Two weeks ago I was taken to hospital. One week ago I was asked a question I should have been prepared for, but wasn’t. “Do you want to be resuscitated, Suzanne?”

It would appear that I’m not six-foot-tall and bullet-proof after all! I’m not looking for answers my friends, not here. What I am doing is sharing with you what my world looks like at the moment, in the hope that by writing it down I can gain more insight and clarity into something I have steadfastly avoided thinking about for most of my crazy chaotic life. I’m not throwing a pity-party here. I’ll indulge myself with the poor-poor-pitiful-me stuff when I lay in the dark and try vainly to sleep.

I have always bounced back. Something in me refuses to stay down for the count. I have never allowed myself to think differently. That changed nine days ago.

For the last six weeks my already poor health has taken a nose dive. Up until six weeks ago I could still manage to walk unassisted from my bedroom at the front of our cottage to the bathroom at the rear.

To venture outside has required a wheelchair for over three-years now, I had adjusted my mental attitude to that fact. Hell, I hated the loss of my independence, I fought against it … hard, but I had to accept that the wheelchair was now an integral part of my life. Like everything else in my crazy life to date my sense of humor rescued me from the depth of the depression that I was sinking into. My daughter and I managed to find ways to still get out and I was able to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine with my darling daughter steering from behind and my small grandson perched precariously on my lap, not to forget the picnic basket we always took with us.

I became hell on wheels, at least in my own fertile imagination.

The onset of winter is never a good time with my advanced C.O.P.D always wavering in the face of the cold. The winter here in our new location has been very severe, we Sydney dwellers are accustomed to the mildest of winters with minus degree temperatures unheard of.

The day I was admitted to hospital just over two-weeks ago it was -7 degrees Celsius, that’s around 19 degrees Fahrenheit. I had been struggling to breathe for over two weeks beforehand, needing to use the nebulizer far more than I should have. Until finally the worry on my daughter’s dear face registered with my stubborn refusal to accept the inevitable, and I asked her to call the Paramedics.

Long story short … Double pneumonia, which had sent my insulin dependent diabetes out of control. My health issues are many and complex, and four of them are individually life-threatening. I know that.  I have known that for a very long time, but as long as no doctor sat me down and had ‘the’ talk with me I was able to convince myself and everyone else that Soooz would always bounce back. I always laughed it off. I can’t do that now.  Nine days ago my doctor came into my room, I had been moved from ICU to a private room  because my coughing was keeping the others in a shared room from resting.

He closed the door behind him and pulled a chair over to my bedside.

He looked weary and dispirited, and little wonder, he’d been on duty for seven-very-long days. I’d seen him early every morning when he’d done his rounds, all throughout the long days and late every night as he’d pop his head in and take a look at my chart before heading home to what would have only been very little sleep.

I did my usual, “So … what’s up, Doc?” I smiled at him. He gave me a tired grin.

“Suzanne, there is never an easy way to approach what I need to talk to you about.”

I looked at his face again and saw the sadness there. “Well, Doc, straight talking always works best for me. So okay, go ahead.”

“I need to talk to you about your wishes regarding resuscitation in the event that you go into arrest.” And there it was. There was no punch line.

I felt like I’d been kicked in the guts by a mule.

I struggled to stay in the moment, and not shut out his words because they were words I didn’t want to ever be asked.

“How close did we come?” I heard a voice ask, surprised that my vocal chords were working at all.

“I won’t lie to you. It was damned close, my dear. You need more information which I’ll have the chronic care team go over with you when you go home. I’ll arrange for them to come and do a home visit. Your daughter is your carer, yes?”

“Yes, yes she is. Are we talking full life-support here?”

“Full life support would be necessary, Suzanne. With all the possible problems associated with its implementation. We can go over the ramifications with you to help you make an informed decision. I’m so sorry, Suzanne. This is never a conversation that any doctor wants to have with his patient. I’ll answer any questions for you that I reasonably can, but keep in mind every situation presents us with a unique set of circumstances.”

I think that’s what he said.

My mind was already searching for ways to make all this go away.

It didn’t succeed.

He came across to the bed and squeezed my shoulder. “We’ll talk when you are ready to. You are still a long way from well, but certainly in better condition than when they brought you in. I’m ordering something to help you sleep. We’ll leave the oxygen on tonight.”

