Wednesday Briefs: Trapped in Time #20

Happy Wednesday one and all and welcome to more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! We have a new Briefer this week, please put your hands together and welcome Cia Nordwell! We're excited to have her join us. This week, the prompt was: "You are the sunshine of my..." and the alternate prompts were: Use: butts, pudding, cat or "I'd like to make you an offer..." or use something with stripes in  your story or use: whole new world or "I always thought you look like..."

Last week, as you'll recall, in Trapped in Time, they came across a dying mother and an orphaned sabre-tooth tiger. See what has become of them! And don't forget to visit the other Briefers, whose links follow my tale. Enjoy!

Trapped in Time #20

Although numerous suggestions are made as to what to name the new member of our little group, Vittorio and I find ourselves calling him Kitty—having ascertained his gender in the usual way—and Kitty he stays. I am nervous at first, but Vittorio remains his usual unflappable self. It’s obvious to me that he was born to be a father, he is such a natural at it, and my heart swells with pride when I look at the two of them together. I love him more and more with each passing day. He never ceases to amaze me.

Our first concern is what shall we feed our new son? Mother’s milk is not exactly flowing from the ground, if you know what I mean, and none of us are adequately equipped to supply the necessary nutrient for his diet. We give him some water from what we have, but it is obvious that he wishes for more, and for that I cannot blame him.

Our prayers are answered—in more ways than one—in an unexpected way.

We have decided to stay in this cave for a day or two, until we make sure that Kitty is strong enough to travel. Vittorio and I do not wish to take any chances, he is so young and has been through a most traumatic experience.

 And then my lover has a most brilliant idea! He takes some of the rocks that lie about the cave and beats them, one against the other, until he discovers which is strongest, and hones it as sharp as he can. Using that, he takes some of the small sticks that litter the ground, remnants of snapped branches that have fallen from the trees, and fashions a few stakes. Charlie and Mary help us, collecting some branches. From them, we remove the heaviest of the leaves and weave them together to form a rope of sorts. We add the rope to the stakes, and thus we have a snare! Vittorio sets out the snare, and we go about our business until he says it is time to check it, to see if we have caught anything. Shortly after that we find ourselves with a small animal that somewhat resembles a rabbit, but with shorter ears and longer tail, and my mouth waters at the idea of hasenpfeffer, but that must wait until we have a pot in which to cook such a rabbit stew. For now I am content to roast it on the spit that Vittorio makes for me, and such a feast we have!

As it cooks, we take the juices from the meat, add it to some water, forming a broth, and feed that to Kitty, anxiously watching his reaction. He loves it!

“Doll, his teeth seem pretty sharp,” Daddy Vittorio says, running a careful finger along the edge of one. Kitty doesn’t mind. He mews at him and tries to nip his finger, playfully. “I wonder if his mama was already weaning him?”

So we carefully offer him small pieces of meat, watching to make sure he can handle them, and he devours them as fast as we can feed them to him. Then he falls asleep in Vittorio’s lap, as we all sit about the fire and admire our beautiful new baby, and make plans to resume our journey on the morrow.

Morning comes and we set off once more. Myron generously offers to push our penny farthing for us, as we now have our hands rather full with our baby. Vittorio and I take turns carrying Kitty when he sleeps, which he often does. Sometimes Myron allows Mary to be a passenger; she climbs upon the bike and sits on the seat, enjoying the view. Sometimes she does gymnastics, such as hand stands and such, swinging herself from the handle bars. We cannot help but laugh at such a sight.

The weather is beautiful. Not too warm, not too cold. Just right.  Even when it rains, the water is warm and feels nice, as we take shelter under a large tree. When we stop walking for the day, we have no cave to sleep in, but we make ourselves comfortable near the base of a large boulder, and Vittorio sets his snares again. This time he catches a fat bird that reminds me of a quail. Together we clean it and remove all the feathers—Mary and Kitty and even Charlie are more than happy to eat the bird’s insides, although I say I would rather not. I season it as well as I can with herbs, and then I stuff it with vegetables and roast it. Kitty ignores the vegetables, but he happily devours the tender flesh. After dinner, we all sit around the campfire, watching Kitty gambol and cavort. He alternates between chasing his tail and chasing after our fingers and toes. Then He climbs into Myron’s lap, and at first Myron seems apprehensive, but we smile and tell him it’s all right, and Kitty falls asleep in his arms.

