not just human. She’s also the woman responsible for sending his kind to hell and causing woe and misery for the entire human race.Dora never asked to be Pandora reborn. And she certainly didn’t ask to be paired up with an insanely hot immortal demon hunter on a mission to save the world and redeem them both. But The Fates seem to have their own quirky ideas. One of them being if she and said hot demon hunter consummate the inferno like attraction blazing between them, they’ll simply cease to exist, with any memory of their time on earth erased forever.Oh goody, the day just got worse.

Add to Goodreads:

Available on Amazon and Barnes & Noble

Watch for my review of Gold: Heart of a Warrior on December 29.

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Guest Post: Poet Rojé Augustin - How did "Out of No Way" come to be?

Want to make God laugh? Tell her your plans! This is one of my favourite quotes, and yes, I modified it. I include it here because this strange little poetry book was born out of shattered plans, or as I like to think of it, out of no way. I had never planned to write a poetry book. If anything, it 'planned' itself.

I started writing this collection in the spring of 2018, after one of the most tumultuous periods of my personal and professional life. When I think back on it now, the tumult had been twelve years in the making, starting in 2006 when my husband and I migrated from my native New York to London, with our two-year-old daughter in tow. There I became a ‘stay-at-home mom,’ a role I wanted. I always knew I would have children and I vowed that when I did — and if I could — I would cut back on work to raise them. Thanks to my husband’s unwavering support, I was able to do exactly that. I spent most of those years in London indulging in the realities of motherhood, a gift I am grateful for. In 2008 we were blessed with a second bub and I was again lucky enough to do the same with her, this time in my husband’s native Sydney.

I’d said goodbye to my life in the northern hemisphere, to my family and friends, and to a budding career as a writer and television producer. My plan at this point was to break into scripted television (a long-held passion of mine), with the help of Aussie friends and acquaintances in the industry.

Australia would become the place where my daughters would lay down their roots, where my husband would settle into the role of provider, and where I would unwittingly begin a 10-year ramble as a “stay-at-home-mom-who-was-also-working-on-a-creative-project-with-the-hope-of-reviving-her-career-when-the-kids-were-old-enough.” Needless to say, this is also where the tumult would begin.

What I didn’t know when we moved to Sydney was that compared to America the size, diversity, and financial resources of Australia’s television industry is tiny, which made it extremely difficult to break into, especially as a foreigner. I tried all sorts of ways to get my foreign foot in the door. I published a book, for starters. I joined the guild, I took refresher courses, I attended networking events, I entered script competitions, I signed up for mentoring programs, and I sought tons of advice from those aforementioned friends and acquaintances in the industry, many of whom did their best to help.

Caught shadows of me.
My hair is not unruly,
Just thinks for itself.

But in the end, I would spend the better part of ten years working independently, sometimes collaboratively, but always unpaid, on self-generated projects that I hoped would resuscitate my withering career. By the summer of 2017 the reality set in that no matter what I did, the economics of scripted television were stacked against me. I was an interloper in a very small pond, treading water with a glut of native swimmers. I would have to ditch my precious plan and set out in search of a raft.

In June 2017, I took a job as a producer on a panel show. Its audience wasn’t huge, but it was a well-known and well-respected program. My first full-time salaried role in nearly thirteen years. I was terrified but also extremely grateful to get it. The job itself was enjoyable and stimulating. Largely self-directed, plenty of research, lots of interviews, lots of pitch and scriptwriting, and the occasional field shoot. It suited me perfectly.

But as can often be the case in working life, the culture did not. It was rather like wearing a beautiful pair of shoes that killed your feet. I had a shared desk in the newsroom. It was very loud, and we were all packed in like sardines. Between myself and my nearest colleagues was a mere two and a half feet, on all four sides. As one of perhaps three brown faces in the newsroom, I was also very lonely, and at least ten years older than most of my colleagues, nearly all of them young, blond women. After ten anxious months, I quit, my confidence and self-esteem in shreds. June 2018, the winter of my discontent. By now I had fully awakened from the dream of “stay-at-home-mom-who-was-also-working-on-a-creative-project-with-the-hope-of-reviving-her-career-when-the-kids-were-old-enough” to the nightmare of being unemployed and pushing fifty. I had none of my New York peeps to turn to, I had none of my old friends and colleagues to ask for help, nothing of my culture to take refuge in, and no solid professional network to speak of. Despite an Ivy League degree, I felt completely dependent on my husband. I desperately looked for more options but found there were very few left. How had it come to this? When I had a plan. How had I become such a failure? These words, and worse still, dominated my thoughts for months, dragging me headlong into my sunken place. It was dark down there. I hit the bottom hard. And my poor husband, bless his heart, bore much of the impact with me. I was now back to square one.

