Tag Archives: New York

A paean to unsung heroes: girls who read | Welcome to a new friend: Kevin Brennan

What The Hell

Kevin Brennan Is Self-Publishing His New Novel

[Terry:  Who Isn’t?]

partsunknownI’m a novelist. Can’t help it. And when my first novel, Parts Unknown, was published by William Morrow in 2003, followed by the HarperCollins paperback in ‘04, I thought I could call myself that with no sense of irony or wannabe about it. Unfortunately, traditional trade publishing is a cutthroat business, and I haven’t been able to break through with a second contract in the intervening years — an all-too typical tale for mid-list, literary authors. Since 2004 I’ve had three different agents, four different books, and no takers.

Reluctantly, I’ve decided to experiment with self-publishing a new novel, Yesterday Road. There aren’t many avenues available to us indie writers who don’t intend to stop writing just because the desk jockeys in New York aren’t big on second chances, but the new possibilities of self-publishing (or “direct-to-reader” if you prefer), especially with the growing success of ebooks, offer us a way to find an audience, even if we’re forced into activities we’re not completely comfortable with to sell our work. Marketing, platform-building, social media, “putting ourselves out there.” It is daunting, fraught with obstacles, and probably next to impossible, but it’s the only route we have if we want our stuff read by others. If writing isn’t just a pleasant hobby, you need those eyeballs.

Here, with What The Hell: Kevin Brennan Is Self-Publishing His New Novel, I’ll be describing my preparations and research, laying down my impressions of the business of self-publishing, and offering whatever I can in the way of advice for other writers considering this option. If all goes well, I plan to publish the book in the fall of ‘13.

I must confess that I’m going in with low expectations but plenty of last-chance determination. There’s no reason not to do the last possible thing you can do. And if this doesn’t work out, at least I can look my fifty-something mug in the mirror and say I tooks my shot.

As they used to say in old Rome, Disce pati. Learn to endure.

Horace Silver

This is a long clip, but treat yourself at least to a sampling. Silver is such a unique-looking guy — a fin-de-siècle vampire who happens to be slick as hell on the keys. In some shots you can see his perspiration dropping onto his hands as he plays. And check out the superb drumming, by Billy Cobham, and the harmonies created by those two horns. Just about as sweet as it gets in music.

Love and Peace: A Tribute to Horace Silver

To me, this performance embodies all that jazz is. Silver is both there and not there, existing on the plane of his improvisation. The playing is freewheeling but highly structured, and the whole quintet is like a perpetual motion machine composed of completely independent elements connected by nothing but thought.

Horace Silver (Horace Ward Martin Tavares Silva to his mom) is a real master. And any guy who writes a song called “Filthy McNasty” is okay in my book.

Buy Parts Unknown

I’ve also located a terrific reading group guide for the book. You can get it here.

Our Children Are Not Our Children

Our Children new 3
Poet Kahlil Gibran has said, Your children are not your children. In this collection of short-shorts, Kevin Brennan (Parts Unknown) turns that simple idea on its head with five case studies in bad parenting. From a father who won’t pull over to let his boy pee on the roadside to a couple who unwisely lock their twin toddlers in a closet all day while they’re at work, these parents embody the adage that it takes a village — to save innocent kids from idiots like them!

Available for 99 cents from:


Barnes & Noble




When a Delhi journo joins New Yorker, it’s news | Catching up with old friends: sans serif

the news. the views. the juice.

When a Delhi journo joins New Yorker, it’s news

10 October 2013


India’s bankrupt politicians routinely detect a “foreign hand” behind every disaster that befalls the nation. The Indian media, on the other hand, has been somewhat blessed to benefit from foreign hands on the deck.

Caravan the defunct-fortnightly from the Delhi Press group which was reborn as The Caravan of longform journalism three years ago was particularly lucky to have Jonathan Shainin on its ranks early on.

After seeing The Caravan through its infancy, Shainin, a former fact-checker at The New Yorker magazine, returned to his alma mater as news editor of its website this week.

Below is the full text of the email shot off by Caravan‘s executive editor Vinod K. Jose, announcing Shainin’s exit.


Dear Team,

This coming week, our dear colleague, Jonathan Shainin is moving back to New York. Jonathan joined by the end of the first year of relaunched Caravan, and is heading home after a very memorable, and extremely productive 3 years with us. The time and attention that he has given to the stories he edited is remarkable, and if anyone ever pays attention to the institutional history of Caravan, Jonathan’s role will be remembered and celebrated with reverence.

In 2009 and 2010, from the period I call the “guerrilla operation phase,” the staff whose strength was in single digits, we have today come a long way with the magazine/brand becoming the outcome of a massive amount of collective editorial energy of 25 people.

The number of editors, and staff writers have gone up, and the family of freelancers and contributing editors have grown as well.

With Jonathan’s impending departure, more associate editors had joined close to a year in advance, and we are right now in the process of hiring more editors to increase the level and quality of attention a piece/writer gets. The more the torch-bearers of the particular Caravan editing and writing philosophy we produce, the more stable the space of longform narrative journalism in India becomes.

In the same vein, I also wanted to celebrate the small, but meaningful flame of good ethical journalism that Caravan was instrumental in doing, which to me worked hand-in-hand with the longform identity we created in the craft space; here again, Jonathan was such an uncompromising editor, and I wish everyone who comes and joins us/after us always build on the hard work/careful walking we have managed all these years, and between us, right now, we shall remind each other how we need to help each other in making the flame retain its virility, and get bigger and bigger if possible in the years to come.

I wish Jonathan a wonderful future ahead, both professionally and personally.

Vinod K. Jose

via When a Delhi journo joins New Yorker, it’s news | sans serif.

[Terry: Feel free to disagree but over these long years since my parents bought me my first subscription at age 16, I’ve

The New Yorker

The New Yorker (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

come to realize that all the news you really need to survive is in The New Yorker and WIRED magazines.]

A Stairway To Fashion | Welcome to a new friend: Raluca Stoica

A Stairway To Fashion

What really is fashion?

Well…..i think that through fashion we give a definite shape of what we are, it reflects our  personality and character, it influents our mood and gives form of our feelings.

Discovering fashion helps finding out what your style is, and thats what is all about! Style! Style makes us unique. In the end fashion is what suites you better, what gives you confidence, what makes you feel beautiful and happy – a way of life, at a given time.

