Category: Writing Royalty

SALSA! The Taste of Life

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I was checking the mail today and just guess what I received?  The proof copy for my new book came  to my door! I am speechless and elated and I had to share with you how the book will look. The process is nearing completion folks. I have 30 days to run through my book with a fine tooth comb and weed out any more typos. So far so good; my girls volunteered to lend me their eyes and so we have 4 pairs of eyes looking through it. Do you think we’ll miss anything? I hope not 🙂 Thankfully they all love to read! Oh yes, the ones I still home school will receive school credit for having helped and of course a big hug, kiss and many thanks for their time goes to Elena, Esther and Raxy!!!

 

 

 

 

 

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 237

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Live!

 

I find that people who put themselves in a box are blasé and quite boring…

 They spend their drab lives asleep, loudly snoring, while life slips by them…

Then, one day, they wake up and are  upset because they claim that those of us who enjoy our lives are being loud and rude; our busy and productive lives make so much noise, it awoke them! Well, I’ll tell ya- excuse me for stepping on your boring and mundane toes. If my too-much activity stirs you to anger, well then, perhaps it’s for your good. Wake up! Take a chance!

Smell the roses, and I don’t mean the one you’ve picked out to deck your early coffin. Live and let live! Yes, this means you! Praise Him who made you. Stop your whining and complaining. Be glad He chose to keep you alive!

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

 

HAVE A GREAT WEEK-END EVERYONE!!! 🙂

365 Snap Shots if life: Day 236

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The River Colored Red

The sound of mighty rushing waters,

elevates the soul,

to another dimension,

a higher plateau.

 

 

Walking, step by step on this daily journey,

taking in the beauty

of what Your hands created,

fashioned, designed, orchestrated…

 

 

 

An eternity ago?

Perhaps!

With You a thousand years is like a day.

Maybe You put it there for our simple pleasure.

 

 

You are mighty in your power,

magnificently majestic.

Only You know the intricate details of,

the sum of all of our thoughts at this very hour.

 

 

Those who deny your existence,

who boldly mock your presence;

all they need to do,

is open up their blinded eyes.

 

 

Yes, tune in and hear the sounds,

of mighty rushing waters,

cascading, rushing, making way,

bringing healing to the sickly souls.

 

 

There is a river,

saw it just the other day;

its flow will never be controlled,

through mere human ingenuity.

 

 

For it contains the water of life-

divine intervention.

Sent from up above to purify, banish our defilement.

Open up your heart! Let the river flow!

 

 

That amazing Colorado River

runs through the arid desert.

Appropriately named Red,

for its twofold significance.

They dually co-exist:

In the natural, one nourishes the desert dwellers.

Providing them with life’s necessities,

making life bearable amidst a barren land.

 

Its counterpart—the River of Life

“Living Waters”

Colored Red:

Crimson drops of divine blood.

Open up your dammed-up heart;

get carried away in the torrent!

Be immersed, inundated!

His love: never-ending, everlasting flow!

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

This is another edited poem that didn’t make it into my new book due out soon, SALSA! THE TASTE OF LIFE.

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 233

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I was just reminiscing as how as a child I had the opportunity to travel to so many places. Back then, I had no idea how much living and traveling in different cultures would come to add so much zest to my writing. The story I am positing today is yet another preview of my new book, SALSA! THE TASTE OF LIFE, going live very soon. Unfortunately I had to edit this story out  because the book was getting to be too big. But you still get to enjoy it here 🙂

I visited this beautiful place in Belgium called Bruges and my one day there as a teen, inspired me to write it. Our minds are amazing! In those days I was unaware that these places I was visiting and all the sights , smells and sounds I took in, would one day make part of a collection of short stories and poems that I am privileged to be able to share with the world. 🙂

The Lace-Maker of Bruges

 

January 17 ,1981

Dear Diary,

Today I met an eccentric elderly woman of close to eighty years old as I took in the sites in the antique city of Bruges, Belgium. She never told me her name, and I didn’t ask either, so I’ll name her Briguitta.

