Mystical Magical Moments

Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews: Across a Crowded Room by Elizabeth Marchat

2011-05-17T14:55:00.000-04:00

Whipped Cream Erotic Romance Reviews: Across a Crowded Room by Elizabeth Marchat

Editing Your Work

2011-01-24T20:57:00.001-05:00

One thing I've been told is never edit while you're creating. Get your thoughts down, and then when you're finished go back and edit. That may take several passes. The first pass may be for continuity. Make sure the places and characters' names are spelled the same way throughout, or make sure you didn't change someone's name mid-story. It happens. If your main character has blue eyes when the book starts, keep them that way or explain why they changed color. You're the author, you can fix it.

Spell check doesn't check everything. Make sure the word you wrote is the word you meant. To, two, too or assure ensure. There are more. You know them, don't confuse them. Spell check won't correct words that are spelled correctly even if they aren't the correct word. If you want the word 'and' and you forget the 'd', 'an' is correctly spelled. Proof reading aloud will catch those errors.

Grammar. You say, "Ugh." I understand. Use the Chicago Manual of Style. The ruled have changed and seem to change annually. Keeps grammar books selling. Even dictionaries have a variety of ways to spell the same word. Some grammar practices 'date' an author. Some rules are old school today and publishers have moved on. Read. See how the publishers are editing the type of book you're writing. If they use serial commas, I'd suggest you follow that practice.

Ebook publishing has changed the way the industry does everything, from contracting to promotions. Keep up with the trends. At a later date, I'd like to take each topic and break it down for a blog.

Editor's advanced check list

complicated sentence structure
repeated sentence structure
run on sentences
no basic knowledge of grammar or punctuation
repeated use of a character's name
passive writing
indecisive characters
no conflict
telling not showing the story

One Selfish Hour

2010-08-22T08:11:00.006-04:00

You can see, why I've had a problem at my desk lately. Every time I try to write, this ghost writer gets there first. She doesn't Tweet. Poor darling just tries to catch the little blue bird when it chirps.

I know - I know - I've been lax with this blog recently. I used to be so much more diligent, but with all the social networking available, I feel like some things have fallen by the wayside...unfortunately, this blog has been one of them. I miss writing my horrible poetry and subjecting you all, my friends, to my tirades and rants when I finally look up from the pages of a book or my computer screen long enough to note some new ridiculous event which inflames my sense of irony. Sooo, here's a quick update for anyone who might be interested in what I've been up to recently... I know you're waiting with bated/baited [is that fishy?]breath.

Some of you know, I've been editing for The Wild Rose Press going on three years now. The books in the slide show represent a few of my authors' works. Other books on this page are by several of my critique partners. E-Publishing looks like it may be the wave of the future or as some of us see it - the present.
Critiquing - I've been busy working with several authors on their books and my own. They are all lovely, supportive women, struggling to make time in their busy days to do what they love!
Reading - Voraciously - I've consumed book after book [like a vampire at a human banquet.] Working on a paranormal can you tell?
Learning about social networking, finding ways to minimize time online and maximize coverage. [tweet, tweet]
Family - never enough time for me to spend time with my brood. Husband, five children, three son-in-laws, four grandchildren, three grand cats, many fish, four grand dogs ... and a partridge in a pear tree ... just kidding about the partridge.

As I contemplate how dear free time can be, I'm amazed at how frequently I choose work over what or who I enjoy - people I want to be with, doing things I love to do, making time for contemplation. Make time today to spend time with someone who makes you laugh and do something you want to do! Take a selfish hour for you. Everyone deserves at least one hour of his/her very own.

Spring ...it's different for all of us

2010-03-23T09:46:00.006-04:00

I know -- I know, I'm fortunate the weather is sunny and mild. The birds are all chirping announcing spring is in the air. But darn it my feet are bare and freezing and I've got a cool breesze at my back. Those of you who had snow on the ground when you woke up a day or two or go are probably ready to wring my neck. But -- hey -- Florida is supposed to be HOT HOT HOT!

I'll be whining about the heat come September or October when I won't be able to get cool. Right now I'm going to go put on my socks.

Maureen

Holiday Cheer

2009-12-18T16:54:00.003-05:00

Christmas is right around the corner and I'm thinking of a poem fit for the season and something to get us through the New Year. Let's all follow this advice and smile more this year. Look around you, I'll bet you see something that will inspire you.

New Year by Maureen Sevilla

There's a reason for the season
Not Ho, Ho, Ho
Not Hum, Hum, Hum
It's not just teasin' -- or buying for pleasin'
Try a grin on everyone.
Smilin', Huggin', Kissin', Lovin' --
This is the way to start the fun!