No need of being a slave of trends but finding your path in a world where “different” is awesome, and fashion gives you the means to do whatever you want, to use your imagination as you please, a place where dreams and creation meet.

It’s about finding your genuine uniqueness, no matter where you are coming from and where you are going to, no matter what you do for a living or the age!

Just discover yourselves! Let’s do that together!

My best thoughts for you guys,

Raluca Stoica

About | A Stairway To Fashion.

A Blast Of The Best-Vanity Fair September 2013 Issue

Mario Testino, Sienna Miller and Stella Tennant-Vanity Fair September 2013

Mario Testino, Sienna Miller and Stella Tennant-Vanity Fair September 2013

Chloe Sevigny and Poppy Delevingne-Vanity Fair September 2013

Chloe Sevigny and Poppy Delevingne-Vanity Fair September 2013

Much more of the good life- click here

Summer Comes To An End

As i woke up this morning and gazed  out of my window i saw tiny raindrops falling down on the roofs in a shy attempt to let us know that autumn is here. The city is still half asleep, trams are taking their courses clanking lazy on the streets that all of a sudden look different, cabs are waiting silently for the  hasty clients, threatening clouds are crowding to cover the city and there is the almost imperceptible wind, yet strong enough to shake down the dead leafs. I hit my rumbling coffee maker and the familiar sound is music to my ears, nothing like the smell of freshly made coffee in the morning and a delicious full of calories chocolate muffin that im planning to work of at my Pilates course later on, but then again it is weekend, the last summer weekend and i intend to enjoy it as much as i can. As i grab a satisfied bite, put on a casual light cardigan, rain stops and sun invades my house, but  its power is diminished, the light is different and those clouds don’t look like they want to go away. Well, autumn is here alright, nature is showing it and i didn’t realize the change until this particular morning. I’m ok with that. After all, seasons change. So do cities. People come into your life and people go. For most of us holidays are over, for others they just begin. New York in autumn is the perfect break, is at its best during the cool crisp days of autumn. Nowhere else will you have more fun in autumn, there is so much to look at, even when you are just taking a walk down a residential block, or Fifth Avenue, Madison Avenue or Broadway, in a comfortable pair of shoes and simply sightseeing. Besides, the city hosts the most irresistible events and exhibitions now than at any other time of year.

Central Park In Autumn

Central Park In Autumn

Japan also draws a large number of travelers to “famous koyo spots” both in the mountains and in the cities. Each year, starting mid September, the “koyo front” slowly moves from the northern island of Hokkaido until it reaches the lower elevations of central and southern Japan towards the end of November. Some trees around Tokyo and Kyoto stay colorful into early December. The Japanese autumn is what cherry blossoms are to spring.


Koishikawa Korakuen

Bipolar, asexual, vegetarian, poststructuralist, pantheist nihilist. Professional poet and french toast connoisseur.|Welcome to a new friend: Ian Stewart Black

[Terry: Now, Mr. Black clearly knows his iambs from his pentams. This is like reading Tennyson. I bow to his incredible endurance. I couldn’t write one of these damn poems and Ian seems to have an endless supply.]

Ian Stewart Black

Bipolar, asexual, vegetarian, poststructuralist, pantheist nihilist. Professional poet and french toast connoisseur.
General penhandler, Sonneteer, Philosopher, Haijin, Writer and byronic hero… with a penchant for waistcoats.

I have readers from the UK, Washington, Ontario, Ireland, Australia, Wisconsin, Maryland, Singapore, New York, Ohio, Kentucky, Minesota, Korea, Illinois, British Columbia, Maine, Michigan, California, France, Georgia, North Carolina, Arizona, Bulgaria, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, India, Singapore, Japan, Lebanon, New Zealand, Thailand, Macedonia, Austria, Pakistan, Brazil, Norway, Serbia, Turkey, Spain, South Africa, The United Arab Emirates, Nevada & beyond.

via About | Ian Stewart Black.

Gods And Monsters

by ianblackpoet

A legion’s worth held mastery of death:
Immortal warriors and prophet kings
Arose from tragedy with sword in hand,
Divinely sheltered from the cold embrace;
In vanity, their legacies were sealed,
In monuments to glorify their names:
Each mortal soul became a deity,
Eternity was theirs alone to claim.
As decades burned away to cinders, ash
Descending from beneath immortal crowns,
The arrogance of those who cheated death
Belied the sunken eyes of mortal age:
Defiant in the hands of destiny,
Appointed gods and sons of Narcissus
May conquer all that rules the land or sea,
But never Death: for none shall master me.

For none shall master me thus many serve,
And countless beg before the tide of fate:
As they implore the ocean to recall
Its pitiless advance – they perish, all.
The silver-tongued and taciturn contend
Voracious waves that billow overhead,
Descending to the reaper’s murky depths:
The darkness from wherein no light returns.
As lovers, friends and worshippers beseech
An act of mercy from the stoic sea:
So too the bonds of man petition Death,
And neither care nor mercy find in me.
With such an act of love our tale begins,
And how it ends is yet a mystery;
By way of counsel, I have only this:
Your guide is Death himself – abandon hope!


With this renunciation of the love
The sundered pair had cherished all their lives,
The murky ghost of Beatrice dissolved
Once more amid the endless mist of Death;
The smoke in spirals wrapped its way around
The loathsome raider of our ancient realm:
Constricting him and seeping through his flesh
To work its rightful poison from within;
His frame began to wither, and his skin
Became as pale as drifting clouds that veil
A waning moon: a century befell
His body in an instant of decay;
As if to vindicate his wickedness
And justify his evils, he announced
“A life without a love is living death”,
And dissipated through Oblivion.

No gloried soul that walks upon the earth,
Nor gods and monsters live eternally:
For any fool may rule the land or sea,
But never Death – for none shall master me!


by ianblackpoet

We wayward heirs
Are each an ember,
Risen skyward
From the ashes of
A better world.

Cast over oceans,
At the mercy
Of the winds of fate;
And if we fall,
We fall together.

I really like Ryan Gosling. | Welcome to a new friend : catscaffeinecake


I’m Summer. I’m a Tar Heel and a fangirl. More importantly, I’m a Christian and a singer. Obviously, I write. I’m obsessed with languages, I’m learning Italian and German, and I would probably go mental without punk rock music.

“The great religious struggle is not fought on a spectacular battleground, but within the ordinary human heart, when every morning we awake and feel the pressures of the day crowding in on us, and we must decide what sort of immortals we wish to be.” – Kathleen Norris

Check out my professional website:

I have some articles at

Coming soon: Blog post for She Has Worth. Just waiting on the website to get back running.

via catscaffeinecake | I really like Ryan Gosling..


