Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Friday, July 17, 2009
That's where I'll try to take readers of my third book. A poll of my most ardent readers reveal that they are not interested in simple short stories and telling poetry but alas just as I put forth the unveiling of my secret thoughts with apprehension (and the feedback has given credence to my indecision--so be it!) I will once again bring my thoughts from the heart. Both follow up books were tentatively named and will be renamed by the end of the story -- and away I go!
ehawkins C 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Getting pass the hurt when you are forced to because of committment and because someone that you loved and cared for is dangling in a scary realm of the unknown--battling the "Terrorist" that has invaded your enemy/partner/love body. You watch the best of this person come out in this battle but then you begin to lose yourself again--the mind may wander
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday June 25th life given and life taken away bringing many people together. Two Icons that touched so many lives during their brief time on earth went gently into the night ... Nobody knows what these icons last conscious thought was--I wonder if they were thinking of anything? Fear? Shame? Grief? Relief? Like a picture in a frame time stood still for two special individuals while they took two steps backwards into the dream. Like sand through the hour glass ... so are the days of our lives many of us grew up hearing that phrase at least once or twice a week. If you were a fan of the soap opera or simply channel surfing during the exact time that this opening monologue was being air. Did the words sink in? Did the thought have any impact on your idea of how many more grains of sand before your time is up? The words were intriguing, I knew that what was being said was profound but I didn't really get it until I got a little older. After the storms of life swept away too many of my personal icons. The finality of life -- Death a shadow reclaiming the light.
I avoid the news **cause it's usually all bad news any hoo** but when I flipped open my notebook, there it was on each opening home page on the net;Farah Fawcett had succumbed to her battle with Cancer. Before I could form the question in my head who'll be the third? A day before Ed Mcman (sp) passed away--and call me superstitious but death comes in three--It seems that each time a celebrity dies it is a triple incident. This theory holds true for us ordinary folks too but who's watching? In this blog which took several hours for me to sit down and formulate a thought on something that I didn't want to think about--the death of two people that entertained me and huge parts of the world for more than forty years is now gone from our sight in human form but for many of us that have experienced the phenomenon tf death; we know that the memories are what brings a smile to our face; causes a flutter in our hearts and stomachs--reasurring us that we had experienced something wonderful with a wonderful (flawed--yea, we are all flawed in some way!) human being. And since I am fickled and I find myself straddled on a fence about the totally relative concept of life after death. The abstract ambiguity of what happens after death--I've decided to continue wondering about the relative, abstract and ambiguity of those still standing--those with a light no matter how bright or dim ...
ISBN 9781438919126 (sc)
ISBN 9781438974880 (hc)
Available at authorhouse.com, amazon.com, Barnes and Nobles, Borders, 1-800 839-8640 and a small book store near YOU!
Monday, June 22, 2009
IT'S WEDNESDAY LEAVE A MESSAGE ...
If we continue to view the world through wrong and right eyes we are bound to get crossed eyed or blind. Not many places in this world are aware of the changes that are occurring right before our eyes. And if something has been practiced since the beginning of time change is a slow and tedious evolution. It is a marvelous thought to be able to save the world from what we deem as ignorance--but what we are witnessing is different cultures performing rituals that have been performed for centuries and many of the rituals may be difficult for us to understand; we wonder why are these atrocities still happening in the dawn of the twenty first Century? And I think that the answer is found and accepted through the eyes of an anthropologist. They survey different cultures to learn how certain cultures remain the same in this time of change. They take a different stance as opposed to the lay person (you and I) they introduce chance in familiar ways so that if there is going to be a change it will come about as a process. Yes, there are still young girls being offered up out of their childhood and placed into an unfamiliar place of an adult and we as US citizens are facing an economic crisis which hits closer to home. There is unrest in many surrounding countries--men, women and children are struggling for a stable existence. So in blogging this thought after reading about young girls marrying at eight years old--this world has many hot handle vices and we must choose our handle carefully.
Remember to buy your copy of:
familiar Echo's By Evan Hawkins
ISBN9781438919126 (sc) and ISBN 9781438974880 (hc)
There have been a few glitches in the online purchase and so books are also available by calling: 1 800 839 8640
or logging on to www.authorhouse.com
Monday, June 15, 2009
©2009 Evan Hawkins. familiar Echo's All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-1912-6 (sc)
ISBN 978-1-4389-7488-0 (hc)
Echo had felt as if she did not exist until after the age of seven ... She did not realize that her psyche had suppressed her tormented early childhood memories. The memories that were so intolerable that it was best that she did not remember. She blossomed while holding deeply buried secrets in a garden that she did not know she possessed. Given the strength to grow into a beautiful wildflower as she suppressed dormant yet taunting feelings of scattered and fragmented memories. Those scattered fragments of memory sprouting as pretty pink roses with prickly thorns in a well maintained garden with bluish green dewy grass. She had a great deal of space to grow into a happy healthy young woman. She was a strong, defiant, tenacious adolescent and young adult. She was also sweet, kind and loving. She possessed a spirit that would heal wounds--she only needed to step outside of her (garden) comfort zone and into reality. A spacious reality with rolling hills and valleys .