Spread the cheer, don't ever fear
A grumble or mumble
A stumble or tumble
Take time together -- no matter the weather.
Drink a toast to old'n new.
Warmer, Higher, Brighter, Lighter --
This is my Christmas wish for you!

Halloween

2009-11-12T06:00:00.001-05:00

Here’s an interesting Halloween article written by an area author about area authors. LOL

Maureen

http://www.examiner.com/x-6332-Tampa-Books-Examiner~y2009m10d30-Halloween-memories-with-area-authors

Halloween Tales

2009-10-29T18:38:00.004-04:00

Here are three eBooks from authors at the Wild Rose Press.
Each is a cute romance for the Halloween Season.

Wearing different hats

2009-07-13T21:17:00.002-04:00

Do you remember the the children's story about the man who traveled to the fair with all the hats atop his head?

Don't you feel like him somedays? here are some hats I'm weraing today:

Mother
Wife (note to self - these are in order of importance at the moment)
Editor
Business owner
Copy writer
Friend
Writing partner
Author
Marketing director

I'm retired from homemaking. What does that mean?

No more cooking (unless I feel like it)
The dish fairy left home (every now and then she drops by and surprises everyone)
When I'm in the mood I may ride my broom through the kitchen
But I don't vacuum
My allergies prevent me from dusting
We just got a new washing machine and I don't feel the need to test drive it
I can't grocery shop - I'm always dieting - the temptation is too great to buy donuts

All those hats are heavy. I had to get rid of the ones I didn't like. LOL

A Woman's Perogative... I changed my mind.

2009-06-21T08:30:00.003-04:00

I'm keeping this Blog as my writing journal. I'm comfortable here, and I can babble to my heart's content. Follow me or don't, comment, or not, but this is my creative place, and I intend to stay here. I'm going to add links to my favorite books [ones I've edited, ones I've read, or ones I've heard great things about and recommend], websites and blogs, but I think I'll make a list in my word processor first and add to it as I go. Do any of you have an easier suggestion? After being absent for so long I feel like I'm talking to myself, but it never stopped me before.

If you ever read my blog about the Muses, here's an update: I got to meet the author whose book title and mine were inspired by the same Muse. What a lovely person she is. It was at RT in April and she's having great success with all her books. Check out Anya Bast's book list, hot and spicy paranormal reads.

I've procrastinated long enough...I'm doing revisions on Power of the Light...back to work!

Phantom Pleasures by Julie Leto

2008-03-22T19:51:00.002-04:00

My fellow author and local TARAN writer, Julie Leto is doing some great giveaways at her blog,http://www.plotmonkeys.com <http://www.plotmonkeys.com/> , starting Monday! She's not only giving away a chapter a day of her upcoming paranormal romance, PHANTOM PLEASURES, but she's also sweetening the pot by offering a$20 Amazon/Borders gift card per day to anyone who leaves a comment.

Changes coming...

2008-03-14T08:25:00.011-04:00

Exciting News !!

MaureenSevilla.com is a few months away from making a debut appearance on the web, and as a result, there will be a new direction for ... MYSTICAL - MAGICAL - MOMENTS. Soon, this BLOG will be a meeting place for writers, editors and readers of all genres. Once the new web site is accessible, complete and running, Mystical - Magical - Moments will be where we can all discuss our favorite books and authors, or comment on reading and writing in general.

COMING SOON... !

A serial killer is targeting Profilers and all the evidence points to an ancient evil ... The Droughan.

ALSO COMING SOON !

Watch the Book Trailer for my astounding new psychic series, THE GEMINI - Book One - 'Power of the Light'.

... and there's a special treat for those of you who are avid fans of fantasy... don't skip the section on the Ancient Mythology of the Gemini - Find out who they are, and how the forbidden love between the Fae and the Druids begot the beings who hold the power of the elements, the psychic gifts of the Fae, and ... the precious golden souls of their mortal ancestors.

... so keep checking back here to follow the progress of the new web site ...

JANUARY

2008-01-16T14:38:00.000-05:00

The gray day reeked of cold and desolation. The brown leaves covered the ground and with each degree the thermometer dropped, another leaf fell. The breeze whipping through the trees grew stronger as if threatening to blow the rest from the thinning branches.