Natural hair growth
Gives the promise of freedom
Ever in my name.

As I mentioned earlier, I had for years been working independently on creative projects. One of those projects was about Madam C.J. Walker. I hadn’t learned about Walker until I was in my 20s, and when I did my jaw literally dropped. Why hadn’t her story been told in schools, I wondered. I became passionate about Walker, terribly in awe of her legacy. In many ways, I needed her. As a young girl, it would have helped me tremendously to know that a woman like Walker existed.

I’d researched her life for some time and had early stages of a spec treatment and pilot script when a friend called one day to tell me that a U.S. production company was in pre-production on a limited series about Walker for Netflix. I was both gutted and thrilled by the news, a strange brew. Gutted that I wasn’t going to be a part of bringing her story to the screen as I’d hoped to do, but thrilled that it would finally get the recognition it deserved. When it came down to it, I didn’t really care who was spreading her gospel, so long as it was being spread. But I had all this research that I’d devoured, and several drafts of a treatment and script that I’d worked on for months, plus hours and hours of my imagination devoted to her.

My friend suggested that I repurpose all of that work into a poetry book. My first thought was, ‘why on earth would I do that?’ It sounded to me like the dumbest idea. Don’t get me wrong, I love poetry. I’d read plenty of the greats as part of my degree — from Emily Dickenson to Langston Hughes — but I didn’t think of myself as a poet. A writer, yes. A poet, no. But my friend persisted.

I remember sitting at the dining table watching our black Angora cat, Smokey, blithely hop onto the couch for a nap, and the low hiss of a space heater faintly in my ear. I remember reflecting on my day-to-day, on how I’d abruptly quit my job and found myself adrift, waking each morning riddled with dread, knowing that my husband would go off to work, my kids off to school, and I would be left home alone, surfing the web for jobs, and envying the cat her insouciant life. I gave my friend’s suggestion serious thought. Why throw away months of hope and hard work? I decided to give it a try. At the very least it would give me something to do while I looked for work.

I wrote six terrible poems in a week. They were so bad I gave up in a fit of disgust. But then one night I had a dream in which my late maternal grandmother, Lilian, spoke the following words to me in her native Haitian Creole: “Map grimpe ak cheveu’m, map grimpe!” which roughly translates to, “I climb with my hair, I climb!” Needless to say, I took this as a sign. After the dream — and after learning from my mother that Lilian had been taught the Walker method by her mother, who had likely been trained by Walker agents, and that both women had been able to provide for their children as hairdressers — I dove back into the poetry. It wasn’t long before I found my flow. As it happened, writing this epic woman’s story in verse became my sun of York, so to speak. Turning my winter of discontent into a glorious spring. Such was the joy it gave me. Instead of hiding under a blanket of despair and self-pity, as I had done for nearly three months, I began to wake each morning excited to get out of bed and get to work. As I got further along in the writing, I felt as if Madam C.J. Walker herself was visiting me, encouraging me along, my kind and generous muse. She lifted me out of my sunken place, as she had done for legions of black women before me, including my grandmother, whose dreamy missive became part of a haiku.

Lifting as I climb
With the only thing I can,
My God-given hair.

That I’ve re-told Walker’s story through poetry is one of the things that I hope gives Out of No Way some relevance during these uncertain times. With the pandemic upending daily life (so much for plans), and forcing us to shut down and face a tumultuous road ahead, poetry can be like a salve that invites a certain stillness into the fray, soaking the mind with its wonder and intensity, even if only for a few lines of verse. That’s certainly true for good poetry. Did I write at least one good poem? I hope so. To that end, I humbly acknowledge that Out of No Way may not appeal to everyone, indeed it may appeal to no one. But for me, it truly was like the sun breaking through a storm cloud. I wrote the collection in honour of that gift.

About the book
Author, producer, and emerging poet Rojé Augustin has written a groundbreaking debut collection of dramatic poems about hair care entrepreneur Madam C.J. Walker and her daughter, A'Lelia. Rojé's singular and accomplished work is presented through the intimate lens of the mother-daughter relationship via different poetic forms — from lyric to haiku, blackout to narrative. (One poem takes its inspiration from Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven.) Written in tribute to Walker, Out of No Way deftly and beautifully explores themes of race, motherhood, sacrifice, beauty, and the meaning of success in Jim Crow America.

Born Sarah Breedlove to former Louisiana slaves in 1867, Madam C.J. Walker was orphaned at seven, married at 14, became a mother at 17, and was widowed at 20. After the death of her first husband, Sarah moved to St. Louis with her daughter where she earned $1.50 a day as a washerwoman. When her hair started falling out she developed a remedy and sold her formula across the country. In the process, she became the wealthiest Negro woman in America.

