A N
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M A G A Z I N E
THE UNDER-HEEL
P 11,
FLESHER
THE BROKEN BY EMILY SHORE
QUEEN
Interview with / author, Jaclyn Roche P13
SHERRY D FICKLIN, P3
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WHEN WISHES BLEED ) BOOK REVIEW by; Gladys Gonzales Atwell
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HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY
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editor's note From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Mother's Day is a celebration honoring the mother of the family, as well as motherhood, maternal bonds, and the influence of mothers in society. It is celebrated on various days in many parts of the world, most commonly in the months of March or May. It complements similar celebrations honoring family members, such as Father's Day, Siblings Day, and Grandparents Day.The modern Mother's Day began in the United States, at the initiative of Anna Jarvis in the early 20th century. This is not (directly) related to the many traditional celebrations of mothers and motherhood that have existed throughout the world over thousands of years, such as the Greek cult to Cybele, Rhea the Great Mother of the Gods, the Roman festival of Hilaria, or the Christian Mothering Sunday celebration (originally a commemoration of Mother Church, not motherhood). However, in some countries, Mother's Day is still synonymous with these older traditions.
Eri Nelson EDITOR-IN-CHIEF
“Ovid?” he asks weakly. “I’m on my deathbed…and you read me Ovid?” Closing the book and setting it aside, I hurry to his side. “I’d hoped some of his more scandalous poems would rouse you.” The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. “Cruel thing to do, teasing a eunuch.” “I will do much worse if you ever think to leave me again,” I threaten. “Never. Come, lay beside me. I would like to feel the warmth of you, if only so I can be sure I’m not dreaming.” As he requests, I stretch out along the length of him, curling as close as I dare without jostling his leg. Nuzzling into his chest, I take a deep breath, savoring his familiar scent. He kisses my forehead gently. “Ah, real. I’m glad.” “Were your dreams so disappointing?” “I only dreamt of you.” His words are so weak and sad that the very sound makes my heart ache. “What did you dream?” I whisper. He licks his lips. “I dreamt we were on a ship at sea, just the two of us. The wind was blowing through your hair, and I could taste salt on your lips. I dreamt that you chose me, loved me, and we traveled far away from this place…” He trails off, probably expecting me to protest or rebuke him. But I do neither. I haven’t the heart for it now. “It sounds like a beautiful dream. I’m sorry you had to leave it.” “No dream is better than the reality of holding you again. Ah, but you should not have risked yourself to come back for me. I told you to flee.” “When have you ever known me to do as I was told?” I ask, cradling his face in my hand. Shifting, he places a kiss in my palm. “I’m glad you didn’t. The shock of it alone may have killed me.” “You are not allowed to die. Didn’t you know? I’ve forbidden it. And you cannot disobey me.” “You’re not the empress yet.” “Does it matter?” “No,” he admits. “Not to me.” “Then obey me now, Sergei, and rest.” “Will you stay?” he asks, his voice growing drowsy. “I would not leave you for anything. Now sleep, my love, and dream of better things.”
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“Watch out for flying zombies!” It’s the first thing the crazy yahoo tells me just after his truck careens up the road behind me, digging up the wet dirt and flinging some of it against me as I run up the long drive bordering our family’s property. This farm girl’s never minded mud. All around me, the rain comes down thick as falling pixie dust, drops so sharp and cold, they prick my skin like pennies... When I check out the truck, I determine it’s the sexiest truck I’ve ever seen. A flesher-killing machine on steroids from the spiked wheels to the armored windows to the rear mounted machine gun and the front-end barricade that reminds me of a backwards snowplow. Down to the front and back end floodlights, the vehicle is a thing of beauty. And the guy screaming ‘whoo hooo!’ through the open windows is even sexier. “Need a ride, miss?” He yells above the sound of the raging storm.
Q. Tell us about your characters and how they came to be? Have they been in your head for a long time? A. I am a dreamer whether it’s during the day, and I am awake, or at night, and I’m asleep. I have always been a dreamer with my head in the clouds, so to speak. After I wake up, I usually remember what I dreamt the night before and use it as a source of inspiration for stories and characters. Day dreaming was how I got through a lot of life. Especially school, I hated it; so daydreaming and writing became my go-to when I couldn’t escape into a book. During those moments throughout the day and night when I stare off into nothing or let my mind
author, Jaclyn Roche
Q. What motivates you to write? A. Stories come to me all day long. It’s constant that I will be doing something then go off on a tangent thinking up entire plots and different scenarios and outcomes of events. My brain is always going, and I am always thinking. My husband is vital to my existence. often amused that I can see a There was a random stranger on the street, and time in my life that I say I I’ll make up stopped writing, but I didn’t an entire backstory and life for cease writing wholly them to the amusement of my in itself. I stopped my pursuit husband and and growth into a career. children. Then there’s my muses. Here and there I still They urge me to write and make me wrote a line, paragraph, page, feel guilty poem, etc. I created lives, when I don’t. stories, and I can’t not write. I’ve tried. It characters, but I didn’t devote doesn’t work. I get cranky, grumpy, no one the time or effort to my craft as I previously had. wants to be around me, and heck I I wasn’t pursuing my passion don’t even want to be around myself then to the extent that I needed or wanted to. This is either. It’s like the air I breath, my dream. This is what I was writing is born to do.