Squirrels scurried over the hard dead grass and desperately dug around for acorns they'd buried last fall. They worked as if panicked, when all they had to do was dig through the garbage cans as they usually did, looking for KFC leftovers and otherwise artery clogging trash. But instinct prevailed with the overcast sky as they hopped across the ground checking over their shoulders for the cat who stalked the yard. They scrambled up trees and hovered tightly into nooks or crannies keeping safe, snuggled against the wind.

The heat, finally reaching into the room in the attic where I worked, now seemed stiffling instead of warm and comforting. As day crept later into afternoon, no sun volunteered to cheer the mood or warm the soul. Holidays had passed, the whole new year loomed ahead and the TV mumbled with threats of politics and recession.

Rustling sounds of refuse blowing, globs of Spanish Moss dropping, conflicted with the sound of wind chimes finally singing. The north wind filled the air with a baritone song.

The water in the pool looked cold. It looked too clear, shimmery, rippling and somehow the warm summer torquoise color gave way to the color of blue ice glaciers today. One wouldn't have to test the water to feel its frigid temp.

Thank goodness January only lasts a day or two in Florida.

About the music

2007-08-14T08:43:00.000-04:00

I keep thinking about the song I've got on this site. I'm not a country fan so I'm surprised at myself. The lyrics are 'country' ... but to me they do paint a picture I find very romantic. Upon a little analysis I wonder why ...

If a guy told me that I was his 'kind of rain', I'd want to buy it! ... now then, what about 'confetti fallin' from a drunken sky' ? I love the line in the song, BUT really!!! Is that really something I can get my mind around as romantic? (It must be the way Tim says it!)

So to you writers ( or to any woman ) ... Is the timber of voice more important than the words, or what a man says ...? Or is it the picture he paints? The question is up for discussion.

And thanks to Erica for her comment on the last question.

A Gift for Today

2007-08-07T06:21:00.000-04:00

Gerard Butler

It's not my favorite picture of him, although I doubt there's one I don't appreciate -- but the expression is priceless. As a writer I'm challenged to describe it.

Tell me what you think he's thinking. Where is he and what's he doing? Who is he looking at?

I want some BLOG responses.....

The Promise

2007-07-29T10:00:00.000-04:00

I look to the morning sun
Feeling warmth there - waiting
Another lifetime that is right,
Another place past sight

I turn hopeful thoughts away
Parting from youth – alive
Aging signs align, my heart keeps
Constant beat with time.

I speak empty words aloud
Kept deep within – the truth
Life is rich, love waits
Full of hope, grace, faith
Of endless promise.

by Maureen Sevilla

Some Days Computers Make Me Nuts

2007-07-20T21:22:00.000-04:00

Today is one of them--- Please tell me why the shape poem re: The Egg lost it's shape in this blog. It looks like it broke. And 'The End' used to be in poetry format. Good grief, Charlie Brown !!!!
I'll say no more. I know it's user error, but I can't figure out why it changes all by itself. The computer flattened my 'egg' and turned my poetry into prose. Well, do you think it's a comment on the quality? Don't answer that --I'll probably hear from the computer later.

Classroom Poetry

2007-07-03T11:33:00.000-04:00

The End
By Maureen Sevilla

I’m done
The last red-hot sunset
Of a waning summer day.
Disenchanted, disillusioned
Disappointed, disheartened
Done.

I’m done
The last brown autumn leaf
Falling from the dried up oak.
Unavailable, unengaged
Uncompleted, unappreciated...
Done.

I’m done
The last smoldering ember
In the cooling winter fire.
Finished, frustrated
Foiled, fini…
Done.

Blogging - When Muses Speak

2007-06-29T07:28:00.000-04:00

Today I'm really "blogging", sorry -- But feel free to leave an opinion if you want. (Which means I'm going to spout my opinion or post an observance that nobody cares about but me.)

***

I freaked out last night when I discovered another author has just published a novel so very similar to one of mine that I'm not comfortable publishing mine without changes.

Question: DO muses speak and multiple people hear them? Were we both listening to the same muse at the same time? This is freaky!

Answer: I am even MORE suspicious than ever of the internet now (I'm a conspiracy theorist at heart, you know?)

Question: COULD my computer possibly be shooting my ideas across cyberspace and leaking them to someone else who is madly writing them down at a pace race drivers at Indy would envy? Is my computer a mole in my operation? (I'd be more inclined to believe that if I was perhaps a more important author in the field...or a person at all in the publishing field.)

Answer: Yes -- That Google search probably spit my work right into someone else's computer and she improved it...

So for now I guess it's back to the old drawing board to make some changes and hopefully improvements to my bootlegged story... I guess, I should have been quicker with it.