Briguitta is a native of Bruges. She said she had endured WWII and had been able to keep her family fed through the craft she busied herself with right in front of me as we chatted.

Thank God, I was able to get by on the French I had learned in school, and she knew some English as well. Briguitta’s face was a roadmap of wrinkles, and I believe every wrinkle is a road she has traveled on. Her blue eyes were vibrant, telling me that although she was in the winter of her life, her soul still danced in the summer.

Her most amazing features, though, were  her hands. Arthritis was trying to win the age battle, but Briguitta did not seem to be bothered by it all. She shared that all the women in her family had been bobbin lace-makers. She had learned the craft as a small girl of around seven as she sat at her grandmother’s knee watching her. Lace-making had sustained her through one husband and four children.

I watched in fascination as her hands worked rapidly and seemingly effortlessly. The glimmering white cotton thread flew through her crooked finger and onto the bobbins.  Briguitta knew just where to place the needles. She had an imaginary pattern she was following, and at every turn, she was creating exquisite artwork.

I joked as I asked her if she ever felt like a spider weaving an intricate web, one that would dazzle in the early morning sunlight, when everything is covered with dew.

Briguitta only smiled as she continued with her work. She offered, “You will only find bobbin lace here in Bruges. It’s very expensive.”

Then I asked her, because I was intrigued as I watched her hands defy their age as they flew with inexplicable grace, “So, where do you work?”

Briguitta was sitting at a small, square, wood table in front of a lace shop. All of her materials necessary to make bobbin lace were with her. She looked up for a minute, and then she answered me, “Right here; this is where we do it all.” I was dumbfounded. Then she added, “You won’t see younger women, such as yourself, making bobbin lace. No, most of us are between fifty and ninety years of age.”

“That’s amazing!” I exclaimed.

“You won’t find any of us in a factory. We all work outside of lace shops just like this one,” Briguitta said.

I was so taken in I continued peppering her with my questions in the hopes that I was not impeding her progress.

“Where did this originate from?”

Briguitta informed me that Charles V had made a decree that lace making was to be taught in all of the schools in Belgium’s provinces. She also said that lace replaced embroidery as a fashion accessory because it could be unsewn from one garment and replaced on another article of clothing. Lastly, she said that although many styles and techniques had been developed, almost all of them came form Belgium’s provinces.

I thanked Briguitta for educating me on the trade that, according to her, had been in her family for six generations. The sun was setting lower, and I said good-bye. Then I entered the lace shop to pick out a piece of bobbin lace to take back home.

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 229

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HOLA!! Here comes yet another edited poem that didn’t make it into my new book, SALSA! THE TASTE of LIFE which will be out in a little while. I wrote this when I was going through a rough spot of feeling as if life were passing me by. I sat down and this poem just came gushing out of my pen and unto the pages of my journal. I felt so good after I finished it because I took it as God comforting me and letting me know He never forgets me. I hope this soothes you as it did me  🙂 HUGS!!!!

Your Tears

The wind howls outside,

“Won’t you let me come in?”

It beckons: “Follow me!

Girl! Get up and at ‘em!

Your life IS passing you by.”

 

 

The wind howls outside my window;

Knock, knock, a knocking on my resistance.

Whispers ever so cunningly,

“Surely there is somewhere way better.

Won’t you find out?”

 

 

The wind, it blows in my ear;

a strange lover seducing me with sweet songs:

“You are too good for this, Mujer.

You deserve BETTER.

What are you doing just giving your life away,

for the sake of others?

No one does THAT anymore!”

 

 

The wind scolds me;

I feel it, a whip stinging my raw emotions—

¡Estupida! When are you going to learn:

In this life, nice never pays!

GO! Find your way.

GO! Get your life back.

You should’ve never thrown it away, ¡Tonta!

 

 

“Be still, mi alma!”

 

 

Silence…

 

 

Uno, dos, tres…

 

 

Here comes the gentle breeze,

the one who doesn’t knock me around,

rocks me gently to and fro.