Vittorio and I stretch out together, and gaze up into the sky. So many stars. So very beautiful. I lay my head upon his chest and turn my eyes to him, as I simply drink in his beauty.

“Are you happy, Doll?” he asks.

“Very,” I reply.

Suddenly he looks away from me and for a moment I am disturbed as he rises to a sitting position, a frown creasing his handsome features.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” He pulls me up, placing an arm about my shoulder as he points to something on the far horizon. I squint into the distance. Is that smoke that I see?

We beckon to Myron and Charlie, and we all look into the darkness. Straining to see the faintest trace of smoke there.

Charlie dispels the mystery.

“That’s from the Professor,” he announces.

Our journey is almost at an end!

to be continued

Don't forget to visit the other Wednesday Briefers and see what they're up to!

Nephylim     m/m

Michael Mandrake     m/m

Cia Nordwell   m/m     virgin alert!

MA Church     m/m 

Elyzabeth VaLey      m/f

Tali      m/f

 Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Poetry Corner - 9-18-12

Good afternoon! I've been a bit remiss here lately, keeping busy with various things, and today I'm working on tomorrow's flash and editing a really cool tween book, so I think I'll post one of my poems. One of my favorites, in fact. And let's have some fun with this, shall we?  See if  you can figure out who was the influence for this poem? And no, you can't just say a vampire. I'm looking for a specific person's name. A living, breathing person.  I'll put all the correct answers into a drawing for a copy of any book from my back list. Good luck! Don't forget to include your email address, or it won't work! I'll select a winner at the end of the week!

Romeo of the Night
          by Julie Lynn Hayes

Gentle Romeo of the night,
Seduce me with your power.
Here beneath the moon's soft light
Has come our finest hour.
Teach me of your vampire ways,
Of joys not of this earth.
Share with me your vampire days,
That lead to night's rebirth.
Bring me close into your heart,
Baptize me in the flow;
With your sweet blood, make me a part
Of all you feel and know.
My fingers revel in the feel
Of your soft auburn hair,
Cascading o'er me as I kneel
Before you as if in prayer.
Your tender lips upon my throat
Which kiss, then gently bite.
On an ecstatic wave I float
And moan in wild delight.
Take me, take me, take me now;
Let this be our bridal bower.
Moon, with the power of love us endow,
Consummated this midnight hour.
Gentle Romeo of the night,
How warm  you feel within me.
Committed now to our eternal night,
I'll always have you with me.

Guest Blogger Lorrie Struiff

Please welcome back my friend and fellow author, Lorrie Struiff. Well, not exactly Lorrie. It seems she's sent someone to speak for her today. So let's welcome this cute little guy and see what he has to say!

Thanks for having me on your blog today, Julie.

Beggar wants to tell the folks a little about his role in “A Heap of Trouble,” a new release from MuseItUp Publishing. You’re on, Beggar.

Howdy Partners,

Funny name, right? Well, it so happens my new pal, Sheriff Cole, gave it to me. I had no choice. You see, I’m a ringtail monkey and can’t do my own talkin’.  Hee, hee, but I sure can here, thanks to Julie. I just want to curl up on your lap so you can hug me, Julie. You’re so nice.

Anyhow, I’m pretty smart, if I do say so myself.  My owner trained me for years. I didn’t like workin’ fer him, though, and escaped from his medicine wagon. What a long trip. I was tired, hungry, and I found this yummy lunch just a waitin’ fer me in an office. How’d I know it was the sheriff’s office? I can’t read.