I want you all to relax though, I think I've resolved the issue. For security purposes, I'm writing future work out on paper with invisible ink next time, copyrighting it immediately, and never sending out queries to editors or agents to tell them what it's about. I can hide it in my office and never print it. NO ONE WILL KNOW WHAT IT'S ABOUT THEN --HEH - HEH - HEH...

Canvas

2007-06-26T11:53:00.000-04:00

The stark white was brilliant - practically blinding in its clarity - pure, unblemished, untarnished. The first artist gazed upon the surface feeling unworthy of the challenge. Hesitantly, he painted pale pastels of sky blue, violets and pinks.

The second artist appraised the muted beauty and dared to strengthen the colors, adding forest greens and sunflower yellows to rainbow colored fields of grass.

Soon another darkened the light sky with storm clouds and turned the sunny summer fields into late autumn browns and threatening grays of winter. The canvas hung upon the wall sad in depressed overcast skies. Soon winter snow clouds blew in whipping white across the empty open barren plains.

Discarded in the artists' loft, along with half empty tubes of paint, where was the one to fill the canvas? When the sun returned upon the canvas, a new artist saw the great potential in the emptiness and claimed it as his own. He studied it and let it talk to him - let the paint and canvas express itself. Eventually it was finished on the surface where upon he created his great masterpiece. And the canvas was happy.

SHAPE

2007-06-26T11:48:00.000-04:00

THE EGG

I am at once
Again asked for all time
Am I the very first or very last?
Controversy still prevails upon me
To announce to one and all, if I am
In fact, the beginning or the end.
Am I actually, irrefutably the
Resulting Chicken or the
Proverbial Egg?

By Maureen Sevilla

Tanka

2007-06-24T16:50:00.000-04:00

Renewed

Purple burning sun
The day is almost over
Life times flow as one
Our old friendship now renewed
I am relieved and resolved.

Rain

Drip, drip, drop, drop, plop
Rain is dripping all around
Happy frogs do sing
As grass grows high night over
And flowers prepare to bloom.

Stonehenge

2007-06-18T09:52:00.000-04:00

ALTHOUGH I don't know why, the place wasn't what I was expecting. When I first glimpsed it as we drove over the rise, I felt a moment's disappointment. It stood starkly gray out in a farmer's sunny field. I shouldn't have been surprised at the way it didn't impress. What was I looking for? Even I don't know what I anticipated that day -- Druids pacing? Lightning flashing? Magick?

DECIDING it was a normal place, after all -- nothing spectacular beyond its impressive size, I recognized it as just another tourist trap. Like the rest, there were mugs, books, miscellaneous souvenirs and food for sale. Digging in with all the others, I bought a mug and a sandwich. Then I picked up the electronic hand piece and listened to the taped program as I walked the circular path around Stonehenge. I took pictures with my digital camera, listened carefully to the narrative.

THEN something happened. I became engrossed with the ancient history. The information was interesting and informative, but something else happened--this place was far from ordinary. The monolithe was deceptive standing innocently out there in the unusual bright English day. The Stones stood proudly alone, warming in the sun, massive in an open field with tourists munching sandwiches and cameras all a-flutter. But there was something more.

IT was old, it was ancient, it was powerful. It spoke to me. It was more than the story on tape, more than large stones hiding their secret mystery of how they appeared in the stoneless region. Their mystical force engulfed me as I walked the circle, listening, looking, searching, learning. I was drawn back to a long-gone time when wizards were all-powerful and Mother Earth ruled. In that time, Man took care with Nature, respected and cajoled it. But when Man left the pagan temples to tumble and halted the blood sacrifices of old to sacrifice Mother Earth to our gluttonous needs, things changed. Now Man plunders Her and lays waste to Her bounty.

STANDING outside the aged stones, I felt the call to battle.

GLOBAL Warming is a unique and imminent possibility. Is it an eventual reality? Will the dark salty waves of the North Atlantic soon lap over the lowly terrain where Druids stood? Will the great Stonehenge be nothing more than a pile of rocks standing against the pounding waves of the North Sea?

WHEN I returned home I printed my photos and fixed tea in my souvenir mug. The images all had blue ghosts surrounding the stone where the sacrifices were believed to have taken place. I reached for the mug and it shifted toward my hand.

Dream On

2007-06-17T07:09:00.000-04:00

Flying
by Maureen Sevilla

Light. Airy.
With but a thought, I elevate
And sweep through rooms at ceiling tops.
Escape through doors

Flying. Jumping.
Running feet lift up from grassy knolls
Float high over rainbow colored fields.
Floral scents rise up to meet me.