To never travel is to never live.

Places to go, things to see.

  • ACL Music Festival- Austin, Texas

  • Bonnaroo Music Festival- Manchester, Tennessee

  • Disney World- Orlando, Florida

  • Lollapalooza Music Festival- Chicago, Illinois

  • Peanut Butter and Company Sandwich Shop and Store- New York

  • A concert in Madison Square Gardens- New York, New York

  • Universal Studios and Harry Potter World- Orlando, Florida

  • Washington, DC

  • Times Square on New Year’s Eve- New York, New York

  • Los Angeles, California

  • Georgetown Cupcake- NYC, DC, & LA

  • Sydney, Australia

  • New York City

  • A cruise to the islands- Grand Cayman Islands and Cozumel, Mexico

  • London, England

  • A cruise to Alaska

  • Everywhere in Italy

  • Disneyland- Anaheim, California

  • Niagara Falls

  • Busch Gardens- Williamsburg, Virginia

  • The Olympics

  • Oktoberfest- Germany

  • To see the Northern Lights

  • Coachella- Indio, CA

  • Kanrocksas Music Festival- Kansas

  • Voodoo Fest- New Orleans, LA

    Jesus in the City

  • 386348_2338953716800_1571344062_n



    I met awesome people. I made lifelong friends. I’ll never forget what I learned here.

    And I’m absolutely going back.


  • It’s finally New York week!!!! Five more full days, six more nights until we head to the city. Getting so excited. Asking for prayers tonight for the following: I pack the correct things, I get enough sleep this week to be FULLY ready to serve, and I’ll have a sufficient amount of caffeine in me for the next two weeks to properly survive. ❤ all of you


  • We’re two days away! I couldn’t be more excited. I made a packing list today and if I remember everything, I’ll be ready to go bright and early Saturday morning! Three cheers for Manhattan.


  • All packed and ready to go. 6:45 am wake up. 8 am departure.

The Rest of the Story Click HERE

Dear Aerie,

Dear Aerie,

Recently, your ad interrupted by viewing of Pretty Little Liars. Yes, it’s a secret addiction. I guess it’s not a secret anymore.

So. There was this pretty blonde girl with flowing, perfectly wavy strands.

Also she had a pillow.

Also she was in her underwear.

I guess it’s a “cute” ad? Maybe guys would like it.

As for me, I laughed. There were just a few things wrong with your ad, and I’d like to address those right now.

  1. If I were to sit at home alone on my bed with no pants, I guarantee my hair wouldn’t look like that. Also, my abs would not be visible because, dude, dessert. I mean, duh. Also, no makeup, whaddup lazy.

  2. Do people really match their bra and undies? If I were to do that, I’d feel like I had life perfectly figured out and it’s super obvious that I don’t. I find it an accomplish just to put on a bra, let alone make it match my other underclothes. (Is underclothes an actual word? I was unaware until this moment.)

    [Yes, cats, “underclothes” is a word but only applies to women in the 15th Century and before.]

Art Is Calling For Me « Catching up with Charlotte Hoather

Art Is Calling For Me

August 9, 2013  

I would love to dedicate this post and these songs to my Mum who has her birthday later this week. She has always been an inspiration to me and my very best friend, although she will probably kill me when she sees that I have put this picture of us both on my blog :)

via Art Is Calling For Me « Charlotte Hoather.


I have been working on ‘Art is Calling for Me’ for several years now, I have always imagined that I was a Princess and I when I first heard this song I just had to learn it :)

I used to get the cute factor when I was belting it out when I was thirteen but as each year has gone by all of my vocal teachers have expected improvements, extra frills, trills and as you watch it you’ll see what I mean, more character. I’m still working on that and there is still more comedic acting I could do, space allowing.


Russell Lomas, Charlotte Hoather and Colin Blamey ( Clarinet )

I have two versions of this recording, the first at Lytham Assembly rooms on 2nd August 2013, with the beautiful piano accompaniment of Russell Lomas, who was the former Head of Accompaniment at Chetham’s School of Music until his retirement in 2003, he was the only accompanist to appear on at least one televised programme in every series of the BBC TV Young Musician of the Year competition between the first year of the competition 1978 and 2004, Russell graduated from the Royal Manchester College of Music with a distinction in both Performers and Teachers Diplomas and was awarded the Ricordi Prize for Accompaniment.

The second recording was during my concert at St Mary’s Cathedral in Edinburgh on Monday 5th August, with Marcus Kitchen accompanying me on this complicated piano piece, he also did a fabulous job and it was a newly learned piece for him.

I just could not decide between the two which one to post for you to watch. So I’ve decided to put both on in this post; let me know which yo

Undated photo of Victor Herbert (1859-1924), A...

Undated photo of Victor Herbert (1859-1924), American composer, cellist and conductor (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

u prefer and I’ll put the one with the most votes on to my performance (videos and recordings) page :)

Art is Calling For Me (I want to be a Prima Donna) is from the Broadway Comic Opera ‘The Enchantress’ (Victor Herbert / Harry B Smith). First performed in 1911 in the New York Theatre, New York. The style of the piece is ‘Romantic’.

I absolutely love this piece of music, I feel it was written for me :) even though I can only dream of being a Princess.

First Version

Letters From a Murderer by John Matthews |Coming Soon from

New York, 1891. A new breed of cop for a new breed of killer…

The first in a series of hard-boiled New York Victorian mysteries, featuring Finley Jameson & Joseph Argenti.

If Arthur Conan Doyle had been asked to write a sequel to Gangs of New York, then this would be it. Letters From a Murderer by John Matthews

“One genius criminal profiler. One ruthless, streetwise cop. Both will need all their wits to capture the most notorious killer of all time.”

New York, 1891. A prostitute is found brutally murdered. The victim bears the same hallmarks as a notorious recent killing spree in England. Could it be that killer has crossed the Atlantic to fresh killing grounds? Or is this simply a copycat murder? Fear spreads through a city already rife with cut-throat gangs, corruption and vice. Aristocratic English pathologist, Finley Jameson, is teamed up with Joseph Argenti, a streetwise New York cop, to solve the case. But as the body-count rises and the killer taunts his pursuers in open letters, Jameson & Argenti find themselves fighting not just to prevent yet more victims, but also to save the city’s very soul.

via Letters From a Murderer by John Matthews |

Check it out! Olivia Slocum’s #new #novel – Dawning

The Claymore and Surcoat

And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. ~ Fredrich Nietzsche

[Terry: A very special Welcome to Olivia Slocum, who is already on the Friends of Hey Sweetheart but has been cruelly ignored over the past weeks. In recompense, a big shout-out to the debut of her first novel!]

