Five Awards Scars Of The Heart featured in Table Of Honor
After receiving five Awards for "Scars Of The Heart," my book is featured in "The Table Of Honor."
The Table is "A unique new book marketing portal spotlighting the best of international book festivals. You can't belong to the Table Of Honor unless you have placed in an accredited international competition. These books are the best of the best, certified by judges to be worthy of reader, publisher, retail, and library attention."
Conversations with Archimeda I
Conversations with Archimeda I is a substack post I wrote about my talks with my beloved Arabian purebred mare Archimeda, the feisty and adorable princess of our herd of four horses. Our conversations can be confrontationel but our love is immense.
Hiiiii-hiiii! Bobbbbb! Roberto, my master, revered keeper, giant under the humans, welcome on my humble prairie! Ay ay ayaaaaaaa ayaaazayayaya, Roberto! What do you think about my little Spanish dance, o master? I may be an Arabian purebred, but I know my Spanish dances.
What herbs have you eaten this morning, you four-legged female fawner? A giant under the humans, huh? I’m five feet seven inches. And your Spanish drawl resembles a drunk Mexican yodeling to the full moon.
Details don’t count, Roberto! Look around you, grumpy! We are enjoying a silky, Sunny day! Let’s play Wokka-wokka Bulla-bulla! You are the Indian, and I’ll be the, eh, horse, hiii-hiiii! Or else, if you want, I’ll be the Indian – stick some feathers in my mane, no doubt I’ll be a gorgeous female sachem – and you can be the horse. Hiii-hiii, I can already picture you running on four legs….Mirth is overtaking me, o human, I think I will roll over…
…..
What is it, Bob?
Nothing. Let’s play.
You’re trying to, but your heart isn’t in it.
Oh, Archimeda.
I can see mist hanging around you.
There is no –
There is someone in the mist, Bob. Someone who loves you.
Let’s take a morning stroll to the forest, sweetie. I’m not in the mood for talking or playing.
I’ll walk with you, but the mist will walk with us.
Forget about the mist, Archimeda. Like you said: it’s a beautiful day.
What’s going on, Bob? What are you hiding from me?
I don’t want to be sad on a day like this, Archimeda.
But you are.
….
Today, it’s thirty-five years since my father died.
Thirty-five years?
Time is for humans, Archimeda. You’re blessed to be in the now.
Do you love your father?
Yes, I did. He was a very placid man.
You’re not.
Maybe that’s why I loved him.
Did you tell him that when he crossed the rainbow?
I don’t remember. Maybe not. I was too shy. Or too young and too full of myself.
You can tell him now.
Do you think that the dead can hear us, Archimeda?
Our dead can. Did you kill your father?
Of course not! Humans don’t kill their parents.
Humans kill our parents. My father was a proud jumper, a winner, but when he was crippled, his master decided he was no longer useful. To the slaughterhouse with him.
Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, Archimeda. Sometimes, humans are –
Pfrrrrrr…What are you going to do when I’m cripple?
I’ll do everything I can to get you healthy again and keep loving you with all my heart and soul, no matter the outcome.
Also, when I’m over the rainbow? That matters to me, you know.
Also, when you’re over the rainbow. For humans, that means always.
….
That’s what my mother said to me: “I’ll always love you with my heart and soul.” But when I was a six-month-old filly, humans took me away from her. I can still hear her whinny.
I can’t blame you if you hate humans, Archimeda.
I don’t hate them. I try to understand.
Humans don’t even understand themselves, my precious. Is your mother still alive?
She passed over the rainbow moons ago. I talk with her in the herd-sleep. I tell her I love her. She gives me glow. I tell my father I love him. He answers with a proud snort. He’s not cripple anymore. You should see him in his gallant gallop.
What is the herd-sleep?
That’s when we come together, we, Equus.
And when the herd-sleep is over?
I hear my mother in the wind: “There is a soft patch of delicious grass, daughter. Go on, darling, enjoy.” I go, I graze, and it gives me a glow. Nevertheless, I miss her cuddle.
I cuddle you each day. And I’ll plant some delicious herbs in our meadows for you.
My father –
I try to be a good father for you.
That’s not the same, Bob.
Why not? I love you as one.
Because I can see you, Bob, I can see you under your disguise. You’re half-a-horse, half-a-wolf.
….
What did you say, Archimeda?
Half-a-horse, half-a-wolf.
Archimeda, how do you know that?
I don’t know. The herd-sleep does.
I wrote that sentence in my novel “The Shadow of the Mole.” A character sees himself reflected in the eyes of a dying horse as half-a-horse, half-a-wolf.
Another one of your frightening stories I don’t want to hear?
I’m afraid so.
Hiiii-hiii. When will you write a book about horses who reunite when they have crossed the rainbow and graze in eternally green meadows, the sun on their backs, and their hearts in glow?
I….
When will you do that, Bob? I want to know.
I don’t know, my lovely. It isn’t easy.
Would you be able to try?
I’ll try to be a good half-a-father for you. Can you forget the wolf in me?
Maybe…If you…
Yes, my darling, tell me, what must I do to make you forget and forgive?
If you give me a thousand love-kisses on my nose, I think I could. Eventually.
One…two…three…four…five…