About the Poet
Rojé Augustin is a native New Yorker who grew up on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Her first novel, The Unraveling of Bebe Jones, won the 2013 National Indie Excellence Award in African American fiction. She wrote the novel while living in London and Sydney as a stay-at-home-mom. Rojé continues to work as a producer while also writing in her spare time. She currently lives in Sydney with her husband and two daughters.

Watch for my review of Out of No Way on October 29. 

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Expect a Miracle: Understanding and Living with Autism - Why the Backwards "E"?

My son does not have Autism nor Asperger's. However, he does have ADHD (diagnosed when he was five) and so I did a lot of reading about Spectrum Disorder because for a while we suspected he might have one or the other. Though ADHD is not on the Spectrum, there are some similarities, and Gabe having ADHD qualified him for exceptional education services throughout his school years. I had to attend meetings every school year to reevaluate his IEP (Individualized Education Program). All this being said, he ended up doing very well educationally, bringing in a 3.7 GPA his senior year.

This brings me around to the subject at hand. The young man behind the book, Expect A Miracle. David Petrovic, diagnosed with Autism as a toddler, has found happiness and success. This new edition of the book (released July 7th) is the story of his journey. Read on to learn where the unique version of the title originated.

Why the Backwards “E”?

by Sandy Petrovic and David Petrovic

Expect a Miracle: Understanding and Living with Autism chronicles a young man’s journey to happiness from the separate writings of him and his mother (me!). Diagnosed as a toddler, David Petrovic fulfills his dreams of teaching middle school and speaking nationally—and he continues to reach new goals and greater heights. More than just a story, the book is filled with tips, strategies, and lessons learned, and it gives the reader the unique opportunity to experience life from the perspectives of the autistic person and family living it. Valuable for self-advocates, families, professionals, and employers, it addresses issues from toddlerhood through young adulthood, including bullying, college prep/success, and acclimation to the workplace.

Echoing the style of our book, my son and I will each contribute our separate thoughts in this blog, with David’s in italics to clarify that distinction.

The cover of this second edition book is particularly symbolic for us, and the eye is immediately drawn to that backwards “E” in the title. Was it a mistake? Hardly!

Sandy:

Like this “E,” David often drew attention to himself and stood out as being different. He was repeatedly out of synch with the majority, doing things his way and behaving or enjoying activities different from the norm. He saw the world from a contrasting perspective. Imagine what life is like living among letters that all face a different direction—not understanding their ways and rules! And he did want participation and relationships in that world!

David had different needs, and he often required information and social skills to be presented in varied ways before comprehension dawned—but was he wrong, just because he was different?? One might think that the backwards “E” is the outlier, until the time is taken to learn and understand why he or she does what he or she does. After getting to know the person and discovering his or her strengths, one might then rightfully appreciate him or her and even regard that backwards “E” as cool, unexpected, courageous, refreshing, and uniquely insightful.

There is symbolism in the illustration, as well. Every developmental milestone or aspect of life is made more cumbersome by the load of differences inherent in autism—an additional weight on one’s back. But with the proper tools, learnt skills, and accommodations also carried, barriers can be crossed! The backpack additionally symbolizes individualized education: learning is possible if concepts are taught in a way that makes sense and works for each person. Vocational training, job skill acquisition, and/or college may be attainable with the right accommodations, supports, and programs—all leading to increased independence.

People with autism might take different, longer routes to get to the other side of a challenge, but they can make it! Determination and daring are depicted on this cover, but transitioning, preparation, and use of strengths also go a long way towards attaining success.

If you don’t take a leap, you will never know if you could have accomplished getting to the desired place—the sky is the limit.

David: 

The backwards “E” represents my comfort and openness to be different—and own it! I acknowledge that there are people who will not vibe with me because of who I am...and that’s okay! If people don’t like my differences, they are entitled to their opinions, but I am going to keep being “me.” I am confident in showing the world my individuality, and I am not afraid to go against the grain of society. I even believe that there’s a reason why they call autism or any other diagnosis “a difference”: because one has the potential to MAKE a difference.

The image of an individual leaping across a canyon is the ultimate representation of taking a leap of faith. The canyon implies the risk and fear of falling way down and experiencing tremendous pain from it. But the young man on the cover illustrates the confidence and fearlessness I now possess. Unlike my younger years, it is no longer within me to give up trying. I know that even if I fall, I will find the drive to get back up. I am no longer afraid of failure.

Finally, note the rays on this cover: are they emanating determination and motivation from within, or are they coming from an external source of guidance and possibility? And why did we choose the title, “Expect a Miracle”? Those answers, and many others, will be found within the pages of our book...

