Saturday, January 31, 2015

Tuesday REVIEWSDAY!!! "After Dawn" by Justina Taft


After Dawn


By: Justina Taft


For Aurora, it is the dawn of a new life.

She moves into a college dorm and explores Honolulu city life with her best friend, Alex. Her days brim with the promise of adventures to come, but at night, Aurora's dreams warn her that something is wrong. As she studies Hawaiian language in college she begins to understand the warnings in her dreams. She has cancer. By day, her parents and best friend do their best to support her through the medical treatments. By night, a dream lover tries to persuade her to go with him. She must choose between the life she knows and the lover who dares her to venture beyond the horizon...


"After Dawn" by Justina Taft is a beautifully executed paranormal romance set in Hawaii. But not the island paradise of postcards and Hollywood. This is refreshing view into the lives of everyday people in everyday Hawaii.

Yes, in comparison to the frozen parts of the world, Hawaii seems like a paradise. In fact, Hawaii is a paradise. It has idyllic weather most of the year. It has warm beautiful beaches, amazing hikes featuring incredible vistas... a perfect tourist getaway. I love my island home. And yes... there is a bit of surfing and there are hot muscular guys in the ocean in this book... it IS Hawaii after all... But the main character is a girl who canʻt surf!!! And I thought everyone in Hawaii surfed! Whaaat?

And...

There is also real life modern Hawaii. Drugs and gang violence. Bad politics and homelessness. Taxes and Traffic. While this book doesn't delve into any of that, it is surrounded by the hustle and bustle that is the reality of Hawaii. It deals with real life struggles. That is the Hawaii I grew up in and that is the Hawaii that this book is based in. "After Dawn" is a refreshing read. It is a reminder that real life happens everywhere. Death and love. Marriage and Divorce. The search for ones identity... Taft brings it all into this book located on a beautiful rock in the middle of the pacific.

And then there is the spiritual Hawaii. This modern book is drenched in the dream and spirit world of Hawaii. Taft weaves her love story into the spirit of this tale in more ways than one. The Hawaiian mindset can be a duality... The people struggle with what it means to be Hawaiian. They struggle with not fully knowing their own culture because of being down-trodden and of own self-neglect that started a few hundred years before this book ever came to be. It is only within the last few decades... since the late Seventies maybe... that a cultural revolution has been slowly unfurling. Hawaiians can now learn their language in school - since most families have long lost the ability. Hawaiian can seek ways to immerse and fully understand what it means to be Hawaiian in this modern world. Taft explores these topics almost from the beginning of her book. There is an undercurrent of something lost - then found - throughout her story.

Justina Taft - Author of "After Dawn"
Taft has composed a romantic world set in the ebb and flow that is the real Hawaii. I recommend this novel to anyone who loves Hawaii. You can buy this book at the websites listed below. Happy reading!

Lulu.com
Amazon.com

You can also look for it on iBooks! Find Justina here at http://www.justinataft.com or on FACEBOOK



...

Disclaimer: Once I got a random comment from someone I don't know complaining that I only give good reviews. YES THAT IS TRUE. I will ONLY give well written good reviews. There is too much TROLLING and bad reviewing going on out there that I feel no need to add to the negativity that can be the world wide web. If you would like to read horrible reviews... go to Amazon or Goodreads. Lots of bad and badly written reviews there.

love and words words words,

Pili

Thursday, December 25, 2014

TUESDAY REVIEWS DAY!!! Peter Steigerwald's "The ZooHunters" Issue #2

So ... MELE KALIKIMAKA everybody!!! I did write this on Tuesday but with all the commotion and craziness and LOVE of Christmas, I didn't get to finish this until right now... 2AM -ish CHRISTMAS MORNING!!! Its my son's first Christmas!!! So EXCITED!!!

And since I'm writing about excitement...


I am so flipping excited to write about The ZooHunters!!! Peter Steigerwald is not only one of my favorite people in this universe, he is now one of my favorite Authors.

But before we go there... I got a random comment from someone I don't know complaining that I only give good reviews. YES THAT IS TRUE. I will ONLY give good reviews. There is too much TROLLING and bad reviewing going on out there that I feel no need to add to the negativity. If you would like to read horrible reviews... go to Amazon or Goodreads. Lots of bad and badly written reviews there.

Now where was I... oh yes...

"Dear Mom,

It still feels strange to write to you like this knowing you'll never read these.

You died."

If you have lost someone close to you... a mother, father... grandmother... you know that feeling. The author pours life and heart into the depth of this little boy's journal to his mom.

If this opening doesn't make you want to pick up the latest issue of The ZooHunters to find out what happened... then we can't be friends. (Go HERE for my blog on issue #1.) Maybe that statement is a tad emotional and harsh but I'm a new mommy and I'm allowed. I've even renamed this blog from "Monkey Monster Thoughts" to "MOMMY Monkey Monster Thoughts." I see things differently now. I'm not saying I see things better or clearer... just different.

Back to this BEAUTIFUL comic...

This comic makes all those different mommy feelings come alive. The comic is about FAMILY and reconnecting. It's about growing up and lislittle boy's journal to his mom.

Most comic books I have perused usually catch my initial attention with phenomenal art. Example: Michael Turner's "Fathom" Vol 1. I was FLOORED by the artwork. (pencils by Michael Turner and colors by Peter Steigerwald) I drooled over it's pages! I'm from Hawaii... I can see that stuff all the time... but there was just something about the way that that man drew... It was stunning. And... I didn't actually READ the comic until a week or so later. (I've all ready admitted this to JT Krul, the author) The art was almost TOO AWESOME.

Such is the case with "The ZooHunters"... sort of. I am FLOORED by the art. It is a feast for the eyes. And in this case the Artist IS the Author. I could read this WITHOUT the art. The art --- BREATHTAKING and DROOL WORTHY --- lends itself to the story. It is the WRITING that makes me turn the page. It is truly amazing. I was mesmerized. Great balance in storytelling. We learn more about his characters and we watch the father and son connect on deeper levels. Also the characters from Issue #0 collide with our little family at the end of this issue.

I can't wait to fly deeper into The ZooHunter universe.

