Alright, I am now officially hopping off my arse and getting to serious work on our book. To recap, here’s the story so far…
On Kyotzeta’s one month birthday, I wrote that I had an as yet vague idea to publish some sort of collection or book to raise awareness of all kinds of abuse and try to give a voice to the silent ones as I’ve tried to do with my words for so long. I asked for contributions (non-monetary) to the book, in any form preferred…prose, poetry, photo, picture, etc. However, at the time, I had no idea what it would take to publish such a book, or even whether it should be free or have a minimal cost with all money donated to a charity…
Over the weeks since then, I’ve (slowly) researched and thought about it, and so far these are my conclusions. Since this is to be -our- book, if anyone has any comments, complaints, suggestions or just plain ideas, please please please feel free to comment below!
So what we have so far:
The book will be (tentatively) titled Bones of Ash, Heart of Glass, and will take the form of a free e-book that anyone can download. (Not sure about format, going to try to go for the publishing software/site that has the most choices and yet still allows free books) I’m -considering- setting up some sort of donation site as well, but that will be separate from the book if possible. (*sighs* Why is it so -complicated- to do something good??)
Of course, all submissions will be properly attributed, and submitters will have the option of writing a short descriptional blurb for an “Authors” page. On the other hand, all submissions -must- be your own intellectual property, or something you have permission to use in this fashion. I know this hardly needs said… 🙂
Submissions should be sent to my email, firstname.lastname@example.org, with “book submission’ in the title. I want to try to have this done by fall, if possible, hopefully coinciding with the new school year…so the sooner you get me your submissions the better…on the other hand, don’t rush. Hopefully once I start collecting and organizing my stuff I’ll have a better idea of what kind of timeline we’re looking at…
Hrrmm…I think that’s all I have for now, except to say Thank You for considering this project, I think we’re going to do wonderful things toward the ultimate goal…raising awareness of every facet of abuse, giving a voice to all the silent ones and hope to the hopeless. *hugs*
KC & Co.
Anansi the Poet has made an interesting offer that I wanted to make people aware of, as it’s an awesome way to contribute to one of our/my pet causes, Abuse Awareness. I’ll let him (via my shaky c&p skillz) speak for himself. Take it away, Aunt Nancy!
“For every comment (one per person per poem) I receive on posts this week (including yesterday’s), I will donate a dollar to the New York Center For Children.
They are an amazing organization right in my neighborhood and I urge you all to contribute as well (if you can manage, of course). Either way, you should check them out. And while I’m at it, support SummerSolstice if you can as well.
She is bravely working to become an Abuse Awareness facilitator, educating those who work with children about warning signs and support programs.”
Awesome, right? Get on over there and help him spend all his money, people! 😉
KC & Co.
Silent bedroom, the great divide,
though they still sleep side-by-side,
though he still turns and holds her tight,
claiming her all through the night,
murmuring dreams into her ear,
while she lays paralyzed by fear.
Silent kitchen, spotless clean,
glittering with an icy sheen,
gleaming light on spotless floor,
sharpness hidden in a drawer,
she hears them waiting, rustling,
she knows too well their deadly sting.
Silent parlor, dust free, still,
ceramic birds voice soundless trill,
cushions rise in lonely splendor,
old carpet lies in soft surrender,
witnesses to many an hour
of pain washed clean by sorrows shower.
Silent hallway, sunlit door,
colored beams on patterned floor,
front door, pathway to sunshine and life,
now hated gateway to anger and strife,
sound of door slamming brings sadness and fright,
his shadow looms large, erasing the light.
Silent woman, mask intact,
child inside by terror wracked,
head cast down to hide the eyes,
in hope that he won’t realize,
and seeing, take, and taking, kill,
so she remains, silent and still.