A Walk Past Midnight

Started working on a new novel. The story is set during the sunset of the Civil War. I am only going to leave you with that tidbit for now. Oh but I will share the cover with you.

I guess you think that I have fallen off into an abyss, well no such luck. I have been working at completing "Beneath The Mist" and it has proven to be a labor of love. I am hoping to have it done before the warm whether hits but that may be sooner than I thought. I you happen to think about it, please drop me a line to encourage or to kick my backside (either one will work), as it can be ver lonely in the world I live in.

Sorry

Well it has been quite sometime since I have had an opportunity to update my blog. I have been very busy trying to complete Beneath the Mist. My writers group has put me on notice that the book must be complete by the end of the year soooooo. The only thing that I have to share with you is a quick piece that I pened between down time. Enjoy!
======================================

Happy Hips

Broad from side to side; round from bow to stern; firmer than the ripest melon you lips have ever yearned defines these happy hips.

Happy because they hold the story of me on so many grounds; happy because they do this without the utterance of sound.

Happy because the dip in my hip dares to define the strength in this woman in the largeness of her behind.

Happy to break the stereotype that small cute cheeks are all the hype; you can bounce a quarter, nickel or dime if you pitch it just right.

The Hottentot Venus has nothing on me except that we may have budded from the same family tree;

“Hey has anyone told you they can sit a beer on your behind?” Hey has anyone every told you to kiss where the sun does not shine?

Amazing both men and woman is this, the pride that is me and my happy hips.

Artrice Artis © 7/06

From "A Word from an Expressionist" to be released Summer 2007

Where Am I

I am here but yet I’m not
My body goes through the motions of the day waiting for my soul to come along
I see glimpses of the soul but I can’t hold on
The induced coma, the forced sleep
Betrayal, heartache, rejection the cause
But what cures?
What awakens the lost soul?
Separate from the body, controlled by the mind
What sparks the love of self so vital to growth?
It is dependant on “I” it comes from “Me”
The walk to close the distance between soul and body
It is long, weary with so many “theys”
“They say, they heard, they want”
I stumble over “They”
I stumble over “Me”
I stumble over “I”
One day the soul will awake,
It will meet the body
The two shall fuse and become one
But for now the soul still ask
“Where Am I?”

Introducing Artrice Artis

Introducing Artrice Artis (A.K.A. Monica Diggs), her works include Beneath the Mist and Celena's Burden.

Beneath the Mist (release fall 2006)

Beneath the Mist©
Bryce and Aleene headed toward the gate, as Bryce handed his ticket to the attendant Aleene grabbed his hand.
“Bryce I’m sorry I can’t go with you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Bryce I love you but I can’t leave right now I’m so sorry.” Aleene turned and quickly made her way past the remaining passengers. Stunned by the abrupt turn of events, Bryce stood frozen.
“Sir you must either board or step aside so that we can continue to board the plane.”
“Uh, sure, yeah, here’s my ticket.” Bryce wanted to scream and run after Aleene, but he knew her too well. He knew that she would not change her mind. She needed more time and he would give her that. “I have waited a long time for you Aleene Blake; I can wait a little longer.”
Aleene was in desperate need for answers, answers to questions unasked. Maybe if she gave it one last chance Miciah would finally explain what happened the night he shot his father, her husband. Her heart would have to wait.

Its Here!

Thanks to everyone for helping celebrate the release of Jus' Ramblin.

Celena's Burden (Summer 2007 release)

Celena’s Burden©9/2006
Prologue

“I won’t cry out; I will hold this pain and remember it. They can’t take it away from me, I won’t let them.” Gritting her teeth with each mountainous wave of pain she clinched her fist tighter turning her knuckles white. Blood trickled from her palms as each finger tried to close tighter, forcing her nails to cut through skin. Determined not to moan giving witness to her pain, Celena repeated the words again to herself.
“She must drink to ease the pain, make her drink.”
“I have tried but she holds her lips tight and turns her head. She want to feel it all, she enjoy the hurt.”
“Stupid child, it will go easier for her. Maybe she punishes herself for what she done.”
“The Chief waits for word, she must hurry.”
“Bring her to me.” The old woman’s voice frightened Celena; she was scared of this woman who sat watching her from a stool. The one everyone believed cured all, the one they called Awatti meaning thrown away.
“Squat at my knees child.” Celena had seen a birthing once when she was a little girl, the mother was having a difficult time and Awatti was there. She remembered how the woman sat.
“Turn her back towards me. Put your elbows on my thighs.”
Celena placed her forearms on the the large thighs of Awatti, gripping the old womans knees for support. With her legs wide and her feet firmly pressed into the soft dirt floor, she bent her knees and lowered her hips closer to the floor. Awatti placed her arms through Celena’s underarms resting both hands on the top of her protruding stomach.
“When I say push, you bare down child you hear?” As Celena’s stomach hardened with the next contraction Awatti slowly moved her hands around its fullness. Reaching the top of the mound she pressed down.
“Push now girl, bare down hard.” Celena pushed as hard as she could. The pressure gave way to searing pain radiating from the top of her navel down through the opening between her legs. Without hesitation, she was hit with another wave of pain and then another. Her young face dripped with sweat, tears of pain streamed down her face but she said nothing.
“This the last one, push hard Gurl.” Awatti pressed deep along the sides of Celena’s stomach. Coercing the one inside to let go of his home.
Unable to hold the pain any longer Celena grunted loudly. It was the only sound she made as the head of her son breech the walls of his mother’s body.
Wrapping the small body in a white cloth, the nurse maid turned to give Celena her son.
“No! bring him to me.” Standing at the entrance of the hut was the leader of the tribe, Yohance, Celena’s father. His tall dark frame towered over the room. His height gave witness to his maternal Watutsi heritage. Celena was the oldest of his children and was promised in marriage at birth to Peponi, a young prince in the neighboring village. This marriage was to bring an alliance between the two tribes. How was her father to explain his daughter’s disgrace when she refused to name the father of the child or the circumstances involved in the conception? He had not looked upon Celena for several months, moving her instead to the remote area of their land to stay with his sister.
Swiftly walking toward the door, the maid bowed her head and placed the baby in the arms of his grandfather.
Celena looked on with wide tear filled eyes trying to anticipate her father’s next move. She convinced herself that once he saw the baby and that if it were a boy, things between them would be good again. Her father adored her and doted on her more than the other children.
Looking down into the soft bundle he held in one arm, Yohance slowly covered the face of the infant with his large hand, placing the palm of his hand over his nose and mouth until all was still.