I can't wait until Steigerwald writes a novel.

Just saying...

Issue #2 came out CHRISTMAS EVE!!! Get your copy at your local comic book store or at http://www.aspenstore.com

To learn more about The ZooHunters and more offerings from Aspen Comics go to http://aspencomics.com/books/

or on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/TheZooHunters
https://www.facebook.com/peter.steigerwald

Mele Kalikimaka Peter!



Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Tuesday Reviewsday!!! "The Creation of Life" by God

And God said let there be light!

And there was a blinding pain as I took my last laboring breath to push. 

And there was light. My sons first breath. And there was light. My sons first shout. And there was light. My son is placed on my chest seconds after his birth. I look into the eyes of this amazing being...

... And I see light.

There will be no Review this week folks as I review the importance and beauty of the new light in my life. 

Love, Light. And Aloha,

Pili

PS... Come back next week. I'm gonna try to get my hands on a book by Justina Mattos, a professor at the University of Hawaii at Hilo. 

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

TUESDAY REVIEWSDAY!!! Aspen Comics "The Zoohunters"

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen!!!

WARNING: SPOILERS!

We have a fine specimen for your perusal today. This beautiful, veracious creature was found in the distant reaches of the worldly brain of Steigerwaldland. The beast is hardly awake in its current state... but from what I have read thus far... I can guarantee this WORLD will swallow you whole.



This world has only received a taste, the debut of Aspen's newest series, "The Zoohunters" art and story by Peter Steigerwald. In addition to a review, I may delve into the topic of WORLD-CREATION. I am an amateur when compared to the likes of Steigerwald but we can all learn from the morsel we will now devour.

The "Prelude" for this new comic can be found in the Aspen Comics "Free Comic Book Day: Worlds of Aspen 2014" for more information on how to receive this comic please go to www.aspenstore.com.

Even as the page turns, we are transported into another realm. The vibrant pinks and purples that surround the lone hunter gives us the immediate feeling of being very far away from anything we know. She lays in the grass under a knarly trunk of a tree topped with a crown of whitish coral-like webbing. Glowing pink eggs grow from the base of this exotic tree. The sight of her weapon is trained on something in the distance. We are in Northern Hah'suFari, Grand Plains: Idulani and we are HUNTING. 

The huntress, Minalara or Min, has her sights on a prize, a large beast that looks like very strange zebra-antalope with tusks. Even though Min is hurt in the process, she uses only her voice and a tranquilizer dart to bring it down. Here we find two character traits of our beautiful main character: she does not like to make mistakes and she is humane. An odd choice of words, I know, considering she might not be human...  

Just in there first six pages, Steigerwald has established the beginnings of a character in a world that is not our own. 

Turn to page seven. We have traveled to the Live Cargo holding at Poslan Cosmoport. Min becomes the only human-looking character on the following pages. Dialogue ensues and we find out that she was hired to find, capture and bring in the Atrurk, the strange zebra-antalope with tusks. We meet the short, many eyed, touchy-feely Qaurec who seems to be the leader/owner of the facility. 

Qaurec wants Min and Min wants nothing to do with him or his methods. Within these last five pages we are given another look into the soft humanity of Min, her expertise in hunting and knowledge of the "animal"-life she traps. In the end she purchases a dog-like, monkey flower lizard with a giraffe tongue in exchange for her help in convincing a yet-unknown character named Abros to work for this little toad-like Qaurec.

She cuddles her new friend. And the Prelude ends.



I want one so bad! Isn't he cute!!!

I will leave you here, wanting and waiting for September to come so that we can see and read where this comic will transport us to next. On the topic of world creation... MAYBE I can get a small interview with the Artist-Author Peter Steigerwald. 

Hmmm... you reading this Mr. Steigerwald??? 

Peter Steigerwald is Co-Owner of Aspen MLT, Inc. He is an internationally celebrated artist and colorist widely know for bringing life and color to the works of Michael Turner as well as other top pencilers in the industry. "The Zoohunters" is Mr. Steigerwald's first creator-owned publication. He is the creator, author and artist on this endeavor. For more information on "The Zoohunters" go to https://www.facebook.com/TheZooHunters or www.aspencomics.com.






Wednesday, August 6, 2014

TUESDAY REVIEWSDAY!!!! Aspen Comics: "Damsels in Excess"

SPOILER ALERT!!! Well... not too much...

Ladies, ever wonder what the world would be like without the that other GENDER? I'm sure a few of you have much cause to wish for that fairytale land where women rule and men... well... they just don't exist. They've all been killed off. Done. Extinct. 

Would life be easier?

In true Aspen Comics style, "Damsels in Excess", written by Vince Hernandez and Penciled/Colored by Mirka Andolpo, is dripping with magic. Hernandez has taken a dramatic leap into the singularly vibrant lives of five Princesses who each rule a portion of this manless kingdom. The characterization of each Princess is exquisitely rounded. These are Women. They may be dressed up in beautiful gowns but they have been written with faults, wants, needs...  They are no where near perfect, each struggling with her own portion of the kingdom. Aspen Comics has a slew of strong female characters and "Damsels" is no different. Except where there is usually ONE standout female... here there are FIVE. 

But then I found myself wanting. The close of the first issue has left me confused. When these characters finally meet at the end of the first issue one of the princesses must ask the same question that is posed at the beginning of the book:

"Why we should listen to the words of a lost gender is beyond me."

I ask the same question. Why?

Hernandez has truly piqued my interest. This series has a colorful and magical start. I cannot wait to see where this new brand of the magic of Aspen Comics takes us.

To purchase "Damsels in Excess" go HERE!!!

For more on Aspen Comics check them out at http://aspencomics.com

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

TUESDAY REVIEWSDAY: "A Missive with Love." by Michael Leath

Tuesday Reviewsday:



"A Missive With Love" by Michael Leath.
Published in Firewords Quarterly, Issue One - Spring 2014

This story is like that photograph, frayed and held together by tape that has turned yellow over the years. That photo that you found in your grandparents closet in an album full of faces long forgotten. Or that photo in the rusty, antique frame that sits on your aunts mantel. The picture is of a young couple staring into each others eyes with such love that it makes you smile. It makes your day. It makes you crave that wholesome, beautiful love from the olden days that warms you like a bath on a cold winter night.

