Writer Spotlight: N. N. Canales
Name :: N. N. Canales
Content Title :: Sometimes I Don't Love My Mother
In the Author's Words :: My genre is dramatic fiction. At a young age something inside me told me I would one day write a book, and, at the time, it seemed ridiculous because I didn't know how. Now I've written that book, but I'm not writer; I just thought I had a compelling story to tell.
With permission I have been allowed to share this copyrighted work with you on my site. Please contact the author through their website before using any of the work seen here.
Content Sample ::
He left the shower within ten minutes and disappeared back downstairs. I felt like the star in someone else's movie. Jack obviously had no idea where I'd been, and it was perfectly apparent I had actually gotten away with cheating on him. Still, when his hands were firmly latched onto my hips, and he inside me, with every push of his pelvis, it seemed as if he was trying to tell me something, wanted something to remain in the air between us long after he was gone, silently telling me no matter what, I was still his; that he owned me, could plunge himself into me whenever he liked.
Deep down I think he must have known, or at least suspected, I had been
with another man. Maybe he wouldn't allow himself to know. I let the hot water run over my body for a long time, turning in my head over and over again the events of the evening. I didn't know who I was anymore. Yet the lack of guilt I felt let me know I would never be the same. I could allow myself to lie, to cheat, to be selfish, doing it all without remorse.
Was it revenge that I had really been after?
Now, was I no better, not different from Jack? I had always thought of myself in the most simplistic of ways, as just a nice girl. I wondered how God was going to make me pay.
I sat at the top of the steps, which seemed like the top of a dreary mountain, at the time. I felt queasy staring at the stair steps winding their way down to the bottom. The cordless phone I'd just used to call my dad was still gripped tightly in my hand. If I let it go, my link to the outside world, my father and his words, would be gone. So I sat there for what must have been an hour as the sun went down. And then I was sitting in the dark. The quietness of the house broke my strength and caused my tears to fall, and I, for the first time in a long time, was truly regretful and sorrowful.
I thought about how overrated success is, or maybe I hadn't succeeded at all. All I knew was I felt alone, and it didn't matter that I was done with that school, had overcome all the curves it could throw at me, could finally go to that goddamn state exam. What did it all mean when there wasn't anyone, or even a man, I truly loved there with me to share my success? Jack had been gone for two months, and I'd hardly missed him the first week. It was as if he'd never been there, had never been my lover, never been my friend, never really known me at all, since I was now and had become court reporting. After all, I still had the house, or so I thought.
(Read a special snippet of the book you won't see anywhere else!)
Where can readers purchase your books or content? ::
http://www.mcnallyjackson.com/bookmachine/sometimes-i-dont-love-my-mother-n-n-canales
Your favorite author (s)? :: Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Wally Lamb, Johnathan Franzen, Toni Morrison, etc.
Any tips for aspiring writers? :: Stick to it. Took me 15 years to get my work out.
Right now you can only get this book on :: Mcnallyjackson.com
Follow the author on Twitter
Content Title :: Sometimes I Don't Love My Mother
In the Author's Words :: My genre is dramatic fiction. At a young age something inside me told me I would one day write a book, and, at the time, it seemed ridiculous because I didn't know how. Now I've written that book, but I'm not writer; I just thought I had a compelling story to tell.
So what's it about? :: Sunny Beach, Sydney Greene's fictional home, is a town of irony, more metaphor and paradox than a finger of sand along the ocean. Caught in the emotional crossfire between an adoring father and vapid mother, she is forced to navigate the perilous path of childhood, adolescence and adulthood with one parental arm tied behind her back.
The book's title is at times a statement, mission statement, and battle cry.
(18+ adult content)
Genre- Dramatic New Adult Fiction The book's title is at times a statement, mission statement, and battle cry.
(18+ adult content)
With permission I have been allowed to share this copyrighted work with you on my site. Please contact the author through their website before using any of the work seen here.
He left the shower within ten minutes and disappeared back downstairs. I felt like the star in someone else's movie. Jack obviously had no idea where I'd been, and it was perfectly apparent I had actually gotten away with cheating on him. Still, when his hands were firmly latched onto my hips, and he inside me, with every push of his pelvis, it seemed as if he was trying to tell me something, wanted something to remain in the air between us long after he was gone, silently telling me no matter what, I was still his; that he owned me, could plunge himself into me whenever he liked.
Deep down I think he must have known, or at least suspected, I had been
with another man. Maybe he wouldn't allow himself to know. I let the hot water run over my body for a long time, turning in my head over and over again the events of the evening. I didn't know who I was anymore. Yet the lack of guilt I felt let me know I would never be the same. I could allow myself to lie, to cheat, to be selfish, doing it all without remorse.
Was it revenge that I had really been after?
Now, was I no better, not different from Jack? I had always thought of myself in the most simplistic of ways, as just a nice girl. I wondered how God was going to make me pay.
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I sat at the top of the steps, which seemed like the top of a dreary mountain, at the time. I felt queasy staring at the stair steps winding their way down to the bottom. The cordless phone I'd just used to call my dad was still gripped tightly in my hand. If I let it go, my link to the outside world, my father and his words, would be gone. So I sat there for what must have been an hour as the sun went down. And then I was sitting in the dark. The quietness of the house broke my strength and caused my tears to fall, and I, for the first time in a long time, was truly regretful and sorrowful.
I thought about how overrated success is, or maybe I hadn't succeeded at all. All I knew was I felt alone, and it didn't matter that I was done with that school, had overcome all the curves it could throw at me, could finally go to that goddamn state exam. What did it all mean when there wasn't anyone, or even a man, I truly loved there with me to share my success? Jack had been gone for two months, and I'd hardly missed him the first week. It was as if he'd never been there, had never been my lover, never been my friend, never really known me at all, since I was now and had become court reporting. After all, I still had the house, or so I thought.
©N.N. Canales
(Read a special snippet of the book you won't see anywhere else!)
What's on the Horizon? :: I am already preparing for the sequel.
Where can readers purchase your books or content? ::
http://www.mcnallyjackson.com/bookmachine/sometimes-i-dont-love-my-mother-n-n-canales
Your favorite author (s)? :: Steinbeck, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Wally Lamb, Johnathan Franzen, Toni Morrison, etc.
Any tips for aspiring writers? :: Stick to it. Took me 15 years to get my work out.
Right now you can only get this book on :: Mcnallyjackson.com
Follow the author on Twitter
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