“I need to wean off it. I don’t want it at home. I’d rely on it too heavily.”

“Let’s discuss that further tomorrow, shall we? For now I think it best to keep the oxygen levels at an acceptable level to allow you to sleep. It is far better to make decisions when you are well rested, my dear.”

He stood at the door for a moment, then without saying anything more he nodded slowly and left the room.

I couldn’t think. Or more accurately I refused to think. I needed more information. The one thing that did keep pummeling at my head was the knowledge that IF I chose to be resuscitated  and placed on life-support, it would then fall on my child to make the decision to turn off the machines if and when the doctors advised her to do so.

How in the name of all I hold dearest could I ever place her in that position? I know my girl, it would be something she’d never fully recover from.

I’ve had close friends with family members on life support, I’ve been with them on two occasions when they were called upon to make the decision to switch off the life-support keeping their loved ones alive.

I’ve seen the devastation of the guilt that overwhelmed them, and then held them tightly as they also expressed their relief that their loved one would suffer no more.

I didn’t sleep in spite of the medication, I lay there in the dark listening to the hiss of the oxygen as it helped me to breathe.

I had so many questions, and needed answers to them before I could even begin to contemplate discussing this with my daughter.

Two days later my doctor came by with a colleague and I asked if I could return home. He agreed, but hastened to tell me that the chronic-care-team would visit me at home to discuss my home care needs and answer any questions I needed to ask. All the follow up appointments were made; he shook my hand, wished me well, and I came home.

It’s been nine-days now. I made one attempt to discuss the current situation with my daughter and she responded as I knew she would. “You will absolutely be resuscitated, Momma Bear!” She then teared up and needed to leave the room.

I discussed it with her again, and she understands that this must be my decision. I understand that this must be my decision, and it will be made armed with the best information I have.

Today is Wednesday August 9th 2017. The Chronic-care-team will be here in an hour. My daughter will sit in until I ask the questions about life-support. I’ve asked her to leave the room then, and I will give her the Reader’s Digest version after the team have left.

They have been and gone and it was a productive hour of discussion. Home help is being offered to my daughter for a period of six-weeks. At the end of that time I should hopefully have improved sufficiently not to require her to be on constant alert all the time. She is a single mom raising a five-year-old boy, I’m so grateful that she will have help for a while.

The team were lovely dedicated folks, and I have an enormous amount of paperwork to read through before I can make the final call on the decision to either allow resuscitation and life-support … or decline it.

My child, will I think, rest a little easier tonight. She deserves to.

The road ahead is not going to be easy, I know that. I’m already leaning toward the do NOT resuscitate option, but I’ll make that call after I’ve become as well informed as I can be.

What I do know with absolute certainty is that if pure cussed pigheadedness has anything to do with me getting back on my feet, then I’ll do it. Spring is fast approaching, and then our glorious summer … the warmer weather will grant me hours sitting outside in the sunshine. I look forward to that.

One thing my daughter and I have discussed and agreed upon is what I’ll finally have on my gravestone. It’s not original but I know that it will make her smile each time she sees it. I want her to smile.

And what have I decided upon? Simply this … “She’s not going to take this lying down.”

I’ll give this my best shot, my friends. I have too much remaining that I have yet to achieve. Wish me luck and thank you so much for caring enough to stop by.

 

 

 

 

 

‘Watch RWISA Write! Month-long-blog tour. Featured author today is Michelle Abbott. #RRBC #RRBC_RWISA

RWISA MICHELLE ABBOTT

Rave Writers – International Society Of Authors (RWISA)

August is Watch RWISA Write month. We will showcase a different author each day. Today, we celebrate author MICHELLE ABBOTT.

Firstly let us learn a little more about MICHELLE.

The Author’s Story – @MichelleAbbott4 – #RRBC

Michelle Abbott lives in the UK and hates describing herself in 3rd person.

She’s a self-published author who loves to write new adult romance about heroes who begin as the underdog and are protective of their girl.