At least that is what I wished for. I wished that this story had that beautiful "The Notebook" ending. I wanted so much for the unnamed husband and wife of "A Missive with Love". I want to know how they met and I want to read about their honeymoon in Paris. I want to read all the love letters that she'd received from him in the height of their romance. This "Missive" is the end of a poignant, delicately woven story that speaks to your heart like a love letter, torn to pieces.

Although this short story leaves me aching I cannot think that there was any love lost in this piece. The love that the husband and wife had for each other resonates throughout and flows clearly though to the end. Hearts are broken but Love was freed with a heartbreaking price. 

I want to see that happy photograph of the love that was once so bright and new. I want to see the light in her eyes as she looks at her new husband on the decks of the Eiffel Tower. I want to read about their tender kisses and embraces of yesterday. 

This is a story of wanting and letting go. Mr. Leath has done his job well. He makes me wish that things had ended differently. He leaves me wanting the happy ending that will never come.

Michael Leath is a Vietnam Vet, former screenplay writer and a life long Texan. I had the pleasure of making his acquaintance on Trigger Street Labs, a website for writers and filmmakers. Please check out more of his work at http://www.michaelleath.com. If you would like an entire magazine full of imagination and creativity please go to http://www.firewords.co.uk to snatch up the latest Firewords Quarterly. Mr. Leath also has a novel published for purchase on Amazon. Go HERE to purchase "Queen takes Kings Pawn."

Monday, July 21, 2014

Goals...

Hello my fellow artists, writers, thinkers and dreamers...

I am going to set some goals for myself. Could you help me to keep them? Any small thing would be awesome. A little note here and there... especially if I miss something.

Goal #1: WRITE 500-1000 words daily. That's not much. By the time I am finished with this blog I will have satisfied todays requirement. If I do not fulfill the daily requirement... well let's just say that there have been consequences that have been set up. Consequences that involve tickling. I hate being tickled.

Goal #2: READ. I have been given homework from a great writer friend of mine, Michael Leath. Please check him out at www.michaelleath.com. These are the books he would like me to read and understand for the betterment of my mind and craft:

---THE MARSHAL PLAN FOR NOVEL WRITING by Evan Marshal
---WIRED FOR STORY by Lisa Cron
---WIRED FOR FICTION by Donald Maass

Goal #3: An easy one... keep READING. I've read a about Eight romance novels (it's for research... really!) and about a dozen comics from Aspen Comics just in July. Plus I just received my first Fireword Quarterly Magazine a few days ago and have been pouring over the fantastic short stories there. So... this is the easy Goal.

Goal #4: Take my reading to the next step by REVIEWING. I got this idea from the author John Green. I am sure others do it as well. TUESDAY REVIEWS-DAY. Every Tuesday I will review the works of writers I know... and I know a good handful. I have read such horribly written... not horrible reviews... actual published reviews that lacked any substance. I will start on one tonight to post tomorrow. Not sure what I will review though...

Goal #5: Take steps to bring my novel to the next level. I am not sure what that is but if you have the name of a good line or developmental editor, please leave their name and contact info below. I'm shopping around.

Five Goals.

I can keep Five goals... especially with your help.

Aloha,

Pili

PS... please follow the links for Aspen Comics, Firewords Quarterly and Michael Leath. All hold wondrous worlds of imagination and creativity.


Sewer Rat ... The beginning of some brain smatter side story of my Animal World.

It is really a symphony of sounds and smells. The scream of electrified metal clashing against metal melds with the melodious canned voices that fail to rise above the static of the obsolete sound system. The din of millions of footsteps trying to get somewhere, or away from somewhere churns up the aroma that belongs to this place alone.

Caught up in the sounds and smells that is the music of the New York City Subway, I almost missed her. The sewer Rat scurries by me in a rainbow of ratty florescent green curls and a faded torn I "Heart" NY shirt she probably bought from one of those knock off stores in Chinatown. She grabs the pole and swings back around. The metallic doors close and she peers out the window as the train begins to move. She sways. Her shorts are stained with finger swipes of spray paint over a pair ripped purple tights. The earbuds that keep her ass moving in small undulating waves are studded with green rhinestones.

Her satchel is a mess. Dirty tees and jeans poke out of every available hole. Shit had been stuffed into that hand sewn piece of rag. This girl must have been in a rush to get somewhere. 

Or ... away from someone.

A book slips out of her bag, bounces off her boots and drops on to the black rubber floor below. It flips open in front of me. A detailed pencil sketch of a Lion stares up at me. 

Interesting.

Still not noticing me, she scoops it up in a flash of punk pink painted nails and stuffs it back into her rag of a bag. She gnaws on her pinky nail. Most of the paint looks to have been bitten away. As she works on the rest of the toxic pink paint, she stares out the window of this A train that we have both found ourselves on.

I look back down. She is definitely not a sewer Rat. Her boots give her away. She could have stole them, true, but these babies fit her like they were tailored. These were made from the finest skins I'd ever seen. This ratty mess was no more sewer Rat than I was. I can't imagine why or what would make this lovely girl pretend to be other than she is.

And she is special. A Snake. My special Snake.

The train slows as it approaches 14th Street. She backs up, visibly disturbed. The train stops and her head snaps down and she is absolutely still.

I glance up as the doors open. Two cops stand right outside. One cop looks in and straight at me. With all the shit that's been going down, I'm not surprised they are on high alert.

I arch my brow and smile invitingly. The cop looks deep into my multifaceted eyes and turns beet red. He bows his head in acknowledgement. Unless necessary, Law-enforcement types rarely seek to tangle with my kind. He backs out of the train as the doors close. 

With a lurch we begin our forward momentum once again.

I look up at my target. She has finally noticed me. Does she know who I am? Her now unpainted pinky is back in her mouth and her malachite green eyes are piercing. 

No, she doesn't know who I am. Maybe it is better this way.

Or...