Sweet, sweet lullaby in the night;

I fall deep in a restful slumber,

only to wake up to your gentle caresses.

The lover of my soul whispering to me,

“You are my girl, the one I lose sleep over.

The one I weep for as I pick up your tears

and collect them in this flask,

and with which I bathe my face.

 

 

Your tears are the fragrance I wear.

Never stop shedding them;

I gave them as my gift, so your heart can be healed.

In my world, nothing is wasted,

Not even one single tear.”

 

One day I will show you

what your tears have done.

For now I will tell you,

every single tear you’ve shed,

since the day your heart broke

for the very first time.

I stored your tears in a safe place;

as a rich man hordes gold.

 

 

Your tears have set the captives free,

watered thirsty travelers.

Your tears have nourished dying souls,

and watered many gardens.

Your tears have brought conviction,

turning stony hearts into repentant souls.

Your tears have set one thousand to flight,

and dispelled irksome fears.

Your tears have turned the dry arid desert

into a beautiful oasis where many come,

from near and far, to rest,

before continuing their journey.

 

 

And your tears now fill a vast ocean

that teems with life,

because when you gave away yours,

it was so I could give you something better.

 

 

From a child they forbade you to cry,

because your tears make people feel-

something people don’t want to do anymore.

I designed you to feel…that’s why you weep,

because hard hearts are dry hearts,

who are all bitter and brittle.

“My daughter, my child,

I gave you a lamenting heart:

A fountain, a reservoir full of living water.

when you weep, my river of living waters flows,

through you…my vessel of honor.”

–EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 227

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I ‘m back! I took some days off to rest after a family ordeal. All’s well that ends well I say 🙂 Where is my book?? That’s what I’d like to know 🙂 Seriously, the last stage seems the longest and the hardest of anything including the publishing of a book. So here is another preview of Salsa! the Taste of Life. This poem I edited out of the book and I hope you enjoy it. Smile and keep smiling because it makes your enemies nuts!

The Five W’s

Everyone has asked,

What are you?

What can you do for me?

Who are you?

Why are you that way?

Where did you come from?

When are you leaving?

 

 

Then you came along,

You didn’t assault me

With all manner of intrusive questions.

You said, “Eres mi hija. You are my daughter.”

That’s all I want from you,

Don’t matter who you are,

You’re one of mine now,

I love you…

Just the way you are.

I know where you came from,

A place of sorrow, torment and pain.

I know so

Because I too have been there before:

Familiar with peace of mind,

Also aware of what it is

To feel like you’re going insane.

I know who you are,

You’re one of mine now;

Doesn’t matter who, what, when, where why or how.

 

 

Thank you for taking me in,

For not bothering me with the five W’s,

For being what I need,

For giving me what I crave:

A feeling of belonging.

Though I’ve buried many things in a grave,

You are heaven sent,

To help me heal, find and restore.

I’ll never ask you

For anything more,

‘cause what you do

Is a perfect gift

From heaven above.

Te amo! Te quiero! Te adoro!

Thank you, siempre, for your unconditional love.

-EVA SANTIAGO copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 221

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Hello readers! I was away for the past few days and I missed blogging! It occurred to me that the edits I’ve shared so far from my up coming book, SALSA! THE TASTE of LIFE, are mostly poems. I don’t want you to think that this book  is a volume of poems only. It is a volume of mostly short stories and some poetry. I had to edit out more poems and less stories. So I will give you an edited story from my book, to give you a taste of my story telling. This story I wrote based on an experience I had when I was a young teen living with my uncle in Germany.  I look forward to giving you more tastes of SALSA! As you read this keep in mind that I thoroughly look forward to your feedback, so comment away! 🙂

March17, 1981

Dear Diary,

Today, a most peculiar thing happened; we were driving along the road that connects Spangdahlem to Bitburg. Being that it was Sunday, the driver was leisurely meandering to our destination, a heavenly café in Bitburg, for a nice piece of Black Forest cake and refreshments. Spring was fast approaching; the countryside was beginning to be dotted with Holstein sitting on grassy meadows. The snow that had lain stoically for all those winter months was beginning to vanish without a trace.

