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A New Year For Eden Lit

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Changes are the order of the day for 2013! Eden Lit is embracing the new year with passion and we are having a great time. We are 3 years old this year and it seems like time to make a few changes to the way we do things.

  Weird Sex Fact For January

Did you know that one simple way to increase the strength of your orgasm is to turn up the heat in your bedroom! Vasocongestion, or blood filling the tissues of the genitals, causes the most intense erotic sensations. The skin's response to heat is to bring blood to the surface of the skin. So if you are looking to heat things up in bed - turn up the heat in the bedroom!

  For The Love Of Writing: "Champagne Dellarose's Story"

Champagne Dellarose knew that her parents were hopeless. Look at the name they had hung around her neck when she was too small to properly protest! With a last name like Dellarose ANY name was going to sound like it belonged in a trashy romance novel. Having a mother that actually wrote trashy romance novels made the whole moniker a cruel joke.

For this reason, Cham was changing her name just as soon as she was financially able to! She had tried to live with it. She had tried "Page" but people started calling her "Pagne." It would have been OK if it didn't sound like "Pain." So Cham it was... just like her life. A big old hollow sham. She was nearly 20 years old and had never been kissed, despite the best efforts of her overly romantic minded mother.

Cham stood in the grocery aisle looking sourly at the newest offering from the mind of her mother. It was a sappy sob story about a wild west heroine who just needed a rugged cowboy type to sweep in and make everything all better. Cham was sure that bodices were going to be ripped and set ablaze, all described in flowery overly sensationalized words. Who actually read this crap? She picked up the paperback book and read the back description.

Abigail Chantilly – Innocence Forgotten

In the dark shadows, she slowly walks along the cracked sidewalk. Lost in her thoughts, her mind drifts back to long summer nights on the prairie.
Whistles from a passersby snaps her mind back. She pauses to light a cigarette. No longer the shy girl she once was, her life will never be the same. Never again to walk through the golden fields of grain, now her nights are filled with drinking and dancing. In a smokey dance hall, all of her innocence is forgotten.
With the twist of her shoe, she puts out her smoke and turns around. As she walks through the door her heart falls, “Good evening Miss. Abigail.” No longer Miss. Chantilly, the daughter of a wheat farmer, now she is the desire of many and the wife of none.

Holy cow, this was dark even for her mother! She turns the book over in her hands and stares at the cover art with a critical eye before placing the book back with the rest. Cham turned away from the swiveling display. When she reached the deli line, all the other customers eyed her, then shifted slightly, but noticeably away from the invisible storm cloud gathering in her thoughts.

"I know what you mean," said a man behind her. "Romance novels, right? Sorry, I don't mean to pry. I saw you looking at the books. Your face hasn't changed since you left the rack."

Cham turned, prepared to tell the man to mind his own business, but stopped short. He was in his late 20's, dressed in a dark suit with a curiously bright yellow tie, black glasses, and polished shoes. His eyes were a slivery blue that stood out under his dark brow. The man that stood before her was clearly intelligent. She didn't know how she knew that, but something about him betrayed an easy personality with a mind that was always at work.

"It was one of my mother's books," she said. Easy, safe, unoffensive.

"Oh? Your mother reads those?" He raised his eyebrows.

Cham knew exactly what he was thinking. He was trying to size her up. How much of a catch could she be if her mother read romance novels?

"No, she writes them. That is, literally, one of her books." Cham immediately covered her face. She didn't want him thinking that her mother read those books, but writing them is so much better?

"Sometimes, they're quite good," the man said. "Sometimes they are a guilty pleasure of mine. Mind you, most of the time they are crap, but occasionally..." His voice trailed off and he waved his hand in the air.

"Does your wife mind you reading her books?"

"Not married. No girl friend, either, if that's your next question. Completely unattached."

Cham shifted her weight. "Are you hitting on me?"

"That depends," the man said. "Do you want to be hit on?"

"NEXT!" called the deli manager, and everyone moved up a step. Cham was silent for a minute, pretending to study the lunch meats before her turn came.

"I'm pretty sure they warned me against men like you in school," Cham muttered.

"'Never let school get in the way of your education.' Albert Einstein."

"Did you just quote Einstein to me?"

"Would you rather me quote Feynman?"

Cham's eyes went wide. She almost felt like her pupils dilated in awe of this man. "You know Feynman?"

"I do," he said. An easy, comfortable smile crossed his face. "Marshall. Marshall August," he said, holding out his hand. "Look, this is going to sound corny, and perhaps a little crazy, but there's something in you I like. Here's my card. It has my cell phone number. If you want to get together and talk more about Feynman and Einstein over, say, dinner... or coffee?... give me a call. No pressure."

Cham stared at the card. Wow, she thought. Just wow.