I smile my inviting smile and she looks away, startled and terrified. She looks to the humans on the train. They are all oblivious to her. She backs up against the train car exit doors. She reaches for the handle as if to pull it open to exit to the next car.

I give my head the slightest shake and she obeys immediately. Tears stream down her face.

Good girl. Now she knows who I am. What I am. There is no escape for her.

And now I know who she is. I've been searching for her and after all these fruitless years she happens to stumble onto the same train car.

God I love this city.

...to be continued...




Tuesday, October 8, 2013

"The Lost Spark" By JT Krul. A review.























"The Lost Spark"
By: JT Krul

I could go on about how amazing this book is. I could say how much I wish I could disappear into its paperbacked cover. I could... but I am not. The book speaks for itself. Instead I am going to write down a remembrance of a spark I thought I had lost.

My spark is a pink bear with a rainbow on his belly called Bubbaly Pubbaly. He was a cheap Care Bears knock off from the 80ʻs that my Mom bought for me because we couldnʻt afford a "real" Care Bear. Bubbaly Pubbaly was more real to me - more powerful for me than any Care Bear "Stare". My Bubbaly Pubbaly had a sister named Boohbaly Poohbaly, a smaller pink bear with no rainbow that was won for me out of one of those crane machines that never ever work. Except it worked because Bubbaly Pubbaly wanted to rescue his sister. He also had a best friend named Marcie Darcie who was not a bear but a rather boxy-looking florescent-pink fox. Marcie Darcie was found in a woman and childrenʻs shelter that my Mom worked at. Iʻm not sure if Marcie Darcie was Male or Female. I donʻt think that mattered to Bubbaly Pubbaly, his sister, or I.

Every night, my Mom would send me on great adventures with my friends. She would tell me to make sure I was back in bed in time to wake up in the morning. I would crawl in to the caverns of Blanket Town and go into the wilds of Dreamville.

I wonder - When did that stop? When did I put away my friends? I am not sure what happened to them. I am hoping that they live somewhere nice. I am hoping they are someplace safe until I can find them again.

Until then, they live in my head. With them I climb through the caverns of adulthood and disbelief and emerge on the other side to create worlds on paper with symbols Iʻd only begun to understand as a child.

Thank you to my Mom for finding me my lifetime writing partners. Thank you to Bubbaly Pubbaly. I hope to see you and your friends again one day. And to you JT Krul ... Thank you for helping me to remember my spark. Sometimes just a memory is enough to spark something amazing.

If you are adventurous enough to pick it up and delve into "The Lost Spark" and its well painted world then go HERE to buy this sparkling book. For a direct link to JT KrulÊ»s sparky Blog and more of his work go HERE.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Cold Shoulder Mornings. A short story by Pili Nathaniel.


Cold Shoulder Mornings
By Pili Nathaniel

Mary had to get out of bed. She needed to get to her computer. She wanted to write. She pushed the covers off slowly and crawled out into the cold morning. 

“Where are you going?”

Mary felt the blossoming bud of hope. She looked warily at him. “You’re talking to me now?”

He turned his head and shut his eyes, effectively shutting her out. 

He came home last night from work, his eyes averted from hers. Didn’t want to talk, didn’t even want to look at her. Last night, Mary’s heart felt like it sat stewing in the acid of her rumbling stomach.

Mary tried to cuddle with him during the night but he just lay there like stone. She tried wrapping her smooth naked arm around his waist only to get shoved away. At one point he positioned himself just to make it uncomfortable for her to hold him.

He did not try to touch Mary once.

Today, her heart felt like it was being stuffed and squeezed into her small intestines. What was wrong with him? “What did I do? Did I do something?” Today, Mary refused to ask. She’d asked twice last night.

“Nothing,” he looked briefly at her, his flat brown eyes were empty. 

This morning was much of the same. She got out of bed and left the icy bedroom, it’s frigidness had nothing to do with the dry California winter air. All hope that Mary felt was eaten away by the worms of self-doubt. “What did I do?” She made his coffee, made herself some black tea and went outside to water the garden.  

The grass was wet with early morning dew. Mary’s bare feet were soon slathered in grass-sweat as she traipsed through it toward the garden lugging the bright green hose. She lost herself in her little garden. The lettuces were still very small and susceptible to the weather. “I think that we have a little furry creature taking it’s fill,” she mused. About a quarter of the tender greens were decimated or simply gone. “What a lucky little mouse.” she thought. “For now.” 

Mary turned a jet of fresh cold water onto the corn, about a dozen in all. One or two hadn’t survived through the transition of transplanting. She had loved starting the seeds in the house while the weather was still frigid. The corn had been one of the first babies to poke its head out of the fresh earth and into the warmth of her home. 

She let the water spray lazily over the remainder of the garden. The sun hadn’t come up over the fence just yet and she didn’t want to stun the little sugar snap pea shoots or bruise the cilantro. She would have to replant some tomorrow. The four or five delicious plants were already becoming tall in the slow warmth that was creeping up as winter turned to spring. The older romaine lettuces would soon follow suit, bolting as if to extend their lush green arms into the spring sun.

Mary wiped her wet brown feet on the welcome mat outside the kitchen. Her home was not quite as welcoming as her garden and the approaching sunrise. Instead of a warm, “Good Morning!” She was greeted by a stoic man making coffee.

“I already made you coffee.” She whispered.

“It was cold.” He grunted.

Mary grabbed the still warm cup of coffee from the counter and tossed its remains in the sink. Her head hurt with the need to release. Her hands itched for the safety of her computer. Instead, she got ready for yoga and read a half chapter of a ‘spiritual guidance’ book a friend in NYC had suggested. She dove into the book. Interesting, but not enough to restore her heart to its proper place.

She asked him something unimportant with the hope of maybe getting him to talk with her. No response. She made a cute comment about his stinky yoga mat, which he obviously didn’t find funny because she got the same averted eyes and no reply.  

She didn’t say anything then. Her lungs felt too small for the breaths she was trying to take. Mary couldn’t get a full breath. She didn’t say anything as she put veggie-oil into her converted 1978 diesel Mercedes. She didn’t say anything when she came back into the cold house to wash the oil off her hands. She didn’t say anything when she started the car to warm it up or when he slammed the door after sitting in the passenger seat. Mary didn’t say anything.

