What were you doing before this? Writing in my book.
What’s a word that rhymes with “Ectoplasm”? Orgasm (..or were you hoping for something a bit more subtle perhaps?)
Today’s favorite soup: *raised eyebrow* Goat’s head.
Today’s favorite song: ‘Even Gods Do’
Sybil Leek or Marie Laveau? Marie Laveau
Do you believe in ghosts? Yes. I was married to one for over four hundred years.
Have you ever seen a ghost? Everyone does, oui? Continue reading
For the record, The PDF version of “The Memoirs of the Count de Rochefort” by Cortilz de Sandras (English Translation) is a complete disaster! Then again, maybe it is just the version of it for Kindle PC that is completely unreadable. Anyway…what’s with all these codes and HTML and nonsense?! It is so bad on the Kindle ap that it is completely unreadable. I just want to find out who thought it was ok to upload something so wretched to archives.org and ask what they could have been thinking. Thankfully, however, I have an actual physical copy and just have to figure out the difference between the use of “F’s” and “S’s” and you can pretty much get the general gist. I have always thought that a better rendition of the ‘Memoirs’ from the famous D’artagnan romances would be fantastic since, unbeknownst to most, they are based off of real people. Alexandre’ Dumas shamelessly ripped off both Cortilz and his co-writer, Auguste Maquet and yet gets all of the credit for being so bloody brilliant.
It is officially spring break which means a mad flurry of cleaning and fixing up so we can get the house appraised, refinanced and my ex husband off the mortgage, etc. Then there’s the eBook to finish up and the two manuscripts and upload them to Kindle. Then there is the FAFSA to finish, the scholarship application and the business plans for “Backwoods” and “Dragon Legacy”.
All this and I am supposed to get some sleep in there somewhere.
“I do not understand, Maman,” I said, pushing my lip out petulantly, “Why must I stay here with Papa? He….” my eyes stung with the reality that my mother was leaving to journey for several months to her homeland and she was not taking me.”
With an exasperated sigh, she laid aside the garment she had just removed from her closet and placed it on the bed. Before the maid could pick it up and fold it for her, my mother gave a gesture indicating that the young woman leave us alone. With a stiff curtsy, the pinch-faced girl, whom I only knew as Isabel, wordlessly left the room, closing the door behind her.
As soon as she was certain we were alone, my mother sat down on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. I dragged my feet and slowly sat next to her, my eyes stung no less and my lip had not retreated in the slightest in spite of this impromptu concession. “Françoise,” she began, “I have already promised you, I will send for you soon.,” she began, “but for now, I need you to understand. There is too much at stake in my homeland. Your father will be absorbed in the business, and you have Elise, oui?” Maman raised my chin with gentle fingertips.”
“My heart hurts, Maman,” I said, “I feel as if something terrible is going to happen and I have no idea what it is. Please say you will stay.”