Blue Musings

The launch of THE BETWEEN was a wonderful success, thanks to friends, family and supporters.  If you've purchased the book, you have my deepest thanks. In this digital era, shelf space is no longer the limiting factor to a book's success: discoverability is.  The best way for a story to be discovered is by word of mouth recommendations or reviews.  If you've read THE BETWEEN, would you please consider writing a brief review on any of the purchase portals that are appropriate? Here are the direct links to Amazon, B&N, Smashwords, and iTunes.  Thank  you!

I have finished the first draft of the YA ghost story that has been in process for the past 8 months.  The next steps include some time and space so I can return to the manuscript with fresh eyes for a first past revision.  Then it goes out to a small group of readers for some outside feedback.  After a second revision, it gets sent to my agent, Nephele Tempest, for her feedback.  After that? With any luck, the story will actually acquire a title and go out on submission to editors and publishers.

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This issue's story is an odd duck, in terms of what I tend to write.  It emerged from a conversation I had with my husband while we were waiting for a connecting flight on the way to Hilton Head for a conference a few years ago.  For some reason, I wondered what would happen if God had to go to therapy for his anger management issues.

From that strange thought, 'Thou Shalt Not' was born.

It was written in the spirit of curiosity and exploration, and isn't meant to represent any specific religion.  I hope you enjoy it .

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Thou Shalt Not
LJ Cohen

At first, the silence was a blessing. After ages of coping with the background noise of a few billion souls, the eternal buzz of their petty blasphemies, hopes, fears, and occasional prayers, he reveled in it. It took a long time but eventually the absence of sound itself became a roaring pressure that built to a terrible crescendo.

"Enough!" His shout shattered the emptiness, leaving only a throbbing echo behind.

"You seem angry," she said.

He glowered at the psychiatrist, his eyes barely banked coals. The woman, cool and comfortable in a beige suit, didn't blink. She steepled her slender fingers, holding them in front of her chin.

"May I call you God?" she asked.

God. Lord. Allah. Jehovah. Zeus. Ra. He'd been called them all and more at one time or another.

"Whatever," he said. The shrink got on his nerves. He wanted to imagine her as a pillar of salt or ash and had to suppress a flare of guilt. Self control had never been his strong suit. He looked up and met her gaze. She didn't even flinch. Today one of her eyes was green, the other blue.