Suddenly, we came upon a lone traveler; he grew bigger and bigger the closer we drew to him. The driver lowered his window, and the elderly man approached our orange, 1970s Volkswagen station wagon. The man asked the driver in English laced with a strong German accent if we could take him to Bitburg. We were told to make room for our guest, so we all squeezed tightly like Pringles potato chips in a can, and the nomad sat in the middle between my cousin and me.

I was glad he sat next to me so I could study him. The loan wanderer was around seventy; his hair was white, and he had plenty of it. There was a glimmer in his eyes of azure that made him look almost boyish.

“What’s your name?” My curiosity had overcome me, and I had to ask. He perused my face, and then he answered, “Herr (Mr.) Vogt, and what is yours?”

I responded, “I’m Helena. Why are you hitchhiking?”

He looked at me a bit puzzled, and then he said, “Hitch hiking? Not hardly. I was hiking along this road because I am on a mission.”

Suddenly, I felt my arms getting covered with chill bumps. I had to know more about this mysterious stranger, so I continued, “Where are you from, Herr Vogt?”

“Oh, from all over the place, really.”

“But you had to have started somewhere, right?” I prodded him. He didn’t seem to mind my young inquisitiveness; he answered, trying to conceal a mischievous grin, “Well, let’s just say that where I originated is somewhere far, far away from here.” We rode in silence, and then Herr Vogt offered, “You know, little one, the wind blows here, and it blows there, yet nobody knows where it comes from or where it is going.”

I was puzzled at first, and then I knew what he meant. “Are you one of those messengers that God sends to help people out?”

 He answered, “Yes, I am sent to you today.”

Jokingly, I asked him, “What’s in your suitcase?”

He smiled at me and said, “There are many places I have to visit before I report back to my boss, so I need to look like I fit in.” I settled into a satisfied silence. His presence was as a warm, wool coat around me that made me feel protected. We didn’t say much for the rest of the ride, and when we reached Bitburg, the driver asked Herr Vogt where he would like to be dropped off. He told the driver to stop at the light, and we pulled over so Herr Vogt could make his exit. As he was leaving, he shook my hand, and he looked deep into my mesmerized eyes, right down to the core of my soul. Then he departed. I tried to look for him, but I could not find him. He vanished right from my sight.

I’ll never forget Herr Vogt; his presence is still with me as I write this entry in my journal. I entertained a stranger that Sunday afternoon; he kept me company. I know he is one of God’s messengers who came by my side for a little while. He didn’t have to explain his mission because I’ve always known in my heart of hearts that God sent him to let me know that He loves me. I felt it that day.

-Eva Santiago Copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 214

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I have GREAT news! Salsa! The Taste of Life, my second book I keep ranting about has now moved to the layout design part of the process!!! The contractions are coming closer now and this “baby” is going live soon! 🙂 I heard word from my editor yesterday and she said the editing part is complete. That was music to my ears.

Picking a title for your book is a lot like picking a name for your child.You want just the right name to represent your child and his/her character for their whole life. Same thing with a book; you want the title to not only represent your work well and also jump off the book shelf and grab your audience’s attention! During the writing of Salsa!, I played around with several ideas before deciding on Salsa! The Taste of Life.

I found this article today and I thought you would enjoy knowing that other writers have to go through a title picking “struggle” as well.

 

What 10 Classic Books Were Almost Called

Remember when your high school summer reading list included Atticus, Fiesta, and The Last Man in Europe? You will once you see what these books were renamed before they hit bookshelves.

Read the full text here: http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/70037#ixzz22JkdZgrT
–brought to you by mental_floss!

 

 

1. F. Scott Fitzgerald went through quite a few titles for his most well-known book before deciding on The Great Gatsby. If he hadn’t arrived at that title, high school kids would be pondering the themes of Trimalchio in West Egg; Among Ash-Heaps and Millionaires; On the Road to West Egg; Under the Red, White, and Blue; Gold-Hatted Gatsby; and The High-Bouncing Lover.