And Finally the Sun has Dawned over the Horizon (otherwise known as the official release of my novel)

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000026_00024]I’ve never liked beating my own drum, but as writers we have no choice. So I will make my own drum roll here as I announce that Dawning (which many of you have heard SOOOOOO much about that you’re either waiting in eager anticipation, or you’re ready to smack me up-side the head) has now gone live.

Scotland, 1599 . . .  He abandoned her. She had failed to be enough for him. The empty space he left behind hollowed out her heart, and she wondered what to do with the rest of her life.

When Ronan leaves the clan to seek his fortune, Triona MacAlastair fears she will never see him again. Four years later, a threat against her life forces her to depend on a mysterious, cloaked rogue known as Blackhawk.

She knows he is capable of protecting her, but what is he hiding? Why does he refuse to show his face?    

So, everyone do me a huge favor, since my future sanity depends on it, and BUY MY BOOK. RIGHT NOW. GO ON. CLICK THE LINK…. Oh, sorry, I had a little mental slip there. Please forgive me, I will be normal now.


$2.99 a download. If you don’t have a Kindle, amazon has an app that will allow you to download it to a variety of devices.

So what are you waiting for?

And now, in order to keep up my status as an obsessive Sherlock fangirl. As well as to draw more female attention to this post:

Ben Cumberbatch says: “Buy Olivia’s book.”

via And Finally the Sun has Dawned over the Horizon otherwise known as the official release of my novel | The Claymore and Surcoat.

Olivia Stocum

If you’re reading this, then you’re wondering who I am. So here you go.

I live in New York state with my husband, three children, and our Jack Russell Terror. Oh, sorry, I meant Terrier. I’m a Celtic musician and love folk rhythms. Growing up, I rode horses and shot a bow, and generally lived in my own little world where I had adventures with Robin Hood.

My novel, Dawning, can be found on amazon in kindle or paperback.

Tìoraidh an-dràsta (bye for now)

And There It Is – Dawning On Amazon

Welcome to a new friend: Miss Lou – Miss Lou Aquiring Lore

Miss Lou Aquiring Lore

Gallery of Life…

via What about me? | Miss Lou Aquiring Lore.

Introducing me!

Click here to tell me about you!

Lou Lou collage

 I cook (not very well) and I like to put green grapes and bacon into my salads (together).

I enjoy learning about life and the way people work through their stuff(s)!

I also have stuff, and sometimes I write about it too.

I really like shoes and I have lots of them!

If you have made it here, then you have used your time to read my blog. Thanks for that. Time is the most precious gift, something we can never get back. Please take some time  to comment too.

Miss Lou

Welcome to a new friend: Michael S. Fedison–Eye-Dancers


A site devoted to the Young Adult sci-fi/fantasy novel The Eye-Dancers

via Eye-Dancers | A site devoted to the Young Adult sci-fi/fantasy novel The Eye-Dancers.

Welcome to The Eye-Dancers

Hello!  The Eye-Dancers is a Young Adult sci-fi/fantasy novel,  now available as an e-book.  As the author, I have decided to create this little space on the Web.  It is my hope that this platform will be a meeting place for people to talk about, critique, and learn more about the book.  And also a place where other topics are discussed as well, from comic books to the Twilight Zone, from creative writing to quantum physics, from personal memories to short stories and many things in between!  Hopefully there is something here to interest everyone . . .

The story of The Eye-Dancers takes place in western New York State, where I was born and spent the first twenty-five years of my life.  Many of the characters, events, locations, and themes in the story are inspired from my years growing up in my old neighborhood in the suburbs of Rochester.  This was, in short, a labor of love, and I hope that comes across in the pages.  Nowadays, I live in the hills of central Vermont with my wife, Sarah, and our regal cat, Luke.  But the magic of childhood, of the adventures I shared with my friends growing up, has remained with me well into adulthood.  The Eye-Dancers is for anyone who likes to imagine, who wonders, “What’s really out there?”  “What is across the void?  Another reality?  Another world?”  It seems to me that when we’re young, our minds are more free and more open to discover the nature of things.  The Eye-Dancers asks some probing questions about what we term “reality,” and the four main characters in the novel  (Mitchell Brant, Joe Marma, Ryan Swinton, and Marc Kuslanski)must travel on an extraordinary journey to search for the answers.

For a snapshot of the book, please take a look at Chapter One, Chapter Two, and Chapter Three.

Thanks so much for reading!

Michael S. Fedison  (“Mike”) — author of The Eye-Dancers

When a Window Is a Mirror

What motivates us to create something?  If you’re a painter, why do you paint?  If you’re a chef, why do you experiment with new recipes?  And if you’re a writer, why do you write?

There are many answers to these questions, of course.  Perhaps you want to paint a beautiful scene, something that inspires you.  Maybe you want to mix in various ingredients that, at first blush, do not seem to mesh but you strive to complement the yin with the yang.  And maybe you want to write a personal essay, a brutally honest and difficult piece dealing with an old wound.

But what if you are seeking recognition from others?  You want your painting to be showcased in a gallery.  You want your recipe to be featured in a magazine.  You want your novel to be the next big thing.  What then?  Before you begin, do you step back, analyze the market, pick and sift through possibilities, trends, genres?  Perhaps.  It depends.

Since I am a writer, and not a painter or a chef, I can speak from experience only about writing.  And let’s take a look at that word–genre.


When I published The Eye-Dancers, the various retail sites where it’s available all required basic information regarding the book.  Obviously, these details include author name, sale price, blurb, and things of that nature.  But they also required a genre, a label, if you will, with which to tag the work.

Let me step back.  At the point of conception, when The Eye-Dancers was only an idea, a potentiality, with no guarantee that it would ever be completed, did I think of and consider the book’s genre?  Yes and no.  I did not select a genre ahead of time and say, “I want to write a book for that market.”  I had a story–the story came first.  But I knew the book would center around four adolescent boys, about to embark on a dimension-shattering adventure.  And I knew the plot would take readers on a wild ride, complete with ghost girls, swirling, hypnotic eyes, dreams that are much more than “just” dreams, and alternate worlds and endless blue voids.  Given all that, the novel was clearly Young Adult Science Fiction/Fantasy.