Echo had the reputation of someone that knew how to roll with life-she was an adult who had unconsciously learned how to tuck away intolerable memories; the memories that would rage as a war inside of her soul;memories that would surely mutilate her spirit and and distract her muse. Recalling that much emotional pain would surely insult her mind and injure her soul. She did not prepare (or did she?) for the pain that was suppressed--tucked away and hidden from the light; she didn't consciously entertain thoughts of despair. However, there was always little hints of something ... but what? There were dreams, which became more intense as she aged; these dreams were undefined but the dreams always seem to represent something.
Life spent in an illusion of standing tall on top of the hill looking out at the horizon will one day turn into the reality that life below in the valley is full of dips and curves. As the winds of change began to blow tornado's in her life--the secrets were ripped away from their safe place and spilled out into her life. How will she survive her reality? Did the secrets kill the person known as Echo? What would have been the cost of experiencing the pain as it was dealt? What will be the cost of finding out later;during the stormy seasons of her life??
There was a quiet serenity in the apartment—when she was in this peaceful place; she’d normally curl up somewhere comfortable in the apartment. Similar to the way the family cat leisurely curls up in a comfortable place. She’d close her eyes; began to meditate—inhaling through her nose, exhaling through her mouth until she’d find herself in a sacred place and quietly speak to God. Not today she was too agitated; she rubbed the apartment chill off of her arms; she still felt strange. Echo’s disturbing dream this morning stayed fresh in her mind. She hesitated calling it a nightmare since the dream occurred in the early morning; shortly before she willed herself to wake up and escape the events that continued to frighten her. The dream felt distressingly real even now that she was awake. Echo was troubled about how the dream had a disturbing feel of reality. She needed to understand what this dream meant. Echo hadn’t been this anxious about a vision for a very long time. Echo always trusted her sub-conscious: although she was afraid of it as she aged; as her conscious self became increasingly over-protective, defensive and almost always uncomfortably masked. Echo thought that her slaved-sister-ancestors passed down this safe mode—take care of how we show any emotions. She always believed that certain dreams had deeper meanings—she’d had odd visions before. Echo even had recurring dreams about strange things, that scared her but she could keep moving forward.
However, this current dream had her going nostalgic; had her feeling apprehensive—back tracking things on automatic pilot. One of her recurring dreams was that she was stranded on a beautiful island; surrounded by exquisite tropical greenish-blue deep water; she was very scared because the island was only large enough for Echo to stand and stretch out her arms by her side. If she dared to look down into the water it became a pool of darkness; her heart rate would rise and she would swiftly divert her gaze; whenever she continued to look outward the greenish blue water was mesmerizing breathtaking. As a young girl Echo was taught to swim Echo suddenly, sometime after the birth of this particular reoccurring dream, become afraid of pools of water. It was difficult to simply walk past a swimming pool. She also found it difficult to submerge her head; sometime later in life she was able to enjoy water from the above shower head. Maybe it wasn’t “Echo” who had challenged the lake learning how to swim one year while away at camp—those memories are scattered and fragmented; she was away at camp for three weeks and she could only remember a week of the adventure. Much later in life—after Echo had served so many lifetimes of pain she finally “Got” the dream … if she looked down into the water it became a dark sinister pool of water--probably waiting to engulf her into whatever that abyss represented.
However, if she kept her head up and stayed present facing the future (clear, serene, salient water). She’d liberate herself from whatever obsessed, oppressed, and restricted her from moving forward without fear—stopping her from looking down—peering into that darkness of whatever haunted her. She was accustom to her dreams picking up on her insecurities; there were times when she was afraid to sleep—a fear of something that she’d denied earlier or in her distant past revealing itself to her. Dramatic Echo described emotional events as a storm. She would become anxious with twisted thoughts; until her drama storm blew raging winds and blinding rain which translated into awful, terrifying and confusing dreams. At times the “Storms” only exposed the restless, lingering, resentment towards something that she’d chosen to deny. This current dream caused waves of despair that were rising and falling with the rage of an imminent storm—Although Echo enjoyed watching storms, on vacation at any beach view suite; stormy weather was just as pleasurable as sunny days. On the other hand, these emotional waves of despair weren’t pleasant they were more terrifying because more often than not they came with dreadful outcomes; the “Storm,” was a warning of pending personal anguish; this was one of the worst dreams that she’d experienced. Echo wondered if she’d find out the many difficult answers to her silent questions. Yes, she’d had always had bad dreams, some times these dreams were simply, bought on by stress, avoidance, or anxiety; they were discussed, applied and for the most part forgotten.
Echo wasn’t always able to remember her dreams; for instance the pleasant dreams, but the prophetic dreams, were dreams unlike those that aren’t anything more than sleepy-time entertainment—dreams that needed to be analyzed. The dreams that signal an oncoming tragedy (storm); Echo’s older sister, Emmy would usually help her to untangle the jumbled meanings of her odd dreams. This type of dream that sent Echo spiraling with her mind constantly on rewind; this particular dream would reveal a life altering situation, one which would affect her for as long as she lived. Echo could talk to her sister about confusing dreams. Her sister would tell Echo secrets that she’d already knew, been apart of or was sure that she’d heard before; and Echo chose to store the memory so deep that she’d forget. Echo had reserved this closeness for Emmy as an authority; as a mother figure and didn’t feel a friendship bond with her sister until they were both adults. Emari felt that Echo was capricious; looking for a mountain to climb, stand up and jump off the cliff screaming and giggling with joy. Emmy would arrange for Echo to land in a soft place. Echo’s sister had been elevated to more than a sister for most of their lives.