She’s an avid reader of romance, is addicted to coffee and loves wine and chocolate, so yeah, not the most healthy eating and drinking habits 🙂 She spends way too much time online when she should be writing. She collects teddy bears and occasionally knits a couple of rows on a sweater she started years ago, which she may eventually finish in time to wear for her funeral 🙂

***

The 136

By

MICHELLE ABBOTT

I can do this. I can make it. Wet hair plastered to my head, gasping, I propel myself toward my target. The 136 bus. My heel catches on a crack in the pavement. My ankle twists sideways, sending a sharp pain up my leg. Wincing, I hobble towards the stop, just as the bus closes its doors and pulls away.

“Ahhh,” I scream in frustration.

“Here, use my umbrella.”

His voice startles me. I was so focused on catching the bus, I never noticed him until now. I must have had a serious case of tunnel vision, because he stands out a mile with his cornflower blue, spiky hair. He holds a large, black umbrella out to me.

Leaning against the post of the bus stop, to take the pressure off my throbbing ankle, I shake my head.

“Thank you, but you keep it. I’m already wet, and it would be a shame to ruin your hair.”

He shrugs. “It’s only hair. My umbrella is big enough for two.”

I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. Is he hitting on me? What’s wrong with the man? He looks twenty-five if he’s a day. I’m twice his age. Old enough to be his mother.

Mother.

I pick tendrils of damp hair from my forehead.

“I know what you must be thinking, but I’m just trying to do a good turn. You have nothing to fear from me, I promise.” He shelters us both with his umbrella. “You look like you’re having a bad day.”

As I listen to the rain split splat, I lean down to rub my sore ankle.

“Please let me help you.” He slips his arm through mine. “We can sit on that bench. We’ll be able to see the bus coming from there.”

With his assistance, I limp across to the empty, wooden bench that faces the road. “I just missed my bus; the next one won’t be along for an hour.” I sit down, past caring whether I get a wet spot on my skirt. “Are you waiting for a bus?”

He looks so calm, and serene.

“Yes, the 136.”

“Oh no. You didn’t miss it because of me, did you?” I frown.

“I wasn’t running for it.” He gives me a kind smile. “I have all the time in the world.”

A car drives through a puddle, splashing dirty water onto the pavement.

“I’ve got no one to rush home to either.” Maybe it’s his kind smile, maybe I just need to off load. “My husband moved out last week, left me for a woman your age.”

I hope he feels every bit his fifty-four years every second he’s with her.

“I’m sorry.”

What has it come to when I’m sitting in a downpour, telling my sob story to a stranger with blue hair? “She’s all form and no substance. If his head was turned that easily, he’s no loss.” I hold out my hand. If I’m telling the poor man my life story, the least I should do is introduce myself. “My name’s Carol.” I look into his ice blue eyes, surprised by the wisdom I see there.

“Do you have children together, Carol?”

Babies.

I stare at my feet. My heel is scuffed, and my stockings are damp. “Two daughters, they’re both grown-up.”

“Nothing beats a mother’s love for her children.” He reaches into the pocket of his long black coat, and pulls out a pack of mints. “Would you like one?”

We sit in silence, sucking on mints. The sky turns orange as the sun sets. I pull my jacket around me to keep out the chill. Behind us, a shop owner pulls down the metal security shutters of his store.

I’m curious to know more about this man, who claims he has all the time in the world. “It will be late when you get home. Do you have someone, or do you live alone?”

The street lamps come on. I watch the reflection of the light in the puddles.

“I have a loving family.”

Family.

In this moment, I feel so alone. Tears mingle with the raindrops on my cheeks. “I’m pregnant.”

The events of last week replay in my mind. Me, feeling sick every morning. Me, looking at the blue line on the pregnancy test. Me, buying a second test that gave me the same result.

“How does something like this happen to a woman my age? I’m going through the menopause; I haven’t had a period in a year. How can I be pregnant? How? Why? Why did this happen when my husband has left me?”

“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.” He rests his hand on my shoulder.

“That was my mother’s favourite saying.” I wipe my cheeks. “She passed away five years ago.”

He hands me a tissue. “I’m certain she’s watching over you, and that you make her proud.”

“Pregnant at fifty-one.” I blow into the tissue. “I’m sure she’s delighted.” I let out a hollow laugh.

“How old were you when you had your daughters?”

“I was twenty-two when I had Patricia. Diane came along when I was twenty-five.”

“You learn as you go with your first, don’t you?”