Or is it?  Since the protagonists in question are twelve years old, some would further classify the book as middle grade.

When I summarized the plot to a friend, he said, “Yeah, but remember, most young adult readers like to read up, not down.  Why don’t you make the characters seventeen instead of twelve?  And girls read more than boys.  Maybe you should make one of your main characters a girl.”  I just shrugged my shoulders.  If this were a purely marketing project, perhaps he had a point.  The problem is–ideas don’t work like that.  Creativity doesn’t work like that.  I have tried to alter ideas before for reasons other than the story.  It never works.  The Eye-Dancers is a story about Mitchell Brant and Joe Marma and Ryan Swinton and Marc Kuslanski–all boys.  And all preteens.   That’s how the story came to me.  That’s what I had to write, and to share.

Apart from the issue of the characters’ age and gender, there is also the sci-fi/fantasy element.  But there again, is it science fiction and fantasy?  Of course it is.  The premise is based on parallel worlds and quantum physics and the ability to communicate across the void.  And yet–to me, at least, to classify The Eye-Dancers as strictly sci-fi/fantasy doesn’t tell the whole truth. For instance, there are many mainstream aspects to the story.  One of the driving forces that urged me to write The Eye-Dancers was a desire to get inside the four main characters’ heads–to present them as three-dimensional, flawed individuals who are thrust into a dangerous and life-altering predicament, one that will force them to confront their own insecurities, biases, and points of view.

When I first told my mother about the book, she said, “Oh, really?  But I don’t like science fiction!”  I said, “Mom, don’t worry about the label.  It’s not a story about space ships and little green men [not that there’s anything wrong with such stories!  I happen to like them!].  It’s a story about adolescence, growing up, learning new things.  Hopefully it challenges people to view reality in a more layered way.  A lot of it actually feels mainstream.  Really.”

This is true of so many novels.  Today, more than ever, we like to put a sticker on the fiction we read.  Steampunk.  Dystopian.  Urban Fantasy.  Soft Sci-fi.  The list goes on and on.  Such labels have a purpose, of course.  They serve as guideposts to would-be readers, telling them ahead of time what to expect.  If a genre (or subgenre) tends to have several dos and don’ts attached to it, a reader feels safer purchasing a book in one of his or her preferred categories.  At the same time, so many stories cross multiple genres.

Reading a novel is often like looking through a window, but also, simultaneously, seeing your reflection in the glass.


On the one hand, you are peering into a new world, complete with imaginative vistas and unexpected twists and turns.  On the other hand, the characters in the story share some of your own struggles.  When you laugh with them, cry with them, care about them, you do that because they speak to you on some innate and mysterious level.

The window into this “other” fictional world has, in turn, become a mirror, reflecting your own.


It is certainly my hope that The Eye-Dancers can create in readers this window-and-mirror duality.  For the twelve-year-old who knows, firsthand, what Ryan feels when he desperately seeks favor and fears rejection, sure.  But also for the fifty-three-year-old office worker who recalls his own struggles in middle school; for the thirty-four-year-old engineer who often looks at her universe with the same logic-oriented lens as Marc; for the ninety-year-old great-grandmother who remembers her first kiss, all these years later, and is right there with Mitchell when he experiences his.

It seems to me that writing about adolescence is not a narrowly defined subgenre at all, but rather, it addresses a period of life that we’ve all gone through, can all remember, and can all relate to.

Is The Eye-Dancers a Young Adult Sci-fi/fantasy novel?  That’s what it says on Amazon.  Heck, that’s what it says in the headline of this very website!

But, first and foremost, I believe it is what any creative writing project should be, above all–a story.  A story that came to me, unasked for, unplanned.

In the words of novelist Jose Saramago,  “The novel is not so much a literary genre, but a literary space, like a sea that is filled by many rivers.”

Thanks so much for reading!


[Terry: I try not to swipe the entire article but the above is really interesting. Promise to go to Mike’s website so I don’t look like a pirate.]

sweetheart rewrite COMBINE The Eye-Dancers

My First Time (On A Motorcycle–But It’s Close To What You Were Thinking)

Indian motorcycle from 1928

Indian motorcycle from 1928 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When the guy across the hall freshman year said he was going to buy a motorcycle, I thought it was just another example of the depressive tendencies that had him painting his entire bedroom black (including the windows) and that would eventually drive him from the college the first time he failed to be first in a class. His name was Bobby and I think he ended up at the University of Montana and is an environmental Justice out in the Upper Northwest somewhere.

To put it simply, I thought a motorcycle was suicidal. Also wet, cold, bone shaking and generally inimical to civilized human life. I made impassioned pleas for him to change his mind (it was February of freshman year; at that point, you make impassioned pleas to get someone to go to the dining hall with you) All of my arguments failed and he came back one day with a Yamaha 250.

Now, he didn’t know how to ride it – he’d had an older brother truck it in in the back of a pickup truck. We were freshman at the college with the toughest entrance requirements in the country, we felt we could learn just about anything. So, at 3 in the morning, I helped him push the bike down to the parking lot behind the field house.

After a fair amount of confusion about what was the fuel cock and which direction it needed to be turned followed by an intense discussion on the meaning and probable use of a choke, we got it started. The Yamaha 250 was what was then called a “utility motorcycle” – something that simply doesn’t exist anymore (now there are only enormous cruisers, crotch rockets and off-road bangers). It was for people who needed to get to work and didn’t have much money to spend. It had a two-stroke engine with a tank of cloudy oil that mixed with the gas in the carburetor and produced a fog of sweet-smelling smoke. The sound as it went by was best described as “Ring-a-ding-ding-ding-ding.” For some inscrutable reason, they only came in red and both the paint and the spring steel had a tendency to fade with age.

Bobby tried the bike out first, puttering slowly around the parked cars and alternately jerking forward as he braked and backwards as he applied the throttle. After a while, he took a break and said I could ride.

I took it up the street in first gear and then stopped and spent a frustrating few minutes trying to turn it around – they don’t have reverse gears, oddly enough. On the way back, I managed to find second gear and what felt like an unmanageable speed. At the end of the road, it took a very gentle turn to the left but that was completely beyond me. I managed to slow the thing down, ran gently into the curb and fell on the grass.

I was completely and utterly in love.