She almost got into a couple of accidents on the way to yoga. Mary said something then. The first word was at a four way stop sign as a Prius decided to take his turn a little early.  

“Fucker.” Mary said.

Then at the next green light she took a left turn. It was near completion when a grey Tacoma swerved from behind a large black SUV to come rushing straight at her car.  Mary screamed then.

“Fuck you!” Mary stuck her longest finger out of her window as to make sure the other driver knew what a dick he was.

He said something then. “You knew that was going to happen.”

Mary spat out something in reply to him. Something of no consequence. Mary knew then that he would only speak of his own accord if he had to relate something that she had done wrong. She had spent the last ten or so hours in suspense of the dreadful thing she must have done to deserve this cold-shoulder treatment from him. 

Mary pulled into the parking lot as safely as she could. God forbid he’d say anything about her driving skills. She just wanted to get out of her stinky old car and get up to yoga.

Not a very auspicious way to begin a spiritual yoga practice.

Practice wasn’t any better. He made it a point to practice on the other side of the room, even when there was a huge space next to her. That put Mary into the realm of the stinky lesbian chick (she really is stinky) and the “Ho-hum” woman (she hummed and grunted throughout her entire practice), both of which they’d tried their best to practice very far away from. On a good day he and Mary would have complained about and teased these women. Now, Mary was the woman that he didn’t want to practice next to.

She pushed through her yoga practice. Mary let the sweat drown her confused sorrow-anger.  

After closing postures, she got up and got dressed when her body was willing.  She said a small goodbye to the instructor. She could tell the instructor knew something was going on. Her instructor was wrong. There was nothing going on. Nothing.  

Mary didn’t say anything as she waited in her stinky car for him. She didn’t say anything when the door opened to announce his arrival and when it shut to let her know that she could start the car and drive home. She didn’t say anything when he stuffed the earbuds of her little grey iPod into his already deaf ears. Mary didn’t say anything when he tipped his hat down in effort to drown out the world and her presence.  

Not a word was spoken as she drove home. No almost-accidents. No swearing. Nothing except the tinny sound of music coming from an old set of Apple earbuds.

She pulled into the driveway. He was out of the car before she put it into park. Mary turned the car off and sat there for a while. The wrought iron door squeaked open then slammed closed. 

“What was happening here? What did I do?” Mary sat on the faded and torn leather seats of her old Mercedes and let some errant tears go. 

“Stop. Just stop.” She shook herself, grabbed her stinky yoga stuff and left her car. Mary let her free hand scrap along the rough whitewashed exterior of her small adobe-style house as she made her way to the clothesline. She hung out her ripped, sweat-wet yoga mat and took a cleansing breath. She looked to the garden. What looked so inviting in the early morning light now looked pale and dead in the afternoon gloom. She hadn’t noticed this morning but the kale had been ravaged by worms. Mary salvaged what she could, pulled the entire plant from the garden and threw the remains in the compost pile. It lay there. Worm infested and unwanted. 

Mary took another breath. She would try to make this right. Whatever this was. She set out for the kitchen to make them some smoothies. He was taking a shower. 

Mary was already half done with her kale/mango/strawberry/coconut smoothie when he came out, dressed. She tried again. “There’s a smoothie with your name on it in the kitchen.” She could hear the false cheerfulness drone out of her voice.

“I don’t want any.” He continued into the kitchen, avoiding her disappointed stare. He came into the living room with some apple-peach juice.  

Shutdown again. She turned back to her computer screen and decided to tune him out.

He tinkered on his computer on one side of the living room while Mary checked the news at her computer on the opposite side. She read about people who’s lives were decidedly worst off then hers.  

She decided to try one more time. She pouted, “So you’re gonna make me drink the entire smoothie by myself?” Mary tried for puppy-dog eyes, but it really didn’t matter what she did because he didn’t look up from his computer. He just shrugged a negative.  

She washed the glass out and put the remains of the smoothie into the refrigerator next to the bottle of apple-peach juice. She sat back at her computer and let herself numb over.  Mary made her heart return to its proper place and made her lungs function correctly.  She turned her entire being back to her keyboard and screen. She created a new document and let her fingers speak. At least here she was wanted. At least here Mary could release her thoughts without the nuisance of expecting a feeling reply. She knew this conglomeration of wires and plastic wasn’t alive. This machine could not give human contact and for that she was glad.  

The human man she was currently in contact with was behaving like a slow computer and she couldn’t log on because the password had been changed.  Mary didn’t know how to get in.

He changed into his nicest work blacks, turned off his computer and said a terse, “Bye.”  He was already halfway out the door. At least he said something. 

Mary said nothing.
  
He slammed the wrought-iron kitchen door.

“Here I am,” Mary typed as tears trickled down her cheeks on to her fingers; wet like dew-drenched grass on a cold morning, “writing about it. I’m writing about nothing.”

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Rest in Eternal Music, Lina.

A few days ago a great inspiration passed away. Thank you Mrs. Lina Doo for your support, vivacity, creativity and love. Thank you for your inspiration. Thank you for your SONG.

For you Mrs Lina Doo,

I sing a song of beauty,
Of kindness and of love.
You sing the songs of Angels
In that great Theatre above.

Where everyone has perfect pitch,
and follows your direction.
Where your students learn their music,
With FOCUS and Intention.

You taught a song of learning,
Of passion and of strength.
You taught me how to sing MY song,
At least you tried to at great length.

All the many lives you touched
Will sing your song anew
We sing full of love and heart
For you, Mrs Lina Doo.

By Pili Nathaniel

TAG LINE FOR "The Change"!!!!!

Hi all...

I have been told by my writing/artist/screenwriting/writing/friends that you need to be able to get into an elevator and give a description of your project to those standing there before the doors open again...

NOW I CAN!!!!!!!!!!!

I have my TAGLINE!!! I have my explanation!!! I can get into an elevator with you and tell you what "The Change" is about from the first floor to the second floor!!! Hopefully you'll stay until at least the tenth floor so I can tell you more!!!