2. George Orwell’s publisher didn’t feel the title to Orwell’s novel The Last Man in Europe was terribly commercial and recommended using the other title he had been kicking around—1984.

3. Before it was Atlas Shrugged, it was The Strike, which is how Ayn Rand referred to her magnum opus for quite some time. In 1956, a year before the book was released, she decided the title gave away too much plot detail. Her husband suggested Atlas Shrugged and it stuck.

4. The title of Bram Stoker’s famous Gothic novel sounded more like a spoof before he landed on Dracula—one of the names Stoker considered was The Dead Un-Dead.

5. Ernest Hemingway’s original title for The Sun Also Rises was used for foreign-language editions—Fiesta. He changed the American English version to The Sun Also Rises at the behest of his publisher.

6. It’s because of Frank Sinatra that we use the phrase “Catch-22” today. Well, sort of. Author Joseph Heller tried out Catch-11, but because the original Ocean’s Eleven movie was newly in theaters, it was scrapped to avoid confusion. He also wanted Catch-18, but, again, a recent publication made him switch titles to avoid confusion: Leon Uris’ Mila 18. The number 22 was finally chosen because it was 11 doubled.

7. To Kill a Mockingbird was simply Atticus before Harper Lee decided the title focused too narrowly on one character.

8. An apt precursor to the Pride and Prejudice title Jane Austen finally decided on: First Impressions.

9. Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow? Secretly, apparently. Mistress Mary, taken from the classic nursery rhyme, was the working title for Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden.

10. Originally called Ulysses in Dublin, James Joyce’s Dubliners featured characters that would later

Read the full text here: http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/70037#ixzz22JkUB3Cm
–brought to you by mental_floss!

http://www.mentalfloss.com/blogs/archives/70037

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 208

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Some people will get along once you sit both of them down and help them see that their difference can help them if they want to. I have 2 amazing daughter who at times don’t get along because they both focus on their negative qualities too much. My daughters are as different as sand paper is to cotton. Years ago I saw this and I knew it would be their stumbling block. Today I sat them down and I explained that each could take from the other; my oldest daughter is verbal, strongly opinionated and out going. My 2nd daughter is quiet, reserved and shy. So I told the oldest one to learn to be a bit reserved and I told my second daughter to stop worrying so much about people’s opinions and be more out going. See, I believe we were all put in this life to learn from one another.

I once told a woman  I wished I was more like her because she was always quiet. She looked at me in amazement and she said that she wished she were more like me; outgoing and confident. You never know how you affect a person. Since that day I quit trying to be something other than what God made me.

This poem, another one of my edits from my new book soon to be released, Salsa! The Taste of Life, is a brief observation on love. I hope you appreciate it and I look forward to your feed back.

Amor

True love is when it’s not about you.

True love knows how to bow out gracefully.

True love is me, reassuring the well-being of both our souls.

True love is knowing when to speak and when to be quiet.

True love is not pushy or antsy,

True love doesn’t care about fancy.

-Eva Santiago Copyright 2012

365 Snap Shots of Life: Day 207

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Good Morning! Today I will share a short poem I wrote for my book, Salsa! the Taste of Life. I keep saying it will be out soon, and just hang in there with me because I tell you, “birthing” a book IS a process!  Happy Wednesday and I hope you like my post for today! Life is too short, smile at a stranger, open the door for someone and call that friend you haven’t heard from in a while. Yes, it may be their turn to call you, but so what? Don’t keep score, call them anyway and make their day! 🙂

 

Words Are Swords

 

Words are swords

Some are sharp

And some are shrill—

As the sound of a drill.

It takes talents and skill,

To say the right words;

To bring life and encourage,

But never to kill.

 

 

Words are swords;

Double edged and ready to go.

Use them every day and everywhere.

Pick them as a warrior,

With much thought and care.

 

 

Words are swords.

Don’t ever waste them.

Learn how to use them,

To make friends,

To soothe your foes.

-Eva Santiago copyright 2012