I’ve been infatuated and deeply in love with some excellent women. I have seen Paris and Rome and had a beer after 10 hours hitchhiking in the Kansas sun. I’ve won Emmys and been praised by the best for my work.

I have never ever felt the way I felt about riding a motorcycle at that precise moment. It was love at first ride. I lay on the grass and instantly promised that I would buy a bike as soon as possible and learn everything there was about riding it.
That night, I concentrated on learning to stop the damn thing.

I had the great good luck to live across the hall from Curtis Wright IV. Everyone at Haverford was pretty damn smart but Curtis took things to a whole different level. He not only read comics and built his own bed out of railroad ties, he had a motorcycle shop in the basement and had constructed a “Triton” – which was a Triumph frame with a Norton engine (or perhaps vice versa) . After the school fire marshal found out about the amount of fuel and grease stored directly below the freshman dorm, he moved to an empty space in the center of campus and proceeded to expand his shop.

At one point, the local chapter of the Pagans showed up to “request’ that he become their house mechanic. Now, legend had it that the proper way to enter the Pagan clubhouse was to knock and move quickly to the side. They would fire a pistol through the door and if you weren’t dead – well, clearly you knew the password. I had my doubts about this just over the question of replacement doors but it certainly gave you an impression of how they were regarded. Curtiss gently turned down their offer but the sight of the five of them roaring off through the quiet Quaker campus on their custom Harleys remains with me. I’m fairly sure that Curtis became a doctor and now runs a couple of medical companies. I don’t know if he still rides.

As I’ve explained, I didn’t want to be the person I had been in High School so I decided to become Curtis. I began to buy and read comic books (luckily this was the Silver Age of great artists and writers), I learned that being intelligent didn’t mean that you couldn’t have fun and I learned how to ride a motorcycle. The first think Curtis tried to sell me was a 1940’s Indian Chief – an enormous machine with a foot clutch and a gear shift that you had to let go of the handlebars to operate. It was called, of course, a “suicide shift”. Since I could barely hold it upright, I got cold feet and instead bought a wrecked Honda 250 in a box – intending to fix it up in the basement of Spanish House.

This taught me the valuable lesson that no one can unscrew the engine bolts on a cheap motorcycle. The old British machines would quite willingly unscrew themselves (what Curtis used to refer to as the “warm feeling of motor oil filling your boot”) but the cheap steel in a Japanese bike bonded to itself in an unbreakable weld. Luckily, an act of betrayal rescued me or I would doubtlessly still be trying to get that thing running.

ImageOne of my best friends from high school had also bought a bike – an identical Yamaha 250 – but he had a problem I didn’t. His parents had told him he absolutely couldn’t buy a motorcycle and he cared about what they thought. So one day, he drove down from Franklin and Marshall to visit me at the gas station where I worked in the evenings and, while we were talking, my mother stopped by.

No one had cell phones back then but I’ll swear that Mom called my buddy’s mother within seconds of leaving. At that point, what could I do but offer to buy the now-forbidden machine at a reasonable discount? I sold the boxed bike for about $20 and I was mobile.

The very first day I drove my new machine, I passed a car on the left and watched as he turned left right into me. I managed to remember where the throttle was so I didn’t’ get dismembered but the picture of that fender heading towards my unprotected leg stayed with me. From that point on, I didn’t ever drive drunk (or on any other chemical enhancement), I didn’t pass on the left except at extremely high speed and I learned to watch all other drivers in an attempt to discern what stupid things they were about to do.

I reveled in mobility. I drove that bike on every back road in suburban Philadelphia, took it to New York, drove 40 miles a day to summer jobs, learned how to draft behind trucks and , eventually, could fix damn near everything with the toolkit under the seat and the wrapper off a pack of Marlboros (the width of the cellophane is exactly the right distance to adjust the points.) I still have a hard time with the concept that motorcycles not only don’t have kickstarters, they don’t have tool kits or even points.

In my sophomore year, I decided that I would take a vacation. I’d worked through every summer, winter and other vacation for the past 3 years – giving what money I earned to my father to help pay for college. With $29 in my pocket, I hitched to Florida and stopped in Daytona. That was my first experience with Bike Week in Daytona.

A couple of vivid memories from the five or six years I attended this Lourdes of the Two-Wheeler: waking up about 2am inside the pup-tent I’d raised in the parking lot of the Speedway, looking outside to see a lean, tattooed member of the Florida Outlaws come by stark naked on his chopper; working with a film crew and pulling the cameraman back behind the barrier whenever a sliding racer would head our way; passing a tattered press pass through the fence so that five of us could come in on one ticket, working with the cameraman to shoot the burned carcass of the Number One Harley (and consequently the end of the funding of that particular film) and most of all, standing in the pits and hearing the shattering, heart-stopping, enfolding wonderful noise of the engines at the start.

Aewl’s Abode Morning Mishmash

Hey Sweetheart We Get Rewrites

Morning Mishmash

In the news of the strange, amusing and just plain weird, there were several stories out yesterday that were at least mildly interesting.

First up, how about a Breast Milk Lollipop? The lollipops are a soft beige color, but there is no actual breast milk in the recipe.

la-dd-new-lollipop-flavor-get-a-lick-of-breast-001“Can you imagine armies of pumping mothers?” Lollyphile founder Jason Darling said.

Order yours today for only $10 for 4 lollipops. I think I’ll pass.


 How about a misleading headline?

Los Alamos Researchers Foil Nuclear Smugglers With 200 Terawatt Laser

 Wow, sounds like they have done something really good to secure our borders. Turns out when you read the article, they didn’t actually foil a nuclear smuggler at all. Just that with a shit load of power they can detect nuclear materials and for now each pulse only checks about 2-3 centimeters.


 Real life Nancy Botwin busted in New York. Showtime had a great series that lasted nine years about a suburban mother dealing pot to support her family after her husband died of a heart attack.

 She lived in a big house in a manicured suburb, took riding lessons on her $10,000 horse and drove a Mercedes. But Andrea Sanderlin, authorities say, wasn’t like all the other moms in Scarsdale. According to a federal complaint, she regularly took the Mercedes to a warehouse in Queens where she was raising thousands of marijuana plants worth millions of dollars in the drug trade.