Champagne regularly went to the local park to write her poetry. The park was small, gritty and slightly dingy which made a perfect contrast to the warm, balmy weather of Southern California. It allowed her to see past the bright sun to the dark shadow behind it.

People seemed to like her work, though it was a complete contrast to her California girl look. She loved seeing the shock in their eyes as they read all about her dark seedy thoughts, after watching her bounce up with her long blonde hair and wide blue eyes. She even had freckles for goodness sake, she was so different from the pale, black haired and disaffected teens that usually wrote her brand of poetry.

She turned the pages of her poetry notebook and slowly read some of the better ones to herself. She chuckled as she realized her character names were surprisingly similar to her mother's characters. Maybe the apple really didn't fall far from the tree!

Scarlet Theriot was wise beyond her years,
First love and Heartbreak helped her get there.
Dean Lancaster ended up bringing her to tears,
How could this happen; this is so unfair.

The first time she give her heart up,
She was a young school girl.
Impress the boy she thought "buy a push-up,"
He will be sure to give this girl a whirl.

Unknowing to Scarlet, Dean was more interested in fame,
making a bet with his best friend Drake Shepherd.
This is not only a bet but a hard love game,
"Bet you I can make her my lovebird".

Scarlet's wildest dreams came true,
Her first love loves her too.
Oh if she only had a clue,
His love for her was untrue.

Less than 24 hours goes by,
Drake was Scarlet's friend too.
How guilty he felt when he made her cry,
Drake knew he needed to fix this issue.

Now with a scolded heart and hard lessons learned,
She's now stronger and wiser than ever.
So thank you Dean for leaving me burned,
You ended up being nothing but a buster.

Scarlet is now wise beyond her heart,
Play hard to get she had to learn.
It's a good start,
Put a stop to this heartbreak pattern.

Cham sat for a moment and remembered the day she had written this poem. She had just listened to her best friend bemoaning the awful treatment she had received from a potential soul mate. The poem really did seem to capture the pathos of love lost and how cruel people could be.
On the next page she noticed the little spots where the page had gotten wet. Writing poetry in the rain is a tricky business. Still it was a good poem...

At the moment of meeting my love the first time,
She slowly approaches me with a soft wisp of wind
Flowing in her long sickly hair.

That second of washing her hair
A chill goes down my spine, that moment I felt frozen
As her eye's become grasp of mine.

Then as she said, "Hi, nice to finally meet you."
I replied, "I feel the same."
I stumbled over my own words.

As we got into the elevator of my apartment building
She looked into my eyes then said, "I've been wanting to do this for sometime."
She pushed me against the wall of the elevator and kissed me
In a passionate way to make me melt.

Today, however, Cham was having trouble peering into the heart of darkness. Last night Marshal had taken her to a new club on the outskirts of town and danced her feet off! Maybe she could write something about the dangers of high heels and the necessity of making ones self look like a rack of meat on sale...

His name is Drake Shepherd, the love of my life.
I knew when I saw him I'd soon be his wife.

He turned to me with a gleam in his eye,
he put out his hand and said "I'll be your guy."

I grabbed his hand and he led me to the floor.
We danced all night, but it felt like much more.

The feeling in my stomach so amazing and strong.
Could he be the one I've been searching for all along?

OH MY GOD! What was WRONG with her? This wasn't the stark reality piece she was looking for! This....this was syrupy, chirpy, full of life, in short it was HAPPY.
Cham smiled softly, frowned sharply and then propped her chin on her hand to stare at two lovers walking hand in hand through the park.

  Obscure Vocabulary

Raconteur (noun)- One who tells stories and anecdotes with skill and wit.
[French, from raconter, to relate, from Old French : re-, re- + aconter, to count up, reckon; see account.]

The Eden Lit Club, as a whole, contains many raconteurs of considerable skill!

  Author Spotlight for January

Our spotlight author for January is Lickable Lollie. She burst onto the Eden Lit scene with a 5 poem collection and then wow'd us at the meeting with her skill of impromptu poetry writing! Her poems range from heartbreaking to soul searching and everything in between.

Here's one of the poems she graced us with:

My advice to everyone,
From young to old and frail,
That love is not an easy thing
Its meaning may become stale
Love is a rose in a garden of weeds
Sometimes strangled by its surroundings
With different wants and needs
Its subjects smiling or frowning
The thorns become the hard times
The deeper the more they hurt
But the color keeps its beauty
And the smell brings bees to flirt
The vibrant beauty shines
For everyone to see
But eventually the petals darken
And the beauty starts to flee
The petals drop
The leaves will fall
And the love
Will soon die off

Would you believe she wrote this in 8th grade? Neither did I! To read some more of her poetry check out the following poems posted on our forum:
Where I'm From
The Bar

Congratulations to yet another talented author! Keep on writing, and we'll keep right on reading.


Contributor: Rod Ronald

I really hope I can find the time to be a part of this. Sounds like loads of fun to me.



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