Dorothy Irene Bornemann, age 76, passed away on Thursday, January 26, 2017. Dorothy was born in Stockbridge, Wisconsin on August 16, 1940 to the late Levi and Irene (Price) Ruffing. On August 1, 1957 she married Everett H. Bornemann in Saint Mary’s Catholic Church in Stockbridge. She was preceded in death by her sisters, Gloria (Joe) Torres, Lucy (Keith) Stuckey, and Sylvia Ruffing, as well as her brother Bernard (Dolores) Ruffing. She is survived by her husband Everett, her three sons, Scott (Nancy Van Dera), Douglas (Genelle Belmas) and Bradley, her grandchildren Derek Bornemann and Brittany (Geoffrey Cook) Bornemann, and great-granddaughter Indie Cook. Dorothy’s signature blend of wit and mischief enlivened every gathering, and to her twinkling eye, no cow was sacred. For her family, she was fearless and indefatigable—in the face of her quiet strength and deep wisdom, no challenge was too great, no issue too trivial. Through her love of gardening and the steadfast support of husband Ev, she transformed her yard into a verdant summer sanctuary. Lively curiosity drove her lifelong quest for new experiences, technologies, and knowledge, though quite reasonably, she drew the line at sushi. When her light winked out, the whole world dimmed. We love her beyond words, beyond reason, beyond time. A celebration of Dorothy’s life will be held at 3 pm on Saturday, February 4th at Countryside Golf Course, W726 Weiler Road, Kaukauna, WI, 54130, though visitors are welcome to pay respects any time between 1 and 4 pm. In lieu of flowers, please come prepared with a cherished memory of Dorothy to share.
To Lisa English, winner of the Practical Phrendonics Giveaway Sweepstakes.
At last! Practical Phrendonics, Book Two of the Dreamweaver Chronicles, will be live for download starting tomorrow December 8, 2016. Unlike The Demon of Histlewick Downs, which was a stand-alone novel, Practical Phrendonics kicks off the Heiromancer Trilogy (Practical Phrendonics, A House of Cards, and The Hanged Man’s Gambit) which together will form the next discrete unit in the Chronicles. Ten years ago, when I first set fingers to keyboard, I would never have anticipated where this path would lead. May it be every bit as magical for you (and if it is, I hope you’ll leave a review to let me know).
I’d like to give a shout out to C.M. Allen for his fantastic rendition of the City State of Trifienne. (Note, only the inset portion appears in the ebook–the full map you see here, will appear in the soon-to-be-released paperback version).
We did it, Nero–I miss ya, bud.
The release of Practical Phrendonics, the second book in the Dreamweaver Chronicles, draws near! To celebrate, the Demon of Histlewick Downs is currently free to download from Amazon (for a limited time). Here’s a draft preview of the coming cover. Enjoy (and share!)
In The Dream-Quest of Vellitt Boe, Kij Johnson enables the reader to journey the world of Lovecraft through the eyes of a sensible and accomplished woman of a certain age. Beautiful stylized prose escorts Vellitt to increasingly fantastic destinations at a determined but contemplative pace fittingly evocative of precisely what one might imagine a dream-quest should be. For me, the allure of fantasy as a genre lies in its potential for breaking molds—my preferences run to well-crafted stories that take me places I haven’t been before. With Dream-Quest, Kij delivers. Very nicely done.
Practical Phrendonics, Book Two of the Dreamweaver Chronicles, is back from the editor. It will be the first book of a trilogy (with DoHD serving as a Prelude). I’m in the process of addressing the various editorial issues and hope to have a finished product in the not-too-distant future. Stay tuned!
My grandmother passed in 1984, while I was still in college. Typical of most good Catholic families of the time, ours boasted a man of the cloth who, on such occasions, could be depended upon to do the honors. I recall sitting next to my mother at the church-basement dinner following the services. Although I had never met him, Father Martin and my mother were first cousins and had been childhood friends. Gentle and soft-spoken, he headed the table, regaling his extended family, which included a number of formidable women, with quaint stories about his flock. One such tale involved the doings of the “old women of the Church.” Now, I confess to having inherited my mother’s somewhat unconventional sense of humor, from which no occasion, regardless of its solemnity, is entirely safe.
Assuming my most earnest expression, I raised my hand and interrupted the good Father mid-anecdote. “Father Martin,” I asked. “I’m curious. At what age does a woman become ‘old?'”
He paused, blinking. Silence fell. The table, populated primarily by female relatives, became palpably attentive.
With a gulp, he looked to my mother. Perhaps he was hoping to be rescued. If so, he’d appealed to the wrong savior.
My mother folded her arms. “Actually,” she said. “I’m sort of interested in hearing your answer.”
“Very well,” he said. He spoke slowly, as though choosing his words with infinite care. “In my experience, a woman becomes old at that point at which she becomes proud of her age.”
Greeted by a round of satisfied nods, Father Martin heaved a relieved sigh and quickly resumed his tale.
All these years later, I’m still convinced it’s the right answer.
I remember as a child learning about the Holocaust, I was stupefied that such atrocities could have been committed in my parents’ lifetimes. I recall my childish relief at having been born in a “more enlightened” time–a time when such despicable acts would be unthinkable. People were better now, weren’t they?
Later, when my graduate training made it clear that the genetic composition of a population is unlikely to change significantly in a single generation, my childish perception developed cracks, but I was thankful that at least the culture had advanced–the brutal societal conditions that had produced such deep-seated angst were surely behind us, weren’t they?
Then, as I witnessed the rise of Fox News, and on its heels the soaring popularity of Donald Trump, I realized it’s not the actual conditions–it’s people’s perceptions that matter.
As a child, I used to sympathize with those who’d argued they were “only following orders.” Oppose such a brutal regime? At what personal cost?
That was before I appreciated that to empower such a regime, many must be complicit. In The Demon of Histlewick Downs, Flinch would have understood this principle all too well, though he might argue that without benefit of hindsight, most couldn’t have foreseen the horrors their hatred would spawn.
We cannot say the same. History has taught us the risks of power acquired by exploiting hate. Ignorance is no excuse.
No Black Friday deals here! We ensure our staff gets both Thursday AND Friday off to eat like piglets, hang with family, and most importantly, to curl up by the fire with a good book. Enjoy! http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00M1J2U8I/
Just finished The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch, a work of delicious complexity and admirable cheek. Many thanks to Jeff Konz for the suggestion!
I’m delighted to report that after a grueling hiatus (that involved moving halfway across the country), I’m finally able to devote some love to the second book in the Dreamweaver Chronicles. The manuscript, which is envisioned as the first in a trilogy (to which the Demon of Histlewick Downs will serve as a prequel) will be heading off to the editor on Thursday (8/20). Wish me luck!
To celebrate the completion of Book 2 of the Dreamweaver Chronicles, The Demon of Histlewick Downs is on sale for 99 cents for a limited time. Book Two should be off to the editor by the end of this month. Watch for it!
What I’ll miss most is that moment when people visit the house for the first time–the moment when they step inside and their eyes light up at the living room’s glow. How they marvel at the unconventional choices that came together to feel so inviting. I’ll miss remembering the risks I took, many unwittingly–the six coats of paint that made the midnight blue walls possible, the look on my mother-in-law’s face when we chose the burgundy curtains and her relief when she saw them in context. I’ll miss the way all the colors come together in that pleasing little hodge-podge entryway, with its rust-colored medallion, offered as a gift. I’ll miss the feel of the clear-pine woodwork that I insisted on sanding and finishing, the guilty indulgence that is an easy-close drawer, the absurdity of gobbling warm angel food off of freshly minted uba-tuba granite. I’ll miss how we fought for our color choices, and the joy I got from seeing the result turn out far better than either of us would ever have imagined. Though I’d never want to go through it again, I’ll savor the bittersweet memory of once upon a time when together we wrought something truly special.
I’ve tried closing my eyes and tapping my heels together, but it looks like our move to Kansas is going to be a little more involved. If, like me, you long for a little after-Christmas escapism, the Demon of Histlewick Downs is currently on sale for 99 cents. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00M1J2U8I/ In the meantime, anyone know where I can rent a balloon?
Bravery and wisdom–Mr. Rothfuss has displayed both here. And talent–let’s not forget that. Brave, because he dared to risk making public a story so non-standard that he couldn’t help but risk offending a significant percentage of his fan base. Wise, because he took the extra step of describing up-front his intended audience–warning them in no uncertain terms this creation would not be for everyone. As a result, I knew exactly what to expect before it arrived.
It exceeded those expectations brilliantly.
I’ve been a consumer of Fantasy for over thirty-five years. What has always drawn me to the genre was the freedom it afforded the author to play with convention. Though I find them less commonly than I used to, fantasy still offers the slender hope of a story that is truly unique. When I find such a story–that is when I’m most delighted. That is what the Slow Regard of Silent Things delivers, and it does so using beautiful prose and an exquisitely gentle touch. It demonstrates that a quiet, contemplative story, when written well, can keep me turning pages, and that a subtle, understated implication can form the basis for an unexpected and satisfying ending. As a reader, I was more riveted by the action, pacing and cleverness of The Name of the Wind and The Wise Man’s Fear, but as a writer, I’ve learned far more from this comparatively tiny vignette.
If you read fantasy only for unrelenting action, swords, sorcery and gore, be sure you read the Author’s foreword before you buy. If you revel in something that’s well-crafted, subtle, and heartwarming, though you’ll still want to read the Author’s foreword first, likely Auri’s tale will win you over. It did me.
A taut, superbly crafted thrill ride. (Five Stars!)
“With Mercy” is the second installment of Jeremy James’ urban fantasy thriller series “The Nephilim Chronicles.” Half-angel Jequon struggles to survive and to discover the identities of his mortal enemies, the Sons of Jared. He’s accompanied by Mercy, a woman raised from an early age specifically to kill him, but who has incentive to cooperate instead since she views his aid as vital for rescuing her best friend. The action takes place in the context of an ambitious and fascinating back story that integrates vampires, the Dead Sea scrolls and the seven signs of the apocalypse. I was sucked in from page one. The pace is relentless, the characters compelling, the writing bold and gritty, and the craftsmanship, superb. Can’t wait for the next installment. Highly, highly recommend!