For the first time I smile. “Yes, I was clueless. None of the classes prepare you for being a mother. You hold the life of your child in your hands. It’s so much responsibility.” I turn to face him. “Do you have children?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sure you know more about parenting now, than you did then.”

“Yes I do.”

“It’s hard when you’re young isn’t it? You’re trying to make your way up the career ladder. Struggling to save for a home.”

I nod.

“Those things get easier as you get older, don’t they?”

“Yes they do.” I’m on a good wage. I own a spacious home in a good area.

“You have more time, more understanding, and more patience.”

I nod.

“And you’re wiser. You know what really matters.”

I let out a laugh. “You make being old sound wonderful.” He really does.

He raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

I recall my childhood, how I hated having to do as I was told. How I would get upset at the smallest things. I remember my angst filled teenage years, being unhappy with my appearance. The heartbreak when the boys I thought I loved dumped me. I have a vivid memory of how stressful early parenthood was.

I study him. “You’re wise for someone so young.”

“Am I?”

The rain has stopped. He collapses his umbrella.

“Nothing is ever as bad as it seems, Carol. A child is a gift. A new start. Someone to love.”

Someone to love. A new start.

I sit up straighter. He’s right. I can do this. I have a nice home, money, and a heart full of love.

“Oh look, here’s your bus.”

Already? Have we been talking for an hour? I glance at my watch. Only twenty minutes have passed. The brakes of the bus screech as it pulls up.

As I root in my purse for my fare, I hear him say, “I’m glad I could help.”

“Let’s sit together.” I glance behind me. “I want to thank…” The words die in my throat. No one is there. I look left and right, but the street is empty. Goosebumps spread across my skin.

“Are you getting on love?” the driver calls.

Michelle Abbott

Contact via:

 Twitter: @MichelleAbbott4

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/MichelleAbbottRomanceAuthor

Pinterest: https://uk.pinterest.com/michelleddiane/

Blog/Website:

Blog:  Michelle Abbott

Titles:

“JEM” 

“JUST STAY” 

***

To learn more about Michelle:

*The Author’s Story

*Author Showcase

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA“ WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Author MICHELLE ABBOTT RWISA PAGE

Book REVIEW Video “Empty Chairs” by Suzanne Burke writing as Stacey Danson. Reviewed by Gwen Plano. #RRBC

How marvelous it is to have my book reviewed in this way. I am so honored to have  Gwen Plano feel strongly about my work. Please, pop over to the YouTube site and leave a comment on her video.

Thank you for dropping by.

 

 

https://read.amazon.com.au/kp/card?asin=B01EXVBG1I&preview=inline&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_UPcBzbZQDM1D7&tag=soosaystu-20“>

https://read.amazon.com.au/kp/card?asin=B01EXVBG1I&preview=inline&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_UPcBzbZQDM1D7&tag=soosaystu-20“>Amazon Preview

“Glimpses Across The Barricades” #Poetry in progress. ‘In Dreams of A Perfect World’ by Suzanne Burke.

Welcome to ‘Glimpses Across the Barricades’ This poem was included in the epilogue of my book “Faint Echoes of Laughter”.

In A  Perfect World

by

Suzanne Burke

 

Dreams of aperfect world image

As I lay snugly warm and safe
Within my families womb
My heart begins a slow sad ache
For another child will cry tonight
Another child will die tonight
What was once their home
will become their tomb

Anger tears me as I read
The desperate plead of a child in need
How can we continue to ignore
The deafening cries from every land?
Can the balance be restored or
Are we so desensitized to pain
That we can’t give
Without thought of gain

If I had but one wish to make
Then that wish would surely be
That when my own sweet child has grown,
and if fate so decrees

I’ll hold her own children on my knee
And when I lay them in their beds
No sad thoughts will fill their heads

For our world will have become a place
Where all its children have their space
Where no ugly thoughts will touch their minds
When faith is restored in humankind

No sweet child will need to cry
No hungry child will need to die

We have that power in our hands
To make these changes throughout all lands
If we can but clearly see
That our world is not
What it needs to be

Once the changes have been made
Each child may sleep with sweet child dreams

Each child will wake to see the dawn
Each child will be thankful
they were born.

In my dreams of a perfect world.