Oooh, Cole was mad when I ate his lunch. He almost shot me, but his nice lady friend, Mattie, saved my hide. After that, I took a real likin’ to Cole. I decided I’d live with him. I don’t think he was too happy ‘bout the idea at first, but we got along—once he got used to my thievin’ ways!

And, between that dang cattle rustling and him trying to woo Mattie…well, let’s just say I helped him a whole bunch. Cole couldn’t have gotten along without me.

I learned to ride in his saddlebag while tracking steers, but I don’t like horses much. They smell awful.

With all the shootin’ goin’ on with them rustlers, Cole knew I had his back. I’d sure ride the river with Cole anytime. He’s a good man.

Come along and read ‘bout us in “A Heap of Trouble.”

And guess what? It’s being released today. Yep, today! Now you all run right out and read about me. I’ll give you a big hug.

Available on MuseItUp at http://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?option=com_virtuemart&page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=367&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

And on Amazon

Blurb:

Sheriff Cole Walker has no choice, Beggar, a run-away ringtail monkey, has decided to move in with him. Now, Cole doesn’t like any critters much, but he doesn’t dare shoot the ringtail who sneaks out at night to steal the townsfolk’s valuables and hide them under the bed. Why doesn’t he just shoo the animal away?

 Because Mattie Wells, a pretty woman, is new in town and she sure jingles Cole’s spurs. She thinks Beggar is adorable and takes a shine to men who love pets. What’s a poor sheriff to do but grin and bear it?

 Cole has to keep the peace in town, track and chase down cattle rustlers, as well as return valuables from the prowling night thief, Beggar. With his deputies Wade and Sully, and his unwanted sidekick, Cole must find a way to win Mattie’s heart, find the rustlers, and bring peace once again to Cold Creek, Kansas. Cole has a heap of trouble on his plate!

Excerpt:

Mattie hurried to look under the desk. “Oh, my, it’s a little monkey.” She crawled on all fours to reach for the varmint, offering Cole a tantalizing view of her frilly petticoat and pretty ankles. “Come here, you poor baby.”

 “Miss Mattie, stop.” Cole rushed over, a palm on his pistol. “He might bite you.”

 Mattie got to her feet, the monkey curled in her arms. “Oh, don’t be silly. He’s what they call a ringtail and he’s half-starved to boot. I had a school friend once whose dad was an Organ Grinder. He had bought one like this shipped in from South America.” Her eyebrows lifted, her eyes on his hand hovering over his pistol. “You weren’t really planning on shooting this little fella, were you?”

   “Me?” He let out a chuckle and quickly hooked his thumb over his gun belt. “I’d never think of doing something like that.” He made a show of glancing around the room. “I was just sharin’ my lunch, but he sure made a darn mess of the place.”

   She petted the monkey, cooing softly while it lay snuggled in her arms. She bit her lip her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I see. And now you’re sweeping up the scraps. How sweet.”

    Cole shuddered at how she could handle the critter so easily. He tried to smile. “Yes, ma’am. Sure was. Cleaning the office and feeding him, that is.”  

    Her eyes narrowed as she inspected the creature closely. “This fella’s too thin, must not have eaten for a while.” She fingered the metal band around its neck. “We need something to wedge the clip lock off his collar.” A frown pulled at her mouth while her eyes scanned the office. “Oh, hand me that ring of keys hanging on the peg. You hold the monkey and I’ll work the ring under the clip.”

    “Uh, you keep a hold of him. I’ll pry the clip loose. I mean since he’s so comfortable with you and all.” He snatched up the key ring and edged closer. His hands trembled. “Why we doin’ this for anyhow? Must be someone’s pet with this fancy collar.”

    “Probably, but this collar has sharp edges. It scratches his neck.” She perched on the edge of the desk, holding the monkey firmly, exposing the lock.

 Cole moved his hands slowly. “Ah, hold on to his head nice and tight now. We don’t want him wiggling.”

   She giggled. “Don’t worry.”