Gracefully. Boldly.
I soar amidst cloudless blue expanse
Above endless stands of mottled greens
Until the tug of consciousness

Looming. Weighty.
Awareness fights certain gravity
A leaden mass of dragging descent
I am hopelessly earthbound.

Books

2007-06-14T19:28:00.002-04:00

The Author
by Maureen Sevilla

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"What would you like to see?

Isn't there something you've wanted to do?

Or someone you've wanted to be?"

He wrote down impressions of far away places

Of wonder and sadness and sin.

He researched his thoughts for just the right word

To express where he'd already been.

He scoured the pages for just the right spot,

For just what he thought I'd need.

Then he turned to me and further impressed,

"... to open your inner seed?"

Bound here are possibilities.

Bound here are hopes and fears.

Bound here are endless dreams and seers

Unbound by type and tears.

Impressions of a Soldier

2007-06-14T19:16:00.000-04:00

Daddy
by Maureen Sevilla

Above the huge shiny black clodhoppers all she could see was the field of green fatigues he wore. Her little bare feet fit perfectly on the tops of the boots and he held her hands with her arms outstretched wide as they danced around the living room to one song after another --

She was never too tired after a full day of play to dance with her Daddy. He smelled of aircraft oil and Old Spice, a combination she'll never forget and he was never too tired either to dance with his daughter after a day of tending F-4's.

Impressions of Laon

2007-06-14T19:09:00.000-04:00

Laon: The Scene
The early morning fog swirled around the base of the deep green poplar trees standing tall and majestically at the top of the rise. Removing my sweater, tying it around my waist and wiping the perspiration from my upper lip, I sighed with relief dropping to the seat. I reached into my clutch for the francs necessary to pay for the privilege of resting on the aged, scroll-worked, iron bench. The caretaker, an erect, uniformed, ‘fiftyish’ man, received the francs with stiff somewhat disapproving politeness while murmuring a short “merci”.

As I caught my breath from the long climb, my gaze dropped to the ancient cobblestones at my feet. The cobblestones, a multi-colored puzzle of grays reached across the plaza to the Medieval Gothic style church. Black mildewed bullet holes still riddled the enormous stone structure. I shifted my scrutiny skyward to the Rosetta stained glass window, amazingly still intact after centuries of wars. Here at the top of the craggy knoll, against the backdrop of misty pale blue sky and a variety of greens and purples of champagne vineyards as far as the eye could see, the evaporating haze created an impressionistic vagueness; the cathedral stood like an immortal guardian above the surrounding landscape.

Around my ankles I felt the rub of the orange and black patchwork kitten who followed me through the ivy covered walled gates of the old city. I distractedly heard the muffled sounds of a town awakening; the clatter of old worn wooden carts being brought around with wares, shop doors creaking open, dogs barking, children giggling, birds chirping. A waft of delicious smells, of coffee and pastries and baking bread soon reached my nose and irresistably my stomach growled. Carts full of multihued vegetables, fruits, and flowers soon filled the square. As the town stirred with the increased tempo of sights and sounds, excitement filled the air. It was Thursday, Marche’ Day. Short Story by Maureen Sevilla

SMILES

2007-06-14T19:03:00.000-04:00

Remembrance by Maureen Sevilla

Small hand in large one, looks awestruck and trusting

Rocking on horses
Giggling with friends
Hiding toothless grins
Behind chubby hands

Flying down streets, spinning wheels beneath tiny feet

Awesome in denim
Chuckling with friends
Hiding toothy smiles
Behind tender hands

Dance cheek-to-cheek, thoughts heartfelt and loving

Sparkles in dresses
Laughing with friends
Hiding smiling lips
Behind slender hands

Hellos - Farewells, life's emotions run high

Rocking on porches
Gabbing with friends
Sporting empty gums
Behind wrinkled hands

Crying at life, Beginnings and Endings
Giggling, chuckling, laughing
Smiling or grinning
Behind veiled hands

Young Again

2007-06-07T13:03:00.000-04:00

By Maureen Sevilla

Between dusk and dawn, we meet
In flowered fields, in forests green
On snowy mountain tops

With butterflies by day and fireflies by night

At the seesaw by the swings
In a small wooden boat
On a speedy Red Flyer

The wind whips beneath arms flying
Capped milk bottles, cold metal crates
And the climbing tree waits --

With perfectly spaced branches

Writing

2007-06-07T12:19:00.000-04:00

The Pen
by Maureen Sevilla

The pen has power
It slides, it glides
Over processed wood
I feed, it leads.