What To Know And Bring

edited by Cristina

for Two Bears Press:

The newest good news:

Cristina's publishing industry seminars, publishing salons, community Q & A's, Writing & Selling A Children's Book workshops, Living The Creative Life retreat intensives, etc. are now available through the audio-visual company that sells the work of such notables as Eckhart Tolle, Caroline Myss, Joe Navarro, Michael Beckwith, and Wayne Dyer! Which means what has shared from her professional author/editor/filmmaking time in NY & CA is now available (in a downloadable-to-computers-&-iPods way) even when she is teaching or not in someone's area!!!!  

As an educational coordinator at one of the original venues says:   "To have a former New York editor and published author offer insights into the publishing process is a rare and much needed gift to the writing community...."

These offerings range from $25 - $150. (Even the several day intensives have been priced at the cost of a ONE-hour consultation with a publishing professional, or LESS!)...and when any of the talks/workshops are obtained by clicking to the company through this affiliate link:

Cristina's Creative Cornucopia!

a portion of the proceeds will go directly to supporting spiritual/environmental/good works charities. :)

(As you click through from this link to the "Purchase links" of the offering(s) you're interested in, descriptions & FREE sample audio along with the ability to purchase will appear.)

And for those who prefer information the old-fashioned way, a small supply of salons & seminars are available from Cristina on CD's as well! 

***Cora***

Update Spring 06: This story just won $2000 & publication!

Zero Visibility

Her body avalanches toward me and I feel myself pulling away.  

            "Come on," I say.   "Mom's waiting."

         Mother sits at the kitchen table in her Egyptian print dress, calligraphic males and females stacked in levels like an ant farm.   She bought the fabric originally for curtains but father said they were too thin for curtains and two months later they had become a dress.   "Does she always dress like that?"

"Almost."

Mother reaches her arms around me and ignores Caroline, who folds her hands and waits.   "It's very pleasant to meet you," she says.

Father doesn't believe in God and mother's jury's out.   They sit at the kitchen table passing Camels back and forth, speculating about the neighbors.   "I think they're growing pot over there."   She points to a florescent window.   "And I bet all those big envelopes are kiddy porn."  

            "Mom," I say.   "They're artists."

Art and Anthony have lived across the street for twenty years in the same two bedroom as my parents, only yellow.   There are rusty angels on their front lawn and horses with metal skeletons that show through the plaster.   Mother is my favorite excuse.   She gets bathrobes for Christmas every year and pats Dad's paunch appreciatively.   "You can't invent parents like yours," Caroline says. Ten blocks west, opalescent water breaks on opalescent shore.   The rocks are black and shark teeth and brown foam froths at the edges.   "In the winter," father says, "I used to throw a ball up in the air and it would disappear."   Out of three hundred and sixty four days a year, Pacifica has one hundred and seventy four days of partial sunshine.   That's how they measure it.   Number of days the sun was seen, like a missing person.

"Abalone," Dad says, knocking a Camel from the pack.  

"There's no smoking in California anymore," I say.  

"Damn hell there's no smoking in California."

The pre-pubescent waiter approaches.   "Sir, I'm sorry - "  

"Nick and I used to smoke right there at the bar.   Do you know who Nick is?"

"Sir, you are a loyal customer, but -"

"And when he started this shithole it was a fine place, waitstaff old enough to have their first erections, you know ..."

"Sir, I'm sorry, but if you don't put out that cigarette -"

"And boy if you don't learn to respect -"

"Okay, Dad, that's enough."   I take the cigarette and stamp it into the bread basket, pull my father up by the elbow.   "Cummon, Dad.   I'll make you a sandwich."

"I don't want a goddamn sandwich, I came for the Abalone."

"We don't serve Abalone anymore, Sir."

"It's endangered, Dad."

"Damn hell it's endangered."

"I am very, very sorry," I say to the waiter, and show my father to the door.   Caroline and mother trail behind.   Dad falls into his corduroy Lay-Z-Boy when we get home and naps with his whiskey on the arm.

to be continued !