   Sweat beaded on his forehead, the heat rushing to his face nearly searing his eyebrows. He reached for the collar, his heart racing. The ring slid under the clip and he forced it up. It snapped open with a ping.

   “Now pull the collar apart.”

   He did. The collar pushed open wide enough for him to twist it off.   

   “Yeow!” Pain shot from his hand to his elbow. He dropped the collar as if he had grabbed the hot end of a branding iron. The metal band clunked and spun across the floor. He stared at the bloody strip streaking his palm.

   “I told you it was sharp.” Mattie set the ringtail on the desk and led Cole to the basin of water sitting on the ledge in the corner. She soaped a cloth and bathed his palm while he glared at the monkey. Her soft, warm hands gave him a little tingle in his belly, until she poured the whiskey over the cut. 

 “Yeow!” Cole blew on his hand. He didn’t know which was worse, the cut or the unexpected whiskey wash.

The ringtail rubbed and stretched its neck, then clapped. Cole gave him a scathing look. 

(Bio)

Lorrie Unites-Struiff lives in West Mifflin, PA, very near Pittsburgh. Her main goal is to write a good story to entertain readers. She writes across the board with genres and if you punch in her name on Amazon, you’ll see the many shorts and books she has written. Or you can find more information on her website at http://struiff.wordpress.com/

        

 Thanks for stopping by Beggar, and thanks to Lorrie for allowing him to be here! I'm here to tell you A Heap of Trouble's a great read, one you shouldn't miss!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Wednesday Briefs: Trapped in Time #19

Happy Wednesday! Hump Day is here, so it's time for some more flash fiction by the Wednesday Briefers! This week the prompt was: "Yesterday, you said..." or the alternate prompts were: Use: blessing, blacksmith, blunder, or "When did you become such a ..." or use some sort of dance in your story or use: trail, whisper, divine or "Maybe next time we can..."

As you'll recall, in last week's Trapped in Time, Myron was able to control his magic and make fire - without harm to anyone! Are he and Doll finally shedding their enmity? See what's up in this week's episode! Warning: I shall probably pull the story soon so that I can sub it to a publishing house. I'll keep you apprised. I'd love any and all comments and suggestions! Don't forget to see what the other Briefers are up to, their links follow my story!

Trapped in Time #19

 We seem to be falling into a routine. Walk, eat, rest, then walk the trail again. The one that will lead us to the Professor. What  will come after that, I do not know.

We are fortunate  to be on this side of the canyon, in that the rocky terrain provides us with better shelter when we stop for the night. Charlie finds us another cozy cave. Myron makes another fire, and I am able to cook again, although no animal flesh, I am sad to report.  After we eat, we leave the fire burning low, and the warmth that it imparts feels divine as I snuggle against my Vittorio and he and I whisper far into the night, before sleep claims us.

I dream I am a young boy again, in my father’s workshop. I always liked to spend time with mein Vati, especially in the shop he built for himself in our back yard. It was a magic place, always filled with the most amazing devices, ones that he loved to tinker with for hours, whenever he was not working. He was very patient. He never yelled at me for touching anything, which I invariably did. There were mysterious flying machines with spinning propellers; elaborate clocks with moving figurines that danced and whirled; other devices I could not begin to imagine what they might be used for, but which held my rapt young attention. After I met Vittorio, I would bring him there as well and Vati welcomed him like another son.

I wake to find myself unexpected sobbing against Vittorio’s chest. He cradles me in his arms and murmurs soothing words until I calm down once more.

“You dreamed of Rolf again, didn’t you?”

I nod as he tilts my face up to him, kissing away my tears…

Our tender interlude is interrupted suddenly by a terrible scream; it resonates throughout the cave, echoing from the walls, although it does not originate there, rather from somewhere outside, in the jungle.  We look at one another in what little light enters the cave, for the sun is barely up. Mary is screeching excitedly. She tugs at Charlie’s arm, and they rush from the cave, with us hot on their heels.

