Pages

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Hive - Book Giveaway



B O O K    G I V E A W AY 


You've seen it on Amazon, you've seen the blurbs on my books page, and now you can read some excerpts/quotations on GoodReads.

I've never done a book giveaway before and I thought it would be fun to try. If you're interested in winning a free, signed copy, just write a comment below.  Include your name if you sign in as "anonymous."  I'll make a random draw on Friday morning, May 4th, 2012. Please check back on Friday to see if you're the winner!


I've posted the first few pages of the book below to give you a flavour for the writing.




E X C E R P T {from Hive: a forgery} :



And I decided at last I would pursue this thing that interested me, this mirage, really, that I longed for, that mattered in certain secret dimensions, and seemed like the sort of extravagant and gorgeous mess that would be accommodated, held, by the most fragrant unaffiliated dreams. These secrets that must dwell in particular dreams – the invisible, slow liquid centre you know is there because you taste it, develop a thick, honeyed hunger for it, even if you could not quite see it. Or if you did see, it slipped, dribbling, dabbling, too quickly from your lips, in your new licked clean, sweetened, stung, state of awake. Fake. Nectar-forged. Honeycombed. Sealed, unvanquished, open.   What I had become obsessed with was less of a thing, than the possibility of an existence. I was obsessed with the belief in a possible existence, in belief, in possibility, in dwelling, in the dome-shaped hive of her, in the hidden lost astray of her, in the burnished lemon honey dream vision. I was obsessed with the cadences, the wastes of the air, that surround and approach this belief. The howl and hum of clover like a naming of souls, the imbroglioed babble of bees deep within a flowering, a flowing, radiance, radiance, the scraped clarifying sound of certain footsteps, unlike waves crashing, collapsing, into a puddle reflecting a particular improvised universe, but not completely dissimilar either. The sound of a hog hair paintbrush rasping and sliding and scumble caressing paint onto panel, onto the bite of canvas. The hummingbird blink sound of a glass palette breaking. The development of trust in the sound of what resides in and repeats in a life, motifs, if you will. Rhythms, obsessions, attunements, leanings. A willingness to swim, listening to water, breath, stroke, alone. The development of a quirky, absent-minded attention to echoes, the pleasure in these, underwater echoes.
You could say I fell in love. And in falling in love I began to recognize a woman, hived. I fell in love with the hive, the dome-shaped hive, the dome-shaped hide, hive, home, hum, aum, murmur, surrounding her, with looking in, with the paper thin falseness of dreams, with this world, its tenuous dream crevices. The scent of beeswax, the sound-scent of a match casually struck, candles burning, beeswax melting, simmering, dripping, changing. I fell in love with the idea I could fall in love with myself, melt, change, that I could be loved, myself, that I could persuade, seduce, instigate, ignite, in another, the love in this belief, also mine. Meetings of souls, paintings of reveries and inwardness, piercing light, fibres of light reaching out to fibres of color-miraged light, the universe, pink tongue tip tasting Titian’s drapes. These could mean something to another as well. She. Me. Believers in belief. LoveBelief.
I had long been reading about art forgers, looking for a clue of sorts. For an after-image, an aura, a colour, a dream. Melting snow. A feather at rest atop a bowl of thinnest glass, above a well, of red melting snow. When I began I assumed I would eventually come across the story of a woman art forger. I’m still seeking, I’m looking - into the shattered mysteriousness surrounding such a fragile figure, into the well, those shards, into a furtive frailty. Could this very mysteriousness be painted and if so what colour would it be? What would it look like? What phantom she? Who am I? Who? I?
            I had come to believe in the possibility of this woman, this woman art forger. What if one begins with the premise, there is a great woman art forger? Why couldn’t she exist? How mad, though, is it to write about what may be? About maybe? About a possibility? The nest of possibilities. Especially when I do not want to prove her existence, per se? I want not to be the one who reveals, I won’t betray, I refuse betrayal, shrink from it, invisible myself. I want to unveil this set of eyes and that set, without unveiling, I won’t unveil the unveiling. I want to be the one who comes to an understanding of shadows, of forming meaning about the forger through a long thirsty look at hive-light. In my mind, she will never come forward. It’s a matter of how well, how diligently, how persuasively, one keeps secrets, a confidence, it’s a matter of how calmly one sits, in the middle of aglow, remains, in the face of treachery, in the fake of treachery, eachery, each one for herself, each self for her. You?
            Could something be gleaned by pretending, imagining, positing, talking about quietly, softly, aching arching angling angeling toward, humming and hiving toward, the mud and twig and dried grass whirl, the life of a woman who forges paintings? Could this mode of fabricating such a being, silent and hidden, be a mode of learning more about the relationship between the creative act and process, the life of a woman creating? Could it be an alternative? Could a belief in what may not exist be a productive stance? an artistic stance?