 

 

“Soooz Says Stuff!” ‘It’s A Girl Thing.” AKA “The Girl’s Night Out” Unapologetically Politically Incorrect.

 I recently posted ‘It’s A Guy Thing” and being the fairest of people, of course I need to express the viewpoints of the ‘Opposing team.’

Thus we come to “It’s A Girl Thing.”

Let’s take a look at a fairly typical “Girl’s Night Out.” An Ancient, revered, and oft’ misunderstood ritual.

Picture this … Location … A Singles Bar in a Big city, anywhere.

WHEN … Every Saturday night. Unless said Saturday night occurred in conjunction with a full moon. When all the smartest of bars remained shuttered and closed.

Paramedics? … On stand by.

Cops? … They’ll wait and see how this one pans out.

Cats drinking cocktails its a girl thing.

Welcome to ‘Tabitha Tabbies’ Girl’s night out.

The Girls Night Out is an ancient mating ritual, oft’ misunderstood. The premise being that one of the clan is tying the ribbon soon. She is leaving the clan to begin a clan of her own. To celebrate they band together and hunt en-masse. Their prey? Must be male and preferably breathing.

I’ll be your tour guide for the evening. Don’t hope for David Attenborough, and you wont be disappointed. Whenever necessary I’ll translate the girl/guy text-speak into a language that hopefully even men can understand.

Things you need to know to help the visual imagery along …

Item 1.

You need to be aware that these locations have invisible wall of separation; AKA ‘Keep your ass in your own space, bitch!

Item 2.

Each segment of the room houses it’s own clearly definable group.

Thus we have … Group one: The girls label them as ‘The Desperate and Dateless.’ The guys label them “A Sure Thing”

Group two: The girls label them as ‘We clearly don’t belong here.’ The guys label them ” Reconstructions.”

Group three: The girls label them ‘The Kindy Kids’. The guys label them as “The FORBIDDEN ZONE.”

Lets briefly visit each group one by one. Listen in to one of the conversations … and the translation.

Please be aware that as the translator I am provided my non-watered-down drinks for free.

GROUP 1.

“Oh my god, it’s gonna be one of those nights! Look who just strutted her reconstructed ass through the door.” Felicity Furball hissed her displeasure.

Translation! (Two drinks in) Oh god I have to get the name of her surgeon!  Her ass looks seriously amazing.

“Dahling Katrina! It’s so wonderful to see you! You’ve been gone for weeks. I’ve missed you.” Felicity purred out the words. “You look so well rested.”

Translation! Oh, crap, don’t sit here!  I haven’t had a botox update for weeks..

Air kisses erupt at the table and the selfie pandemic begins.

Meanwhile over at GROUP two,  at the “We clearly don’t belong here.” table, Miss -Directed was airing her views on the gathering. She also gave her new boobs an airing as well.

“Wow! Eyes left, kittens. We have dream candy on approach to the bar!’ she squealed with happy anticipation, being careful not to smile too hugely less the laughter lines give her the look of ‘Yoda’ on steroids.

Charlie for Girls Night Out
DREAM CANDY Charlie Hunnam

 

Fat yoda
Yoda on Steroids.

Translation. (Four drinks in) I saw him first, so keep your grubby paws off!

“He seems quite … er … young-ish.” said Miss -Apprehension.

Translation  (Six drinks in) “I’m old enough to be hish … older shister. Oh all right then, aunt!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s just the lighting.” Said everyone else at the table.

Transhlashun = (Stopped counting drinks a while back)  “don’t bring the resht of the group down, bitch. Let ush have our fantashy!

And the selfie pandemic continued.

Ah, then we come to Group three. The ‘Kindy Kids” enclave.

Where, everyone talked at once, sometimes even face to face,(Gasp!) but way more often they would text. Most of the conversations went something like this,

“So, I’m like, what the? (Insert confused face … 😕)thus.  What’s with the guys here? They look, like, you know, seriously old.” Says Miss Prudence.

Translayersh … Yeah … so they shaid , I’m utterly confushed! Can anyone exshplain to me why the guysh here are shignificantly older than ush?

“Some of them are like, you know, not too bad.” (Insert Smiling face)😊 thus,  “Says Miss Conception.