We anxiously follow the terrible sounds. The screams are now interspersed with growls. I can’t help but wonder what we shall find this time. The noises escalate, and then a sudden silence ensues, as if the whole jungle is catching its collective breath.

“This way,” Charlie points, and we follow him, trusting in his confidence, and his superior sense of direction.

 We come into a small clearing, and our eyes are met with a most horrific sight. A large black bird that looks like a cross between an enormous crow and a vulture, likes on the ground, blood and torn and very dead.  Nearby a large animal lies, also bloody, and barely alive. With the help of the rising sun, I make out a tawny orange coat, punctuated with black and brown stripes. And very large teeth, that overlap its mouth.

“A saber tooth tiger,” Vittorio says raptly, and we both gaze in awe at the beautiful creature, keeping a healthy distance from it. It raises its head and gazes at us, before releasing a weak cry, falling back.

“She’s hurt!” Vittorio starts toward it, and I cling to his arm.

“No! She’ll kill you.”

“Doll, she is hurt, I must look after her.” He turns anguished eyes to me, and I swallow my fears and nod.

“Be careful,” I whisper, but I don’t let go as he approaches the animal, kneeling beside her. She is bleeding from a number of wounds, and she makes no move to harm us. Vittorio gently strokes the large cat behind her head, and a rumbling purr reverberates through her body as she looks toward him, raising her head, rubbing against his hand. Her beautiful green eyes become cloudy, then glassy, and she collapses onto the ground once more, and stills.

Charlie and Myron and Mary approach, taking up positions around the dead animal. Charlie wears an expression of intense sorrow, mirrored in Myron’s mien. I take Vittorio’s hand in mind and clutch it securely.

“Why do you think they were battling?” I wonder aloud. “Are they perhaps natural enemies?”

“No, I do not think so.” Vittorio furrows his brow in thought. “Charlie, what do you think?”

“I think she could have gotten away from him, easily, but she fought him to the death,” he commented. “But why?”

A tiny mewl fills the air just then and we gaze at one another with wonder.

“What was that?” Myron asks apprehensively.

We look around us for the source of the noise, and we hear it again. A plaintive sound, almost demanding.

It is Mary who solves the riddle. She starts screeching at us, excitedly pointed to a patch of high grass, not far from the tiger. I can’t help but remember the last time she found something and we came far too close to dying for my comfort.

We quickly run to her side, and Vittorio draws aside the thick blades of grass while I clutch him apprehensively, fearful for his safety—only to discover a smaller version of the late animal there. The baby’s coat is not as distinctive as it’s mothers, and its teeth not nearly as long. It yowls at us plaintively, no doubt calling for its mother.

Poor baby. She cannot hear him now.

Vittorio reaches for the small creature and I make no move to stop him, understanding his intent, although I watch him carefully nonetheless. He takes the kitten into both hands and cradles it against his body, cooing to it in Italian.

I think we’ve just become parents.

to be continued

Now visit the other Wednesday Briefers!

Nephylim    m/m Lily Sawyer     m/m  Tali     m/f MA Church     m/m Elyzabeth VaLey     m/f

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Guest Blogger MA Church

Happy Monday! I'm very pleased and excited to be bringing back my good friend, fellow author, and soon to be co-author MA Church for another visit. Today she's talking about the story she wrote for an upcoming Storm Moon anthology, Carved in Flesh. The story is Faded Love, and I'm here to tell you it's really good.

Michelle, why don't you go ahead and answer those questions we discussed while I find us something special to drink.

~If there was one piece of advice you could give a new author, what would it be?

Don’t give up. This isn’t an easy profession to get into, but the rewards are well worth it. It takes a lot of time and effort—and with anything worth doing, there are highs and lows—but don’t give up! Every author I know has dealt with rejection, been bashed with bad reviews, or struggled with writers block. I have cried at things said or done that upset me, been madder than a wet hen, and so excited I couldn’t string two words together.

Sometimes I may have to take a step back and breathe, but I do not give up.