Website and blog: https://aspergermiracles.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/d.s.petro

Grab the book at a discount at the publisher's site, AAPC Publishing. Also available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble.

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#CatThursday - #Authors and #Cats (70) Vanessa Morgan

Welcome to the weekly meme that celebrates the wonders and sometime hilarity of cats! Join us by posting a favorite lolcat pic you may have come across, famous cat art or even share with us pics of your own beloved cat(s). It's all for the love of cats! (share your post in the Mr. Linky below)

The second Cat Thursday of each month is Authors and Cats Thursday. Each time I will feature an author with their cat(s), pictured with a cat(s), or guest posts by cat loving authors who also (sometimes) write about cats.

This week I have a special treat for you. My guest today is Vanessa Morgan, author of Avalon (a memoir about her beloved cat of the same name) and the new release, Clowders.

WHY I WRITE HORROR

Most people ask me why I write horror. Surely, something must be wrong with me if I can come up with such twisted stories.

I don't know the psychology behind this – maybe it is to counterbalance my often too kind and vulnerable personality in real life. But I believe it is more than that. Horror is not just a genre that I like; it is deeply ingrained in who I am.

Even as a toddler, I used my Barbie dolls to play out self-invented horror scenes. And from an early age on, I have been passionate about horror movies. I have seen the most obscure fright flicks out there, even those that have never seen a release on DVD or Blu-ray, and my favorite pastime is going to horror film festivals around the world. Therefore, I think I will always be watching and writing horror.

My most recent project is a horror novel called Clowders. It has just become available for purchase and is about a secluded town in Europe where each time a cat dies, nine human lives are taken as a punishment. I am currently also turning my short story The Strangers Outside into a novel as I have always thought there was the potential to make it longer and better. I already finished the first draft, so it will be released soon. After that, I will be creating another horror movie reference guide in the same vein as When Animals Attack.

But first, I hope you will all check out Clowders because it is super creepy and mysterious, but most of all because my cat Avalon (whom you may know from his own book) has a significant part in the story.

Clervaux, Luxembourg. This secluded, picturesque town in the middle of Europe is home to more cats than people. For years, tourists have flocked to this place – also known as “cat haven” - to meet the cats and buy cat-related souvenirs.

When Aidan, Jess and their five-year-old daughter, Eleonore, move from America to Clervaux, it seems as if they've arrived in paradise. It soon becomes clear, though, that the inhabitants' adoration of their cats is unhealthy. According to a local legend, each time a cat dies, nine human lives are taken as a punishment. To tourists, these tales are supernatural folklore, created to frighten children on cold winter nights. But for the inhabitants of Clervaux, the danger is darkly, horrifyingly real.

Initially, Aidan and Jess regard this as local superstition, but when Jess runs over a cat after a night on the town, people start dying, one by one, and each time it happens, a clowder of cats can be seen roaming the premises.

Are they falling victim to the collective paranoia infecting the entire town? Or is something unspeakably evil waiting for them?

Aidan and Jess' move to Europe may just have been the worst decision they ever made.

For purchase

Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2BBZe4V
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2BIO5lb
Amazon.FR: http://amzn.to/2kjFfjQ

About the author
Vanessa Morgan is known as the “female version of Stephen King.” Three of her works (The Strangers Outside, Next to Her, A Good Man) have become movies. When she's not working on her latest book, you can find her watching horror movies, digging through flea markets, or photographing felines for her blog Traveling Cats (http://travelling-cats.blogspot.com).

Connect with Vanessa on social media
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Vanessa-Morgan/50159391888
Twitter: http://twitter.com/eeriestories
Google+: https://plus.google.com/111498119214855356614/posts
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Vanessa-Morgan/
GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/2890032.Vanessa_Morgan

Some cats need nine lives to make a difference. Avalon only needed one.

From Amazon bestselling author Vanessa Morgan, Avalon is the heartwarming and once-in-a-lifetime love story of a girl and her neurotic Turkish Van cat.

With humor, the author details how Avalon made other creatures cringe in distress whenever he was around, how he threw her dates out by means of special techniques, and how he rendered it almost impossible for her to leave the house. Avalon was so incorrigible that even her landlord ordered her to get rid of him. But beneath Avalon's demonic boisterousness, Vanessa recognized her own flaws and insecurities, and she understood that abandoning Avalon would be the worst she could do to him. Thanks to her unswerving loyalty, Avalon transformed into a tender feline, and even landed a major role in a horror movie. In turn, Avalon made it his mission to be there for his human companion.

Avalon is a memoir for anyone who has ever been obsessively in love with a pet.

For purchase 
Amazon.com: http://amzn.to/1FTC8Ep
Amazon.co.uk: http://amzn.to/1ImdPRo 

Amazon.fr: http://amzn.to/1JTGIF2

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