THE CHANGE:

"After the loss of her Mother, young Julia's life spirals further out of control when she discovers her innate ability to Change into an Animal."

-Pili

PS... Sorry I've been a bit MIA... I'm furiously rewriting, editing and proofing "The Change." My head space has been taken up by Julia's world...

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

Plotting...

Hi all,

So as I have mentioned... or maybe I haven't mentioned but I have thought about it and further thought I mentioned it but never did because I have these conversations with myself in my head that I think I write down but never actually do and when I look for the written words from my head I find that they never existed.

Except for maybe in my head.

So I have decided to PLOT. I have formally mentioned somewhere on some blog, if not my own, that I am a FREEWRITER. I writeandwriteandwriteandwrite to just let the ideas and plotlines flow as they might. It has worked so far... until recently. I feel so stopped up with Ideas that the Ideas are begining to mesh into this weird beefstew in my head. By PLOTTING I feel I might get a grasp on the freewheeling crazyfacing hotsteamingmessofconsciousness in my brain.

An UPDATE on "The Change": Two AWESOME friends, a College Lit Professor and a Writer/Production Madam of Disney and such, have both read a full draft of "The Change"!!! I will be speaking with them this coming week and hopefully begin the next phase of "The Change" in which I begin to really hone the book into a solid piece.

I am also thinking about PLOTTING out "The Change". That way I can make sure the characters, plots, actions, timeline, though line... ALL MAKE SENSE (to someone other than myself).

Thank you once again to Mike Wolfson whose BLOG, http://www.musingsfromplanetwolfson.com/a-writers-blog.html, I read semi-religiously. His latest blog features a chart done by JK Rowling and the Lester Dent Pulp Paper Master Fiction Plot. Please go check his blog.

-Pili

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

I have been NAMED.

A reply to a blog post by fellow (awesome) writer Mike Wolfson. Click on his name to read his blog! In his latest entry he gives me a name and this was my response.

Is that what I am?

Am I what that is?

FreeWriter

WriterFree

Wow. Mind blown. You have just given me a name Mister Wolfson. Thank you. 

I am very rarely named.

My stories usually flow out of the characters that jump out of my head. The only reference I have is Athena jumping out of her fathers head. Its kinda like that but without the godly Greek powers. 

Stories form around these characters as they come to life in words. Some of them come from the part of my heart that is broken. Some come from the mean bitch in my head. One character resembled my foot if my foot had been stepped on many times by a Kentucky Derby horse named George.

The blood flows into my keyboard when I start introducing these characters. Some of them get along rather well while others are so put off by the other that they demand to be in another story entirely. 

And so a world is created by the characters that live in it. 

And isn't that what the world is anyway? It is what it is because I perceive it to be what it is.

I am Pili Freewriter Nathaniel. 

Thank you again for my new name.

Pili

Thursday, April 25, 2013

A start of something... "1st and 2nd"


1st & 2nd
by: Pili Nathaniel

__________
Melanie J.
* 
The food sucks and the owner is a bitch. Glad it's closing.
__________
Jeffrey S.
*****
So sad 1st and 2nd is closing. That place is the best! I think even my parents went there back in the day. They’ll probably replace it with some cookie cutter Starbucks bar where the staff will suck your dick with a shit eating smile. Would you like a towely with that sir. Gentrification of the lower east side. So. Fucking. Sad.
__________
John K.
*****
I can not believe 1st and 2nd is closing. This is my first post on this website and I'm only posting to give you young kids a history lesson. That bar used to be an old soda shop in the 1920s. Kincaid Jones, the youngest son of Ol'Mister Jones took it over during the depression and sold moonshine on the side. 
__________
Betsy P.
**
Went there on a Wednesday a few weeks back. Pretty slow going. Bar staff was cool though.
__________
Ryan Y.
*****
"Holy muther fing god this place is EPIC! I've been a reg here for years... Had my 21st birthday, threw up for the first time... This place is the go to dive for me! But last night was CRAZY! 

The owner... This curly black haired sexy leggy fucking hot mess named Roquel. She’s like 24 or something and runs the place. Think her dad got sick and she took over a few years back. She was yelling and I mean screaming red faced “fuck you” expletives at one of the bartenders this guy Kevin (rumor has it that they used to date but ....well) the other bartenders just laughed and did their thing around them. And it was ten deep packed solid at this place. 

Anyway the bar was loud and crowded and rocking but these two were screaming and yellin over it all.

The best part: all of a sudden Kev fuckin pushes everything off their service bar, knocking two hot waitresses to the side, lifts Roq and throws her onto the bar. They start going at it! Eating each other on the bar in front of everyone!

I fucking swear!!! The entire bar paused for like ten seconds to watch. And then we all erupted! Fucking exploded Man!!! The bartenders the waitresses the entire fucking Dive hollered and cheered like it was a frikken Jets game or something. The only thing that kept them from actually fucking there on the bar was their fucking jeans man. 

When Kev finally let her go, Roq was all smiles and then she fucking pummels him in the face. Doesn't even faze him. Still fucking laughing... The both of them. Crazy Epic. I'm telling this one to my grandkids one day.

For all of you who've never been to 1st and 2nd... Tonight is the LAST NIGHT! Get there!!!

Oh... And I took a video of last nights bar sex show look up “1st and 2nd Sex Gods.” on YouTube!!!

__________
CHAPTER ONE.
*****

Fucking Yelp. Someone fucking help me. I look towards the old ceiling of my bar. My Bar. My home. I've lived in this bar my entire life and I will lose it tomorrow. 

Boom boom boom. The ceiling blurs as I bang my head against the hard old bar. 

I will lay here on my bar until the stupid lawyers/community board/police/ construction crew/wrecking ball come to rip me off of it. 

Stupid stupids. 

Friday, February 22, 2013

Failure to Communicate: A short story.




Failure to Communicate


a short story
by Pili Nathaniel



“You were married?” The question popped up at the bottom corner of her screen. 

Lily plopped backwards onto the bed and giggled into her MacBook Air. She needed more caffeine if she was going reply to this question and her coffee was getting cold but she knew Jack wouldn’t wait long for her reply. Lily had been set up on a blind date with him the last time she was in New York City. It had been a refreshingly amazing date.

She typed, “Yeah. He was my first. We were high school drama-geek sweethearts. We were always cast as the leads together. He was the King of the fairies, Oberon, and I was his Queen, Titania.  I was Juliet and he was my Romeo. He was my best friend. He was my first kiss. It was on stage during Romeo and Juliet. We started ‘going out’ during the play.  We both got drunk on wine coolers after the cast party and ended up having sex in the costume shop. It was the first time for both of us and it hurt. 

“We were in love. My mom and his parents took us to Olive Garden after graduation.  Before dessert appeared and in front of our parents and the entire restaurant, he got down on one knee and asked to be my best friend and husband. I blubbered a happily tearful, ‘Yes’. We got married about a month later. It was a court and judge affair in which only my mom and his parents came. My mother was furious but reserved her judgement. His parents, on the other hand, were absolutely thrilled. They paid for our honeymoon and got us our first apartment. The same apartment I still live in, by the way. It was part of the settlement.

“We never made it to the honeymoon. We fought instead. His parents had just bought us a beautiful one bedroom apartment in a new building in the Sunset District near our new school. A day before our honeymoon he decides he wants to go to another school. We fought. So instead of skiing in Aspen we cashed in the tickets to pay for the transfer. A week later I began my English literature degree at San Francisco State University and he got to commute everyday to continue his passion for the theatre at the Academy of Art University. We hardly saw each other. 

“Our first semester was almost at a close and I wanted to celebrate. I knew that my husband had Tuesdays off so I came home early to make dinner for us. I opened the door and smelled it before I realized someone else was in my house. The cologne in the air wasn’t my husband’s. Someone had broken in. I grabbed the baseball bat I hid under the couch for such a circumstance and crept further into the apartment, noiselessly. I heard some scuffling in the bedroom. It sounded like people were fighting. I didn’t think. I ran to the door and flung it open, bat raised to attack.

“The bat dropped out of my hand and my head cocked to the side. My first thought was that I hadn’t realized that my husband liked sex so dirty. My second thought was that he was having sex in our bed…” Lily hit send and stretched. Her computer toppled to the side onto the red quilt that had been a wedding gift from her Aunt Cheryl. She’d burnt the rest of the bedding but could not part with this one memento.

A few moments passed as Lily gulped at the remains of the lukewarm coffee. Her computer made a little “PING!” sound to announce the arrival of a new message.

“AND!?!  Don’t keep me hanging like this!!!  Did you kill the asshole?” Jack was not a very patient man.  

“PING, PING!” Another few messages appeared before she could finish the last.

“Where are you!!! WHAT HAPPENED!”

“I’m gonna log off now if you don’t answer in five seconds…”

Lily took the last grainy gulp. The best bitter part of her morning coffee was the black grime that settled at the bottom of the cup. She laughed as she typed, “Okay! Geez! I needed some coffee! I am three hours behind you, Jack. It’s only eight here!”

“Well, you should move your cute butt to NYC.” Jack replied. 

“Not this argument again.” Lily typed quickly and hit send. She needed more coffee. Computer in one hand, she grabbed another cupful from her old faithful coffee maker. There were only three electronics she needed in her life; her computer, her coffee maker and her...

“PING!!! PING!!! PING!!!” 

“Shit. Ow! Crap.” Scalding black coffee dripped from her hands and splashed onto her camisole. Her stomach drew in, an effort to stop the coffee from getting on her skin. Thank heavens she hadn’t dropped her computer. She placed it gently on the counter. A small splatter had gotten on the screen. She placed the remains of her coffee on the counter, removed her soaking top and wiped at the computer with it. 

“PING!!!”

Lily glanced at the screen.

“Move to NYC, pretty Lily! You’ll love it here!”

“Where are you?”

“Finish your story!”

“I’m going to tell Keith to drop your manuscript in the trash if you do not reply to me right now!” Jack was a feisty one.

Lily giggled. “Punk!” She typed quickly. “You made me spill my coffee! Now I’m all wet! Maybe when I get my next novel published, I’ll have the money to relocate.” She hit send, grabbed her computer and now half-cup of coffee and headed for her bedroom.

Lily carefully placed her mug on her nightstand and her computer on the bed. She wiggled into an old SFSU shirt and crawled back onto her bed.

Her date with Jack last month went well. She’d finally met a man who she could communicate with. He didn’t try try to change her and he didn’t put her and her wacky ideas down. He was well mannered and mouthwateringly beautiful. She had hoped the night would end with him coming up to her hotel room but there’d been an emergency at his restaurant. 

“PING!”

Lily thought that was the end of that finished her wine and went back to her hotel, alone. The next morning she got a “Good Morning, pretty Lily” and a long funny scientific explanation about the intricate workings of a tap system and what happens when a new bartender messes with it. Since then Jack made every effort to keep in contact with her. For the past month, they’d swapped a ton of stories and had a great online friendship.  She took a sip of coffee and looked at her computer.

And snorted coffee all over her clean shirt. 

“Wet? I could think of other ways to get you wet...” 

Lily typed, “How baby?” She quickly deleted it. Lily hardly knew the man. She replaced it with, “Do you want to read the rest of my story?”

“Yes, please.” Jack was ever the gentleman.

“My third thought was that my husband, was having dirty sex with a very cute individual with blond hair. Our bathroom mirror was propped up on the bed and he was straddling this individual from behind watching himself fuck.

“He reached around, dug in harder and was obviously about to come because he had his ‘I’m coming’ face on.  When I dropped the bat he got distracted from his reflection and looked up into the mirror, his face a sweaty mess of extreme ecstasy, and right into my eyes.

“He toppled off his lover and squirted everywhere. He’d just gotten the shock of his life but not enough to stop the flood.

“I looked down at the little blond individual and I smiled. I started laughing. My fourth thought? My husband likes men.”

She sent that little tidbit.  She wanted his reaction.

“OH!  HA!!!!!  He’s gay!  You married a gay man?”