 I just wonder if she is as hot as Mary Louise Parker?mary-louise-parker-in-weeds-tv-series-desktop-free-wallpaper


 Your tax dollars at work, being spent wisely according to Obama is once again found to be a big fat lie. The EPA apparently has a huge 70,000 sq foot warehouse. The workers obviously having too much time on their hands have arranged the warehouse so as to have hiding spots with gym equipment, couches, TV’s and even refrigerators. Even though the warehouse has surveillance camera’s, the EPA employees figured ways of walling off their hidey-holes where the cameras couldn’t see them. Only after an audit by the EPA’s Inspector General was the true condition of the warehouse found out.mancave

 I’ve worked in warehouses before. I don’t ever remember having the time to even think about making a place to go relax and hide. Usually we were shorthanded and had too much work to do in the shift. Looks like the EPA has too many workers at the warehouse and it is time to fire some excess workers.


 In the category of video games I want comes “The Last of Us” by Naughty Dog. From the review, it seems like something right up my alley. Ya’ll better hope I don’t get it anytime soon. If I do, then blogging goes way, way, way, down  the list of priorities for the day.

 What sets The Last of Us apart from other post-apocalyptic games is the emphasis on the high quality of the writing. It is not just the driving force of the game, it is very, very well done.

 The avatar you play, “Joel” is not a good man. He is not a hero and does some unlikable things.uec-approach-625x1000

 I really, really want this game!

Hoist on my own Petard


I read and recommend blogs all day and, while I enjoy the poetry and the books, I’m the usual starving artist and can’t afford to buy anything.

So what happened when I Welcomed Rhian Ferrer to this little community?

Yep, I bought this piece….Explanation below.

DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental

Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20

DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20
DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20

“Decay” by Artist Rhian Ferrer, 2009
Vintage Hospital Documents from Letchworth Village (NY) dating back to the 1940s, old carnival tickets, old USPS stamps, and acrylic on a 16 x 20 inch Canvas.

Here’s what I wrote to Rhiann when I received the work and hung it proudly on my office wall.


“I may be a strange guy but I love that painting.

I spent 18 months going through old documents and carbon copies of typewritten originals to research a story on how Jews were saved in the Philippines and, at one point while I was sitting hunched over a microfilm reader in New York, I realized I was really, really happy. And the collage brings that day right back to me.

On it’s own terms, it’s beautiful as well–the textures, the colors dimmed by time, the contrast between incarceration and winning / financial freedom. It reminds me of old small Italian churches where the records of yearly trips to Lourdes are tucked away in corners–slowly aging but still with a breath of the urgency and sorrow from those long-ago quests for healing.

#50: Times Sq N Train & End of Days | Last 100 Swipes

N trainTimes Square at 11 PM on a Friday night is how I imagine it will be during the apocalypse. A gross slice of humanity confined to a small, brightly lit area. Everyone’s releasing the panic pheromones that we’d only previously associated with farm animals moved toward slaughter on a conveyor belt.

After navigating street-level and making it on to an N train, here’s how the scene looked:

There was a 3-some of Georgie moms speaking loudly about leaning to walk in New York City, then shoving people shouting “getting off!” as they exited.

An interracial shouting match that contained a lot of words like “respect” and “rude.” The other passengers watched the zingers fly back and forth like a tennis match.

A family with a gaggle of dirty children literally screaming with sugar-induced excitement.

A goth changing her piercing with [presumably] newly purchased hardware.

One other normal couple grasping each other’s hands waiting for the end to come.

end of days2

via #50: Times Sq N Train & End of Days | Last 100 Swipes.

Welcome to a new friend: Rhian Ferrer = artgland

About | artgland.

Art by Rhian Ferrer


“Consent” by Rhian and Ray Ferrer

Collage and Spray Paint by Rhian and Ray Ferrer

Collage and Spray Paint by Rhian and Ray Ferrer

This is a collaboration between and Rhian and Ray Ferrer.

I did the painting/collage background using medical/patient files from Letchworth Village (abandoned institution in New York) and Ray did the spraypaint stencil.

This piece is currently for sale. If interested in purchasing please contact me. My email is

Esperanza Spalding


“Esperanza Spalding” 2013 by Rhian and Ray Ferrer

16 x 20 Canvas

Esperanza Spalding is an American jazz bassist and singer, who draws upon many genres in her own compositions.

DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental

Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20

DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20
DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20DECAY by Rhian Ferrer Artgland 2009 Vintage Mental Health Documents Painting Canvas 16 x 20

“Decay” by Artist Rhian Ferrer, 2009
Vintage Hospital Documents from Letchworth Village (NY) dating back to the 1940s, old carnival tickets, old USPS stamps, and acrylic on a 16 x 20 inch Canvas.

Available on Etsy

Welcome to a new friend- Ray Ferrer Urban Wallart.

2,000 canoes setting a world record on Fourth Lake in New York’s adirondacks | Talking Experience

2,000 canoes setting a world record on Fourth Lake in New York’s adirondacks


via 2,000 canoes setting a world record on Fourth Lake in New York’s adirondacks | Talking Experience.

sweetheart rewrite COMBINE 2

Times Square Breadlines | Playing in the World Game


Notice the Automat sign on the left, lovingly mentioned here.

Things may not be as bad now as they were then… or then again, they may. We don’t have breadlines but we have food banks, and most of them are straining under the load. Too many people are out of work, too many are underemployed, and too many have simply given up.

Our country deserves better.

The Old Wolf has spoken.

Times Square Breadlines | Playing in the World Game.

» New York Times 50 Most Challenging Words (defined and used) – StumbleUpon

New York Times 50 Most Challenging Words (defined and used)

New York Times 50 Most Challenging Words (defined and used) The New York Times recently published a list of 50 fancy words that most frequently stump their readership. They are able to measure this data thanks to a nifty in-page lookup mechanism, which you can try here. Try double-clicking the word “epicenter”.

Since the NYT didn’t include definitions of these words, I decided to post a job to MediaPiston to produce an article defining and using each word in the list. Voila! Just a few hours later, here it is. So avoid coming across as jejune and laconic in your speech. Dive in to this list with alacrity!

The New York Times 50 Fancy Words (defined and used)

1. Inchoate: just begun and so not fully formed or developed; I am glad your inchoate proposals for integrating the company were not accepted this time, thus saving us face.

2. Profligacy: recklessly wasteful; wildly extravagant, profligate behavior; Anderson’s profligacy cost him his job and its better you tighten up your belt before you go the same way.

3. Sui Generis: being the only example of its kind, unique; Mr. Bill Tandy generated his sui generis theory based on little research and more hypothesis, thus finding no takers for his pet project.