            How to believe? Behave? Beehive? Be hive?
            How not to betray?
            Live? Hive?

            She would not end up in attics, her paintings in attics, leaned against walls, their backs to us, they would not be wrapped up in well-creased oily brown paper, tied in string, twined, forgotten. They would not collect dust, be painted over, be destroyed. They would not be rolled up and placed under worn floral chesterfields. They would matter. Beyond matter. In realms, in dimensions, of colour, of light.
          I want to delve into the thickening surrounding the possibility of an invisible existence of a painter, a magician of sorts. I want to sit quietly with coffee cup balanced upon lipstick-smudged coffee cup, in the middle of my life, drinking, balancing, silent, solemn, looking at a wedge of lemon unwinding on the darkened edge, beside the sugar bowl that changes every day, I want to sit beside the creaking hinge looking at that wedge of light on the table, myself, the invisible core that goes anywhere. I want to be fragmentary, elusive, allusive, exulting in a thousand hallelujahs, enjoy what I do enjoy.    



24 comments:

  1. i was planning on purchasing the book, but since you are offering, i eagerly put forward my name as an honourable candidate to receive a free copy :)

    ReplyDelete
  2. I am absolutely in love with your writing, you capture every detail of everyday life and enhance it to some kind of wonderful inspiration. I love your blog! I do, I read it every day :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. Please add my name to the hat. I'm curious about your book, and applaud your courage in getting it out to readers.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Pick me! (But I will buy the book if I don't win...)

    ReplyDelete
  5. Alycia PirmohamedMay 1, 2012 at 8:36 AM

    What a cool idea, Shawna! You always do such great things through blogs.

    ReplyDelete
  6. Well, I hadn't heard of this book until Brenda S posted about this give-away on Facebook. And now I want it! So, pick me! Pick me!

    ReplyDelete
  7. Your book sounds wonderful and I enjoyed reading the excerpt. Wishing you every success with this new volume, I'm sure it's going to be a great success. Val Hearder, NS

    ReplyDelete
  8. Put me in the hat too, Shawna!

    ReplyDelete
  9. No pick me (Paul)! But I woo will buy the book if I don't win :)

    ReplyDelete
  10. My book is on the way, but I would love to surprise someone with a copy..... Fun idea, and thanks for the teaser, Shawna. Now into the hat with me!

    ReplyDelete
  11. A LeMay signed First Edition on my bookshelves? Get out of town!

    ReplyDelete
  12. i would love to be
    the happy owner of your beautiful and inspiring book!: )

    vibeke

    ReplyDelete
  13. I already ordered from Amazon--but a second book would make a geat gift--name in the hat please!

    ReplyDelete
  14. Shawna,I would love to have a copy of your book.I love the food for thought you bring out in all your creativity!Thank you for All that

    ReplyDelete
  15. Oops forgot to put my name Cat

    ReplyDelete
  16. I would love to win, but if not, going to purchase one anyway! Your writing, like your photography is artful and speaks to the heart.
    ~manywinters

    ReplyDelete
  17. Pick me, Shauna!

    Bzz,
    Jeff Carpenter

    ReplyDelete
  18. I was considering buying it but definitely worth entering!
    Thank you for this offer!

    Lauren.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Great idea Shawna. Thanks for the opportunity and for the excerpt!

    ReplyDelete
  20. Nice! Can't wait to get a copy regardless if I win (which I'd better) or not!

    ReplyDelete
  21. Exciting--what an opening passage, Shawna--the voice is so contemplative, intelligent, inviting, compelling...I suspect this will be one of those books I'll read a paragraph or two, a page or two, at a time--wanting to absorb it all, not wanting to finish too quickly.

    ReplyDelete
  22. Love your blog. The posts with your photographs and your words are very inspiring. I'm sure your book will be just as poetic, if not more. Thanks for uploading the first few pages of your book and the offer for a giveaway. Wish you all the very best.

    ReplyDelete

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...