Trans whatsis!  = “I dishagree (But not strenuoushly,) ’cause I did not utilishe um youtilishe  … I didn’t ushe a (Insert Angry Fashe)😠

“You’re kidding me, right? They are like in their twenties or worse!” (Insert wheelchair symbol ♿)

Yeah, what she shaid = “I think you’re joking. You mush be! You’re eyeshight clearly needsh checking. (Insert Optometrist symbol) or as close as you can get. 😷

Much laughter is of course shared at the very thought of someone in their twenties being out so late.

And then = Lol, lol, lol,😆😆😆  rotflmao. 🤣

“Oh, wait!  Look at the one in the Armani threads. He’s like, to die for!” Said Miss Directed (Insert Angel) 👼

Yup = “Jush a moment! The man wearing the Armani suit ish devilishly attractive! (Insert picture of the impossibly attractive Mr J. Depp) just because this is my blog and I’m allowed to.)

Johnny Depp

Much groaning ensues at such an obvious gaffe.

So they all do the Sigh! thing. I can’t translate it, but it’s you know, kinda like the sound you make when your partner at the time says something really diabolically stupid. Yeah sort of a whooshing, hissing noise.

“Baby-girl, what are you thinkin‘??? (Insert laughing face)😛  One of his x’s would kill you!(insert Angry Face)😠 🌟 These hotshots don’t live in the real world. I’m like, serious. (insert serious face) “😖

I now have 911 on speed dial (Which would do me no good whatsoever ’cause our code down here in Australia for Emergency responders is 000)=

Anywaysh … “What the hell, are you batshit crazy? I’m not kidding around here. Have you seen his ex?

“Oh. I’m like, so, you know,  embarrassed. (Insert embarrassed face) Says Miss-Directed😱.Yadda yadda = “I’ll approach him later when this lot are gone.

“It’s like, okay. Whatever? So, you DO know how to pick out the married ones, right?”

slayshun. = “You re forgiven. It doeshn’t matter. Please reasshure me that you would recognishe a married man if you shaw one.”

“By their look of abject misery?”

Um … = I threw that one in just ’cause it made me laugh.

“I’m like, serious, girlfriend! You like, need to look for the white-place where their wedding bands were, up till, like, an hour ago … unless you know, like maybe the poor thing’s just been ditched.”

Uh-oh = (Insert Shtern Face) 😡But not your mother’s. “I kid you not! Theshe guysh take off their wedding ringsh and ‘ccordingly exposhe the thin band of white where the shun failed to penetr… um shine. You are in deepesh-do-do if they are newlywedsh, and have yet to have worn the ring long enough for a mark to appear.  Sigh. Unlesh the guy is badly on the rebound and looksh utterly helplesh, and then your assh is hish!

“Eeew! That is so, like, creepy. My dad, like, would not do something like that; and he’s like, you know, married.”

“To your Mom?”

lol…Sorry!

“Like, I know, right. For the second time, even. Go figure!”

So, yeah … “I’m pissed off about it.

“Wow. That is, like, seriously different.”

“Shit eh!

“Promise me you’ll never tell, like, anyone.”

“Oh I would never like do that.” (Says she already composing a Facebook post guaranteed to get hundreds of you know … likes.)

Spontaneous outbreak of hugs and much air-kissing ensues. And then of course the ritual of attending the bathroom en-masse begins. The table is temporarily abandoned. With the least popular and most unattractive girl is left behind at the table to ‘watch’ the bags. Men have yet to affix a suitably detrimental title to this phenomenon. They sink into David Attenborough mode and whisper of magic animalistic rituals that they are never permitted access to.

Ah, yes indeed, the girls night out.

The paramedics warmed up their ambulances.

The cops called in sick.

And as for the guys, they held bedroom auditions, knowing well in advance that nobody here would be in need of a call back.

Those fools that breached the ‘Forbidden Zone’ are still seeking bail.

Such is life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Author Showcase’ Featured Genre for June ‘Children’s Books’ Featured author Maretha Botha.

Hello and welcome to Author Showcase! I will be featuring different authors & genres each month. I interview each author, and showcase their featured work.

WHY? Simply because I enjoy supporting other Indie Authors every chance I get.

This Month, “Children’s Books” are being featured.

Please welcome my guest, Maretha Botha.