4. Austerity: severe and morally strict; the quality of being austere, having no pleasures or comforts; Every major war on this planet were followed by many years of austerity.

5. Profligate: using money, resources, etc., in a way that wastes them; The firm’s profligate spending only hastened its downfall.

6. Baldenfreude: Satisfaction derived from the misfortune of bald or balding individuals (coined by NYT columnist Maureen Dowd); Humpty Dumpty’s antics remain a constant source of baldenfreude for children and adults alike.

» New York Times 50 Most Challenging Words (defined and used) – StumbleUpon.

Welcome to a new friend: Vicky…the Northern Chicky

A Little About Vicky

Life with a child is never dull, life with five children is constant fun! I invite you to join me in my crazy journey of transplanting my brood from frigid upstate New York to “tropical” Myrtle Beach.

My name is Victoria, and my children and I have always been drawn to the ocean, but when my best friend, Randi, suggested we move south, I balked. My roots are here in New York, everything I’m familiar with is here. I love the Saratoga racing season in the summer, the culture, SPAC, the history of the Capital Region. In the fall, cruising up and down the Hudson, soaking in the crisp sensations of autumn, apple-picking and cider, kids swaddled in thick colorful sweaters as they gulp down hot cocoa.

Ugh…and then there’s winter. Aside from Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s, winter sucks. Clearly our family is not too much into winter sports, so we tend to go into hibernation-mode. What a BORING way to live about five months out of the year. I need a change. Which loosely translates into “we need a change”.

So, please click the Like button to the right and/or the Follow button at the top to join us as we embark on this incredible voyage of letting go and embracing, saying good-byes and saying hellos, and just living life to the fullest! And for even more fun, join us at!

via A Little About Vicky | Vicky…the Northern Chicky.

If You’re Seeing This Post, You’re Gonna Have an Incredible Week!…”Happy Monday!”


sweetheart rewrite COMBINE

From the Desk of Phylis Johnson: E-Books, Libraries and Democracy –

WRESTLING with my newspaper on the subway recently, I noticed the woman next to me reading a book on her smartphone. “That has to hurt your eyes,” I commented. Not missing a beat, she replied, in true New York style, “My font is bigger than yours.” She was right.

via E-Books, Libraries and Democracy –

We have every interest in seeing that publishers remain sustainable enterprises and that authors are paid fairly for their work. But those economic imperatives must be considered alongside the role of libraries in a democratic society. The challenge is to ensure that the information revolution provides more, not less, access for the public — including that subway rider.

Anthony W. Marx is the president of the New York Public Library.


Welcome to The Writer | TheReporterandTheGirlMINUSTheSuperman!

The Writer


I created The Reporter and The Girl blog to journey among life’s most uncertain and abysmal path when forming love-lust-hate relationships.

I’m in my mid–twenties and have moved back to New York City after 6 years of term papers, tailgate parties, and three day weekends, on all 4 corners of the United States and abroad. Now that I am semi-permanently stationed in the Empire State and in my white-collar/blue jeans career; I thought that I could venture out and make a romantic connection.

Breaking News!!!

Continue reading →

Welcome! | Expect the Unexpected


In the midst of winter, I found there was within me an invincible summer. —Albert Camus

PJ_BlogPhotoHi everyone and welcome. I’m Patricia Gay, an award-winning journalist in the greater New York City area. I’ve been there, done that and bought the T-shirt. And then I sold the T-shirt to buy a standing-room-only ticket to A Chorus Line. As the assistant editor and writer for a Connecticut newspaper, no story is too big or too small. Whether it’s Superstorm Sandy or Christopher Plummer’s reaction to winning the Oscar, you name it, I’ll write about it. I have a passion for theater, film, the culinary arts, and fun. So stop in, have a look around and let’s talk.

via Welcome! | Expect the Unexpected.

May Day: May 1, 1985

No running around maypoles for me that day. I was too busy sweating, begging for relief, and crying “May Day, May Day.”

My membranes had ruptured a week earlier and contrary to what “people say” when your water breaks it does NOT mean you are in labor and will be giving birth momentarily.

When the flood gates broke (unfortunately while I was in bed), my husband grabbed my carefully prepacked travel bag which contained everything from a brand new soft bathrobe to a clock, and we fled post haste to the hospital. My doctor unveiled the bad news, I was “not ready.” But what about those pains I was feeling every now and again? No, he said, those were not contractions, when I had REAL contractions I would know it.

So I waited at home. Seven long days. And I learned things I did not want to learn. Continue reading

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Dunia Timbangan,081280780615,081291999252,0216016259,Harga Timbangan,Harga Timbangan Duduk,Harga Timbangan Digital,Harga Timbangan Analitik,Harga Timbangan Manual,Harga Timbangan Gantung,Harga Timbangan Duduk Digital,Harga Timbangan Duduk Manual,Harga Timbangan Lantai,Harga Timbangan Mekanik,Harga Timbangan Gantung Manual,Harga Timbangan Gantung Jarum,Harga Timbangan Buah Digital,Harga Timbangan Neraca Analitik,Harga Timbangan Elektrik,Harga Timbangan Digital Gram,Harga Timbangan Gram,Timbangan Duduk,Timbnagan Manual,Timbangan Duduk Manual,Timbangan Analitik,Timbangan Laundry,Timbangan Mekanik,Timbangan Salter,Timbangan Nagata,Timbangan Cahaya Adil,Timbangan Quattro,Timbangan Sapi,Timbangan Ternak,Timbangan Adam,Analitycal Balnce,Moisture Balance,Timbangan Sn Timah,Timbangan Oc Timah,Timbangan Chq,Timbangan Matrix,Timbangan Acis,Timbangan Lantai,Timbangan Gantung,Timbangan Gantung Jarum,Timbangan Gantung Manual,Jual Timbangan,Timbangan Barang Digital,Timbangan Pemancingan,Timbangan Galatama,Timbangan Obat,Timbangan Neraca Analitik,Timbangan Lantai Digital,Timbangan Camry,Harga Timbangan Laundry,Harga Timbangan Beras,Harga Bandul Timbangan,Anak Timbangan,Batu Timbangan,Timbangan Daging,Timbangan Buah,Timbangan Sayur,Timbangan Barang,Timbangan Balance,Timbangan Floor Scale,Timbangan Counting,Timbangan Anti Air,Timbangan Water Proof,Timbangan Jarum,Timbangan Duduk Jarum

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