“Hey!  He was my best friend.  It seemed right at the time.”

“So that’s why you’re mom was upset and his parents were so happy.  They all knew.”

 “Yeah.  My mom and I had a long talk after the divorce. I was mad at her for not telling me and she just shook her head and told me, ‘Sweetheart, I couldn’t tell you. You wouldn’t have listened to me. Plus, I didn’t need to tell you.  You already knew.’  She was right, I did know.

 “After my husband and Matt, the blond boy, straightened themselves up I took the merry liberty of tossing that blond floozy out of my apartment.  I pushed him out of the door with an, “Now that my husband has finished fucking your brains out, I’d like to have a word with him.”  The look on the poor boy’s face told me everything.  The boy hadn’t known my husband was in the closet and married...to a woman.  I think he may have cried a little outside the door after I slammed it in his pretty boy face. I felt sorry for the kid but I couldn’t worry about him. I turned to face my husband and laughed again. 

“‘STOP IT!’  He cried, stomping his foot. That made all his naked bits jiggle.

“It made me laugh harder and he stomped once more. This time his feet took him back into our bedroom and he slammed the door. My giggles turned to hysterics. I couldn’t stop laughing. There were a bit of tears too. A good fifteen minutes passed in this manner.

“I did not know how to handle it. Here was my best friend and husband having sex with another person … a man … in our bed. If the blond kid had been a woman, I’d have thrown both of their naked sorry asses out on the street.  

“This was different. I was mad at him for screwing around on me and he really should have told me if I wasn’t pleasing him. Then I realized that we hadn’t had sex in weeks now. I’d just assumed that we were busy but it was because I no longer wanted him in that fashion. I’d never had wanted him like that. The first time had been exciting but it had really all gone down hill from then on in. And our marriage? I almost began laughing again. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I shook my head, grabbed a glass of water and tanked it. I dug into our one of our sparse cupboards and found an oversized gallon bottle of cheap red wine. I didn’t bother getting glasses.

“I opened the bedroom door.  The bed was stripped and the bathroom mirror was back in the bathroom.  He was sitting in his faded blue boxers on the edge of the bed, sobbing into the laundry basket.  His big brown eyes looked up, tears were cascading down his white cheeks as he said, ‘I’m sorry.’

“He tried to say more but I stopped him and uncorked the wine.  ‘As your friend, you are going to tell me everything.  As your wife, I am going to decide whether to bash your head in with this wine bottle after you’re finished.  Either way … Let’s get drunk.’

Lily clicked the send button with a smile. 

After a long moment, Jack replied, “Is he still alive?”

“LOL. Yeah. You know him. He’s my literary rep now.” 

“NO SHIT! KEITH WHITE? You were married to Keith! Great guy, he comes into the restaurant all the time. Wait... he’s the one that set us up!” I could almost hear Jack’s laughter. I loved making him laugh.

“Yup! He’s great! And … he’s still my best friend.  He told me everything that night.  He cried and said knew he was gay in high school but thought that if he married me, ‘perfect and wonderful … you,’ he cried, that he’d be able to get over it. He thought our love would change him into the man his parents wanted him to be. I let him talk all night.  

“Keith told me how he’d met Matt, the blond floozy, in a production class. Matt was out of the closet and enjoying life. He fell for him at once. But he didn’t need to tell me that. I could see it in his eyes as he spoke about him. Matt, who had absolutely no idea that I had existed, kissed him. It was an awakening. They had sex a few times but never in our apartment. They were only picking up extra clothes but Keith couldn’t help himself and well… that was when I walked in. 

“He told me how much he loved me and I was so drunk by then that I’d started crying and I think I sobbed something about how he should have told me. We hugged and talked about high school. We went through two of those huge bottles and fell asleep together on our bed.

“In the morning I was all business. I gave him one last squeeze, got up and out of his arms and took a fast shower. When I came out my husband was up and playing thumb-wrestle with himself.

“I dried my hair and said, ‘I want a divorce.’

“He looked up at me and smiled, ‘Thank you.’  He thought I’d forgiven him.

“‘Don’t thank me yet.’  I smiled as I wiggled into a yellow cotton dress.  My best friend and almost ex-husband looked frightened.  I never wear dresses.  ‘Take a shower and dress nice.  We’re meeting your parents and my mother for brunch.’” Lily hit send tossed her coffee stained Art Institute tee in the laundry and grabbed a clean pair of jeans and a purple camisole.

“PING!”

Lily wiggled into the skin tight Lucky Brand Jeans. She was in the process of slipping on the camisole as she read, “That was a bitch thing to do... I guess he deserved it.” 

Lily continued, “Damn straight he deserved it. I made Keith tell his parents that we were getting a divorce because he was gay. I didn’t make him tell them the circumstances in which I had found out, but he wouldn’t talk to me for three years after the papers were signed. His parents had let me keep our apartment but I let him take all the furniture. Especially the bed.

“After three years had gone by to the date, Keith called me. He said he had a bottle of wine with my name on it. When I met him at my favorite Italian restaurant he was all decked out in a Marc Jacobs suit. I could read ‘ulterior motive’ all over him.  We hugged and exchanged a few pleasantries. When the wine appeared, the same gallon bottle two buck chuck we’d drank three years prior, I giggled myself silly. We both had a good laugh. Then he slapped a manuscript on the dinner table. My manuscript. I had finally found an agent. My ex-husband, Keith White, wanted to be my literary agent. He’d already found a publishing company who loved my novel and wanted to have it on the shelves before Christmas. 

“I was stumped.

“Keith explained that after he’d quit acting he’d gone into the writing program.  That didn’t satisfy him either. He quit school and moved to NYC. He’d taken an internship at a large literary agency and was hooked. He loved the sleaziness of it. He loved to play the part of the salesman, and he was good at it. Keith was one of the top agents. 

My ex-husband got down on one knee and asked if he could be my agent. I said, ‘Yes,’ and we’ve been friends ever since." Lily let a small giggle escape.

"Now it’s my turn," Lily continued typing, the newest novel she was working on could wait. She asked, "How about you?  When was your first time?" 

Lily clicked ‘send’.