AUTHOR SHOWCASE CARD MARETHA BOTHA

MEET AUTHOR MARETHA BOTHA.

Maretha Botha 2013

AUTHOR BIO

Proud grandmother, happily married for 37 years, retired librarian who writes and illustrates children’s books most suited to readers between 9-13 years; confirmed bookworm, chocoholic and unapologetic coffee drinker, keen gardener and bird watcher, who occasionally walks on the moors, joints permitting.

INTERVIEW WITH MARETHA BOTHA

1.     What motivated you to write books for children?

This is a difficult question with no quick answer, but I like to see children happy. When I read to them, their imagination often takes flight.  The why’s, how’s and what happens next, make for lively discussions, building more stories. I experienced this with my niece and nephew, and then my own children, as well as at work, having planned reading activities at the school library.

Then too, I carried a lot of stories around in my head, but only after my post as librarian was localised, did I find the time to gather these thoughts together into proper stories.

2.     Most children’s books are written to impart life’s lessons to children. Was this your goal?

No, I seldom consider a specific life’s lesson when writing anything for children, but often the character’s choice or actions highlight an important lesson.  For example, the working-dog hero in “Flame and Hope” forgets his promise to open the red gate for the goats.  He learns a valuable, but painful lesson when a stubborn old goat picks him up with his horns and throws him down on the “WELCOME” rug.  Early the next morning, he apologises for barking rudely at an older animal and remembers that, “A PROMISE IS A PROMISE”, no matter what – restoring peace in Fauna Park.

3.     What life’s lessons does your work contain?

Apart from the one above, Fauna Park Tales is about living in peace – rescued animals and birds who would not normally be together, live up to their promise to protect helpless or vulnerable ones, often doing so at their own risk.  Many of the stories are based on fact – martial eagles’ fledglings removed from their nest, or large birds flying into moving trains at night, how drought effects the lives of everyone living on the savannah – yet both animals, birds and humans learn how to protect the environment, caring for each other – and they always have hope for the next day as their first little motto assures us.

‘HOPE REMAINS ALIVE AND KEEPS OUR FEARS AT BAY.

‘LET’S KEEP OUR HOPE ALIVE FOR MANY A DAY,

‘WHILE IN THE DARKEST NIGHT, OUR HOPE WILL LEAD THE WAY.

4.     What was for you the most challenging part of writing for children?

Writing a “true” story within the imaginative world which I created, doing so in language which is clear and understandable, age appropriate, yet enough to still be a challenge – not talking down to them – think of Beatrice Potter describing Squirrel Nutkin as “impertinent”.  So, I don’t mind occasionally using words like, ‘Are you a pachyderm?” The word has a nice memorable ring to it as does “conspicuous”, but the challenge is to explain it via the text without changing the story into a grammar lesson.

5.     All authors are aware of the need for reviews, yet I imagine an author of books written for children would face an even more challenging time, simply because these are children.  Have you found it challenging?

Yes, it has not been easy to persuade adults to write reviews for children’s books.  Then too, the way an adult looks at a children’s book might be quite different to how children would view the story.  When I review a children’s book, which is more difficult than you might imagine, I always get input from my grandchildren and based on their views, I’ve often changed my review to rather highlight their thoughts and ratings.  However, I mention that I read and discussed the story with them.

6.     Are you currently working on anything new?

Yes and no.  I’m writing the follow-up to book 4 – “Trails and Trials: An African Adventure” which is called, “The Bird Mission”.  This will probably tie up everything for the whole of the series, but I might keep the backdoor open and let the villainous poacher, Tall Leader escape . . .

Then too, I’m involved via my blog, researching and writing short stories about small, often lesser-known, wild animals and birds in Southern Africa – especially those who are on the threatened and/or endangered list.  I intend to compile an anthology of about twelve short stories when everything is written after a year – definitely a long-term project with illustrations.

TRAILS AND TRIALS: An AFRICAN ADVENTURE (book 4) in Fauna Park Tales Series –

Category: Children’s books>Action and Adventure>Survival Stories (ages 9-13 with illustrations). On pre-order till 18th July 2017

 

Book Blurb:

Four trails – one destination – the waterhole closest to the best place to cross the Tukani River into a neighbouring country. This adventure takes Flame and his furry friends on a thrilling, dangerous quest, but they always have hope. Were it not for the help of a meerkat clan, a gripe of sandgrouse and other feathered friends such as Mars, a martial eagle and Vera, an eagle owl, their trail might have had a different outcome. This fast-paced adventure takes place for one week and is told from four different viewpoints, because friends as well as foes race to get to the waterhole, and in striving to do so, experience their own personal adversities and trials.