~ A lot of your writing contains non-human elements. What draws you to that?

The freedom. LOL. If I want a character to spout wings and fly off, I can do that. Or, I can take a myth and turn it on its ear. I’ve had vampires who walked around during the day and eat food. I took a Greek God who was supposed to be married according to the legend, and made his wife his sister lol—and made him gay. I don’t like being confined to a stereotype and well… I just like nonhuman characters. J

~If we could see your writing space, what would we see?

*Snort* Walk into my den and there you go—my writing space. I sit on the couch with a few pillows in my lap to prop up the laptop, and write. I have notes spread out on the coffee table, my drink sitting to one side, and my writing buddy to the other. And oh yeah, my cell phone is usually somewhere in the middle of all that lol.

My dream writing space would be a room in the house I could make my own. I’d paint it whatever color I wanted, could shut the door if I wished, feel free put my covers up… set my background on my computer to whatever I wanted lol… I’d have privacy. Right now I have two teens running in and out, which means I have a house full of teens.

Of course, the room I’m eyeing still has my oldest in it! LOL.

~Do you own a pet? If so, tell us about him/her!

Kitty-Kitty is our cat and my writing buddy.  He showed up Halloween last year and adopted us. No kidding. It was like he knew he’d hit the jack-pot lol. The last cat that owned me, lol… well, that was almost twenty years ago. Between my allergies and our son’s asthma, we had to get rid of that cat.

This one is something else! He chases his tail, comes when called, and is super friendly. The other one? He was named Devil for a reason lol.

~What are your hobbies?

*Laugh* I don’t know that watching NFL football qualifies as a hobby. Maybe more of an obsession?  Get between me and the TV and I’ll scream the house down lol. Especially if the Steelers are playing. I do like to walk when it’s not too cold, and I like messing around in the yard. I read when I’m not working or just need a break from my own stuff lol. *Grin* the kiddo and I like to shop—which may or may not end on a pleasant note lol.

http://www.stormmoonpress.com/books/Carved-in-Flesh.aspx

Carved In Flesh- an anthology due out September 14^th by Storm Moon Press

People often say that the true perfection in the human form is in its imperfections. Scars are visceral reminders of a person's past, a sign of an event that can never fade. Whether it was gained in combat, a traumatic experience, or part of a ritual with a lover, scars are the ultimate labels. Carved in Flesh features short stories in which at least one character sports physical scars—visible to the naked eye, and prominent enough to spark a conversation.

Faded Love by M.A. Church

Excerpt:

“Will?” Ashley’s hand was gently held and pulled down. Why did Will’s voice sound so funny, like he was hoarse? “Will? What’s going on? Where am I? What’s on my face?”

“Listen to me. You’re in the hospital.”

“Hospital? Why the hell am I in the hospital?” Straining, he was finally able to make out the pale walls, and smell a scent he had always associated with hospitals: cleaners and sickness.

“You don’t remember… anything?” Will bent over Ashley, still holding his hands. God, Will’s skin was so warm, and his was so cold. “Tell me what you remember.”

“Was on my way home from that shoot. You called. I was going to call you back… Will?” Ashley’s voice rose and cracked. “Then, nothing until now. What—what… Will?”

One of Will’s strong hands managed to loosen itself from Ashley’s death grip and brushed Ashley’s hair back from his face. “You’re in the hospital. There was an accident, a bad accident. You were hit on the way home two days ago.”

“Fuck me! Two days ago?” Ashley bit his lip as pain spiked in his ribs. “How bad? Who hit me?”

“It was pretty bad. You have bruised ribs from the impact with the steering wheel, your arm is bruised—not broken—and more bruises over your body. I forgot the driver’s name. They hit you on the passenger side, slammed you into a street light. Two people in the other car died.”

“Died? Jesus.” Every time Ashley tried to lift his hand to his face, Will stopped him. “What’s wrong with my vision? Why can I only see out of one side?”

Gripping his hand, Will hesitated. “You were struck so hard your head hit the driver side window.”

Ashley gripped Will’s hand. There was more, he just knew it. What little he could make out of Will’s concerned face told him that. “And? Tell me, dammit!”

 “The window busted. There was glass everywhere. Oh God, Ashley, I’m so sorry. You were cut. On your face… and—and… there’s going to be a scar.”

“A scar?” Ashley whispered, and then his voice gained in strength as horror stabbed at him. “A scar, on my face? My face? No! Oh my God, no! How bad, Will? How fucking bad?”

Tears soaked Will’s voice. “From the hair line to under your chin. Jesus, Ashley. I’m so sorry.”

The screams from Ashley’s room brought most of the nursing staff at a dead run.

~~~

Keep in mind I picked that excerpt. Strom Moon may use something else. J This was the picture that inspired the story. I took one look at this and knew immediately what I wanted to write. And God, this guy is so damn sexy lol.

Where to find me:

Blog http://machurch00.blogspot.com

Twitter @nomoretears00

Facebook: M.A. Church http://www.facebook.com/pages/MA-Chur...

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5141393.M_A_Church

Big thank you to Julie for letting me take over her blog once again lol!

~M

It's always a pleasure! And to show my appreciation, I've invited some friends over.  Sit back and relax, they're going to put on a show for us!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Yes, Chef Review

Yes, Chef  

Author: Marcus Samuelsson

Publisher: Random House

American release date: June 26, 2012

Format/Genre/Length: Novel/Autobiography/336 pages

Publisher/Industry Age Rating:

Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★★

He was born Kassahun Tsegie in a poor village in Ethopia and orphaned at the age of three, along with his older sister, Fantaye. Their mother, Ahnu, walked them the many miles to Addis Ababa, all three ill with tuberculosis, where somehow she got them into one of the already crowded hospitals. Unfortunately, Ahnu did not survive, but the children did. Meanwhile, in Sweden, a loving Swedish couple, who’d already taken in a half-Jamaican, half Swedish daughter, Anna, wanted a son. And this is where the story of Marcus Samuelsson truly begins.

Synopsis:

When they arrived in Sweden, Marcus was three and Linda five. He remembers little of his native country from that time, although he’s forged other memories since, in his adulthood. The Samuelssons already had Anna, their eight-year-old foster child. So when the two new children arrived, they were not the first children of color in the family. Their new parents were Lennart and Anne Marie, who gave them unconditional love. It was Anne Marie’s mother, Marcus’ grandmother Helga, who gave him a love of food.

At first, Linda was very protective of her little brother, and Anne Marie learned to go through her in order to make contact with the little boy. But with time, as Anne Marie worked at making herself understood by her new daughter, Linda learned to hold on less tightly.

Marcus and Linda called them mormor and morfar—“mother’s mother” and “mother’s father”.  Mormor’s house always smelled of food. Helga originally hailed from the province of Skåne in Sweden’s chief agricultural region. From a young age, she involved Marcus in her cooking. It was a special time for them, one that was not shared with his sisters and he never questioned why not. From this attention and devotion grew his great love of flavors and his feel for all things culinary.

From a young age, Marcus was seriously into soccer, along with his best friend Mats. They dreamed of being professional players, and played on teams together for years. However, this was not meant to be, and Marcus was stunned when he was dropped from the team at the age of sixteen, due to his size. That is when he decided that food would be his life.

His culinary journey began when he applied for and was accepted into Ester Mosesson. After graduation from the school, he became a kitchen boy at Belle Avenue, where he was exposed to many things he’d never seen before. He worked long hard hours and absorbed everything that he could. He was excited when he was given the chance to work at a restaurant in Amsterdam, but his father was skeptical, because of the city’s reputation for drugs, so he passed on the opportunity, to his boss’ dismay. But he didn’t say no to the next chance, and ended up in Interlaken, in the Alps, a thirty hour journey from home.

Commentary:

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The first time I ever saw Marcus Samuelsson was on the TV series Chopped, where he is one of the regular judges. I heard that he was Swedish, as his name surely attests, and that he owns a restaurant in Harlem, but other than that I knew nothing. So when I became aware of his autobiography, I was eager to delve into it.