These illustrated adventure stories will provide endless hours of reading pleasure to better readers who also enjoy seeing some illustrations of the characters, increasing overall reading pleasure. Book Three and Four should ideally be read in sequence and are most suited to readers 9-13 (Middle Grade), but younger listeners will enjoy being read to just as much.

·        Book 3.  The Orphans’ Plight: An African Adventure Purchase ‘The ORPHANS’ PLIGHT’ On Amazon– Category children’s books>Science, Nature & How it works>Nature>Environment and Animals>Birds This book is discounted to 99p to be bought and read before book 4.

BOOK COVER ORPHANS PLIGHT

·

Book Blurb:

Bad humans are disturbing the peace in Molodi valley, and two small orphans are in danger. One of them, Larita, speaks the bush creatures’ language – Faunalang – a rare and wonderful talent that they want to use. Alone in the desert, who will help them? Young and old will enjoy reading about the furry and feathered friends’ latest thrilling adventures, when Molodi’s bush creatures meet friends and foes in their quest to stick to The Promise to protect helpless ones in Fauna Park. Plump-Grump, the stubborn goat, and his harem do their bit, but what will happen at the farm while Flame and his friends are on a dangerous mission? His Handsomeness, King Rat returns, but is he a friend or foe?

REVIEW:Of The Orphans’ Plight.

Furry and Feathered Friends – Delightful!

5.0 out of 5 stars Furry and Feathered Friends – Delightful! 19 Feb. 2017

By Gracie Bradford, Author on February 18, 2017

Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase

The illustrations are different than you see in most children books but effective and very well done. This story is suitable for all ages but primarily written for elementary school age children. Looking forward to book 4 of the series.
Pets take on humans. A delightful story of furry and feathered animals who listen to the strange conversations of people. Everyone, people as well as the furry and feathered friends, join in the search to find the orphans. I haven’t read book 1 and 2 yet but book 3 is definitely a good read.

AUTHOR LINKS:

Flame and Hope on FACEBOOK U.K
The Author on FACEBOOK

https://marethabotha2013.com

The Author on TWITTER

Thank you for joining me here and meeting my featured author today.

My featured Genre for JULY will be, Mystery/Thriller/Suspense. Are you interested in being featured here in July? Send me an email at Email link

Please include links to the book you would like featured. I will respond with the details of your author interview and other requirements. Each Showcase will run for one month. Beginning the 12th of each month.

 

 

 

 

‘Glimpses Across The Barricades’ #Poetry #Memoir “The Tears We Just Can’t Cry.”

Welcome again to my Poetry in Progress. This particular poem was written in the days after the last of the valiant kids I’d lived with on the streets ended his life.  It is one of many poems I’ve written for and about those dear people. All damaged strangers, they took me into their hearts, their home, and their lives.  My journey through life was forever altered by their existence and forever bereft at their loss.

Glimpses Across The Barricades

 The Tears We Just Can’t Cry.

Dedicated with love to all the kids from ‘The Palace’

By

Suzanne Burke

Broken hearted

There are those that never cry them

Those tears that cleanse the soul

For the rivers they create

Will never make them whole.

The anger they hold to them

Like a dark defensive shield

Holds back a tide of tenderness

Only undamaged ones can feel

Dark dreams forever taunt them

Laughing at their pain

As they leave veins forever open

To bleed out in life’s rain.

And when the waves of despair come

They have no place to hide

No shelter can enclose them

They have no sense of pride

They are afraid to face a future

If their barriers they remove

In case a love should die there

Best unknown, to be so mourned.

The ending that they pray for

Lay waiting in the wings

And for some it is hastened

By sad choices their lives bring.

As for those still left standing

That seek a way to cry

They spend a life demanding

Just one reason why.

There remains no place to hide now

No safe harbor from the storm

Nothing to prevent the cascade

Of tears as yet unborn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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