This is one fascinating book, well told. Marcus is obviously as much at ease with words as he is with flavors, and you quickly get caught up in his amazing story. He is very honest about the things that he’s done in his life, the people’s he’s met, the places he’s seen. He isn’t proud of everything, but then who is? We live, we learn. And having learned, we move on.

Life in Sweden, although much easier than it would have been for him in Ethiopia, was not perfect for a young black man, and he struggled at times in a land of very blonde, very pale people where he stood out because of his dark skin. For example, when he applied for a position at the local McDonald’s, and then told his friends that he had, they looked at him like he was crazy. He was blatte—dark—and they didn’t hire those kinds of people. Neither did they hire him.

Working in a kitchen, if you’re determined to succeed, is not easy, and you give up a lot in order to make it. Marcus was still very young when his then girlfriend informed him she was pregnant. She expected nothing from him, which was fine with him. But his parents insisted that no matter what else he did, he would send support to the mother for the child, no matter if he knew someone who was excused on account of not having the money. That was no excuse in his eyes, and he never failed to send the money, even if he had to borrow it from them to do so. And when he was ready, he forged a relationship with his daughter.

Part of Marcus’ education included working in kitchens in other countries. His knowledge of languages stood him in good stead, although his German wasn’t the strongest. Some kitchens were stricter than others, but he learned the most from those that were hardest on him, and expected more from him. During an interim period between two kitchens, he got the opportunity to work on a cruise ship and he took it, traveling to exotic places he never dreamed he’d be able to visit. And every place he went, he was eager and curious to explore the food and learn the flavors, building his extensive repertoire as he went, dreaming of a time when he could combine flavors in his own way, as he wished to do.

There have been ups and downs in Marcus’ career. Sometimes in the same place, such as Aquavit, where he became head chef at a young age. But no matter what the curves that were thrown at him, he came back stronger than ever. One of the highlights of his career involves the Obamas, as well as finding and meeting his birth father.

Marcus Samuelsson has come a very long way, and it’s been an amazing journey, which he relates so well you feel like you’re taking it with him. I feel like I know him all the better for having read his words. You don’t have to be a chef to appreciate his story, but if you’re interested in food and flavor, you will certainly learn things from him. I know I did. I recommend this book to everyone. It’s a can’t miss story.

As Marcus says, “Each one, teach one.” Words to live by.

Saturday Snark!

I'm participating in Marie Sexton's Saturday Snark blog hop again! This time, I'm giving you a little bite from Revelations, which will be coming out in February from  Muse it Up Publishing. Revelations is something a bit different. It's my contemporary Biblical story about Judas and Jesus. This is from the prologue, and the speaker is God. Hope  you enjoy! As I have no cover yet, I'll use something else for now.  :) Don't forget to check out the rest of the hop!

I glance at him. He’s dressed to within an inch of his life, and wears the most ridiculous sunglasses I’ve ever seen. I decide not to comment on his fashion sense. “I think he might, this time. I think he’s ready for change.”

            Lucifer snorts. “It’s been two thousand years, and neither one has exactly caught on yet. Why should this time be any different?”

            “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

            He eyes me carefully. “I would, but you see you have this whole mystic omnipotent God thing going on. Personally, I don’t care for those odds.”

            I arch an eyebrow. “I may be omnipotent, but Jesus does have free will and he does possess the ability to make his own decisions. You think I’d stack the deck in my son’s favor? Just to win a bet with you?”

            “Let’s say I’m taking no chances.” He smiles. “Tell you what, though—give me free rein.  Let me do what I want, and you not say anything or do anything to interfere with me? As far as they’re concerned, that is.”

            I open my mouth to object, he hastily interjects. “No killing, I swear to it.”

            That’s better. I still have some measure of control over the serpent.

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Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie