Golden Blue Morning

I can't let this morning go by
without saying that the weather
forecast today was all wrong.
Instead of four hours of snow
as predicted, we have this
ridiculously magnificent
powder blue sky and just a
speckling of snow. It feels
like the sky is melting into
the sun and the towering
pines and lower maples
are draped in a golden glow
too

heavenly to name.
I never tire of staring
into the sky and wearing
my baby blue mala beads
around my neck while
meditating over a candle.
And let me end by saying
that when I woke up and
saw the forecast I wanted
so desperately to see a
blue sky I thank the cosmos
for this dazzling and unexpected
blessing.

Adventures in Blue

To begin, you are lying in bed, at least you think you are, your eyes are closed and you are feeling calm. You are breathing steadily and in front of you is a warm sea of heavenly blue green water, you can smell the salt, you can hear the crush of waves over and over again on the beach, you walk through the warm golden sand and kneel down and dig into it with both hands, and soon you are sitting cross legged at the edge of the sea, the pale blue sky filling you with sun, and you are infinitely grateful to be alive. Without thinking, you inhale a big breath of fresh ocean air and you exhale and you are infinitely grateful for an infinite number of things, starting with your breath and the world around you. 

You open your eyes and as you do you humbly ask for help from the angels and all ascended beings up in heaven and they come flying through the cosmos and land in a sparkling dancing ring of light all around you.   Close your eyes, they say, and do not open them again until we tell you to. They proceed to help you up from bed, robe you in powder blue, and lead you to the kitchen where you make a cup of delicious coffee.

Then they guide you to your meditation pillow. They help you sit down cross legged and it is at this point one of the angels whispers, “OK, you can open your eyes now,”and you do, you smile, because you are back in familiar territory, you will spend the next 45 minutes observing your breath, your thoughts, your body, your mind. To begin, you take a few big breaths in and out, you center yourself in the now, your soul begins rising no matter that there continues to be a red hot fire lurking somewhere, threatening at any moment to snuff out the light and close the blue road right down.

Your blue this time is the ethereal air, a heavenly place you are always aspiring to, and the angels continue to whisper in your ear.

All the while in the face of that scary red threat, you once again make a plea to heaven, you ask to be lifted up and out of your ego. Once again you feel the angels and ascendant beings circling you, this time they only need whisper the word ‘remember!’ And they circle you right there, you do remember that in every moment you have a CHOICE, in each moment you can turn toward the light, observe, observe and observe, sit there and let everything be what it will, accept the world the way it is, there will always be the red hot fire, just accept the fact that red is steady, just like blue, just watch it all, keep remembering you have FREE WILL, and in each moment, in every NOW, you can align yourself with the DIVINE, the HEAVENLY BLUE FORCE THAT EMPOWERS ALL EXISTENCE. Over and over again, you choose to focus on gratitude, thanks for this sister who is healing, thanks for that grandchild who is flowering, thank you for this house that is so beautiful, and on and on you make a list.

After a while, you get up from the meditation mat, and the day begins. You take out your exercise mat, and you do your yoga and when you get to the tree pose, which is your very favorite posture (making you think that you were a tree in a past life) you smile. Your adventure in blue has brought you to a peaceful place, where you can stay the rest of the day.

A Vast Rose Lighting up the Night Sky

This beautiful sky object, called the Rosette Nebula, sits in the constellation Monoceros, the Unicorn.  The nebula, which measures some 130 million light years in diameter, consists of a cosmic cloud of gas and dust that lies approximately 5000 light years away from earth. It resembles a rose. Massive stars at its core have exploded a hole in the cloud of material. In what looks like the petals, new stars are being born.

You don't have to be an astronomer to appreciate this spectacular formation. Just close your eyes and set the image squarely in your imagination. Try to fathom its size or for a real challenge, its distance from earth. I find that it lifts my spirits just to know that it exists here in the universe. You could say that it puts things in some kind of grand perspective.

Magnificent Artwork by Kellie Meisl

My friend Kellie Meisl is an extraordinary artist. Look at this mermaid sculpture:

And here is another piece I adore, called "Flow." The red and the blue are almost too beautiful to behold!

And of course, Kellie did the piece that crowned my second novel, Seeing Red. In Kellie's original, the red background was purple.

Kellie does a lot of walking.

She has a blog called "Walk."

She collects odds and ends on her walks. Sometimes she uses these in her artwork.

Visit "Walk," it's well worth your while!

Breathing Poetry

The on-line literary blog site Two Drops of Ink has published my poem, "A Cup of Poetry."

She asked me to open the blue box and let the monarch butterfly go free.

I told her I would do that, gladly.

She asked me how it is that I write poetry so often.

I told her that I breathe and let the words billow up like autumn leaves and then I just lay them casually on paper.

She asked me to show her how to do it.

How to breathe? I asked.

No, how to get the words to billow up.

Oh that part.

So I told her to start each day with a few yoga poses. Start each day watering flowers and green plants. Spend time being grateful for seeing, hearing, touching, smiling. Say prayers for those you love. Lift your eyes skyward and thank God for the gift of life.

But above all, I said, go outdoors with a silver cup and meditate.

Yes and then? She asked. How long am I supposed to wait?

You must be the one to decide that, I said. But it doesn’t help to be impatient.

What I didn’t tell her is that I go outside every day and sometimes a shower of golden words fills the cup.

And sometimes the cup remains bone dry. On those days, I breathe slowly, and watch myself feeling scared of being empty.

It passes, and then the words come, and they run on and on and on.

I just opened the blue box, and immediately the orange and black monarch rose up in flight.

And then I sat down to write this poem.

Solstice Explosion

On a day
when
winter
makes its
arrival
and it is
raining
a grey
drenching rain,
thank God there
is paint that explodes
out of tubes onto
canvas.

Sunlight gratitude prayer

Soft light is starting to unfold over the meadow.

The hillside glows and the sky steadily turns more blue.
So many miracles every day to be grateful for, starting with
the night stars and the morning sunrise.
Thank you for the beauty that fills my eyes, and the love that fills my heart.
Thank you for bringing my sister back to life.

Thank you for giving us the strength to endure this awful trial.
Thank you for all the friends and family who have stood by us, praying.
Thank you for all the gifts we have, too numerous to name.
Or maybe, we should try to come up with a few.
For food, for light, for sight, for family, for mobility, for love, for flowers and

my new lemon tree.
For poetry and painting, for magic and music, for laughter and tears,
for good health and good times.
May we enjoy happy holidays and a health HAPPY NEW YEAR!

DREAM PAINTING

In the dream, the ocean and the golden sand came right up to the door of my old house.

and the house itself was a newer place, rebuilt in a modern way.

And the last thing I saw before I woke up was a

magnificent painting, the likes of which I cannot describe

except to say there was a heavenly blue color in the background

and a combination of yellow and white and silver and gold and a bit of grey.

I have been holding that image in my mind, and the other day

I laid down the blue capturing the hue

more or less.

But

today

when I tried to press the yellow and white

into the canvas,

I lost sight of the dream.

So now I will close my eyes and visualize

once again, the painting from heaven.

And when the time is right

I’m going to paint

a canvas of celestial light.

December 18, 2018

So how can we possibly know that no two snowflakes are alike?

I wore my blue gloves when I went walking in the snowstorm the other day.

I kept lifting my hands, 

watching the snowflakes land.

So many snowflakes.

So many of them perfectly formed crystals. 

Watching the flakes melt on my gloves, I got to wondering this: how can we possibly be sure that no two snowflakes are alike?

Later I went skating across the web looking for information. I found a site called LiveScience and here’s what it said:

The old adage that "no two snowflakes are alike" might not hold true, at least for smaller crystals, new research suggests.

Aha!

Physicist Jon Nelson at Ritsumeikan University in Kyoto, Japan, has studied snowflakes for 15 years.

"It is probably safe to say that the possible number of snow crystal shapes exceeds the estimated number of atoms in the known universe," Nelson said. 

Still, while "no two snowflakes are alike" might hold true for larger snowflakes, Nelson figures it might ring false for smaller crystals that sometimes fall before they have a chance to fully develop.

"How likely is it that two snowflakes are alike? Very likely if we define alike to mean that we would have trouble distinguishing them under a microscope and if we include the crystals that hardly develop beyond the prism stage—that is, the smallest snow crystals," Nelson said.

"Good luck finding them though," he added. "Even if there were only a million crystals and you could compare each possible pair once per second—that is, very fast—then to compare them all would take you about a hundred thousand years."

One more thing about snowflakes: they play an incredibly important role in climate change:

“Scientists investigate how snowflakes form because of the possible influence they may have on global climate. In addition, researchers now believe ice crystals in the atmosphere, which typically are snow crystals too small to fall to the ground, play a key role in ozone depletion, possibly by acting as a catalyst to break down ozone.” 

Who knew snowflakes were so  important? 

My Blog as Ouija Board

Editor's note: This post ran in my blog on Thanksgiving Day of 2010.

After all these years, I'm still not sure what happened. I am still completely puzzled as to how my blog went bananas and started behaving like a Ouija board.

When it was all over, I told my husband -- who witnessed everything -- that it was, without a doubt, definitely THE STRANGEST THING that I have ever ever experienced in all the years I've been blogging.

And yes, part of me is convinced that my character Antonie -- or maybe it was Renata -- was somehow trying to communicate with me from...maybe from the great beyond? I know how crazy this sounds, I do. But you have to experience what happened the way I did, and then maybe you will see.

OK, so here are the facts: I posted Chapter Six of Sister Mysteries at about 8 or 9 in the morning, here on MyStoryLives.  At the time, I had just begun writing another version of the novel.

After I posted, I clicked as I always do onto "View Blog" to look at MyStoryLives. I noticed something very odd. The title of the blog, My Story Lives, had disappeared. Instead of the title, there was this weird-looking string of gobbledygook letters; some of the symbols weren't even from the English alphabet. They looked like something you'd see in, say, Serbia or Albania or God knows where. And at the end of the string was the at symbol, @ -- suggesting it was perhaps some kind of address?

Øç,ÇÞJJO òùÁÉÓÚÝádfkljeéó^^Â@

"Wow, that's odd," I said to myself, and clicked into my blogger "Settings" to restore the title.

That's when the second weird thing happened.

The blog title, My Story Lives, was EXACTLY the way it was supposed to be in my Settings. But how could this be, I wondered? How could the title be correct inside the blog settings but end up LOOKING LIKE SUCH A WEIRD STRING OF LETTERS on the blog itself?

I called my husband Richard in to see. He was working in his study, writing his own book on health care reform legislation. I showed him the discrepancy in the blog and he agreed that it was very strange.

"I've been blogging every single day since 2006 and nothing like this has ever ever happened," I said.

"Yeah, well, it's probably some hacker, honey," he mumbled, returning to his own writing project in his study.

Sure enough, when I tried to sign into my gmail account (the one that controls this blog), my password wouldn't work.

So I changed the password, and went back into the MyStoryLives site, and fixed the title.

Everything was alright. My blog title, My Story Lives, was back.

Or so I thought. I got busy doing some other writing. After I finished, I went back to MyStoryLives just to have a peek, to make sure everything was in order.

My title was GONE AGAIN. And there again was some string of foreign-looking symbols, the same gobbledygook as before:

æ,EOIUdoejewr;kJØ ç,ÇÞJJO òùÁÉÓÚÝádfkljeéó^^Â@

"What the ....what the ????" And why the @ at the end?

I was thoroughly mystified. Had a hacker broken into my account a second time? How could he/she have gotten ahold of my new password so quickly?

That's when things started to go haywire. I tried repeatedly to restore the blog's title, but I couldn't. I typed MY STORY LIVES over and over again, and all I got on the outside of the blog was this same gobbledygook, over and over again, always with the @ sign at the end:

æ,EOIUdoejewr;kJØ ç,ÇÞJJO òùÁÉÓÚÝádfkljeéó^^Â@

I called to my husband. "Rich, you gotta come here and see this, it's so, so weird," I said. He did; he peered over my shoulder.

"I can't fix my blog title, it's just gone," I said. "No matter what I type on the blog, it comes up this silly gobbledygook."

"Wow," he said. "Somebody must be screwing around big-time with your blog."

"I'll say. This has never ever happened before."

"So why don't you try this: try typing in a different title, just to see if it works," he said.

So I did. With him standing there, and without thinking too much about what I was writing, I typed these words into the title box, "Are You Sister Renata Writing From Beyond the Grave?"

I hit the save button and went to view the blogsite, and where the gobbledygook had been, in the same place that the blog title usually sat, was just this:

ii?

two ii's? what the hell? Was somebody RESPONDING to me? I was starting to get angry. Or maybe it was nervous.

Then I typed, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?" Maybe I could appeal to the hacker to cut it out and leave my blog alone!

What came up on the screen was:

y?

I blinked. I blinked. y? What was this? WHO was this? What the hell was going on here?

I sat there staring at the screen. Suddenly I felt like I was sitting in front of a Ouija board communicating with some spirit. I had a Ouija board as a kid but I never did figure out how to use it. And I have never ever thought of myself having any psychic powers. Nor do I really want to have any.

But now, sitting there, I was faced with this question: was someone out there ANSWERING ME?

I went back into blogger and typed another question. "Who are you, please show me a sign."

I hit save and went to the blog and this is what came up:

C

I sat there trembling. C? What the hell was C supposed to be? I mean, it's the first letter of my name so maybe somebody was trying to be funny.

I called my husband in, and showed him. He shook his head. "I don't have any idea what is going on, honey," he said. "I would if I were you just change my password again. Start over."

I sat there. My heart was racing. My hands and arms felt that funny trembly feeling.

I decided to try writing one more time.

Slowly, I typed in one more question: "Are you Antonie, Writing From Beyond the Grave?"

I hit SAVE. I went to "View Blog," and lo and behold, THERE IN GIANT LETTERS, I read the words that I had just typed.

The title of the blog had become "Are you Antonie, Writing From Beyond the Grave?"

"Rich," I screamed, "You have to see what just happened."

He came in. He studied the blog title. "Well that's awfully weird," he said.

"What the hell is going on here?" I whispered. "This is so so strange. Is somebody screwing with my head or what?"

I decided to shut the blog down entirely, and reboot the computer.

And when I turned the computer on again, I was unable to sign into my gmail account at all. I had to file a report on-line and wait an hour or so until Google sent me a link to another email account, thereby enabling me to change the password.

OK. So now you've heard my strange blog story. Maybe you are thinking, this woman is just nuts. This woman needs a life that isn't connected to writing or blogs or the internet. Or stories about dead nuns. Or stories about people who consult psychics who are ex-nuns.

Maybe you are right. Maybe it's all just crazy.

But one thing is certain: after blogging thousands and thousands and thousands of times, in a very calm and rational and straightforward way, I have never once had a day like this. EVER. EVER.

I have no idea if it's a hacker, or if, something ELSE is going on.

And so, now, I am shutting down my computer for the rest of the day. I am going to go brine my turkey for Thanksgiving Dinner. I have a dozen people coming here in less than 24 hours and I need to focus.

I have a whole lot of cooking to do.

And I have a whole lot of thinking to do too.

Sister Mysteries took me 23 years to finish. And throughout the process there were countless synchronicities, coincidences and mysteries that occurred. The book took me deeply into spirituality and it was a joy to write. To purchase the novel, go to my website, claudiajricci.com.

Hot Pink Flowers from Heaven

The Christmas cactus has exploded into bloom this past week.

Each blossom is so lush and pink and vibrant.

This morning I am standing in front of the cactus and letting all the energy of the plant flood my body.

I am soaking in hot pink flower flesh.

And then I close my eyes and let it radiate. I send it out into the universe to every loved one I know.

This is a good day to be grateful.

This is a good day to say THANK YOU SO MUCH DEAR GOD for letting my sister get better and better.

Thank you God for this and for all the other blessings in my life.

My Sister's Miracle Mantra

Now the purple flowers are tucked into the ground.

Now the first miracles appear.

Last Sunday, not even a week ago, my sister was making this and that sound, and saying lots of words too, like “Hi Dad” when my 92-year old father appeared by her bedside, when all of a sudden she said with great urgency the word

“BOUND.”

Her daughter, my niece Lauren, repeated it and again my sister said “BOUND” and her eyebrows flew up and screwed in the way that they do. So desperate was she to say something, but what?  

“BOUND BOUND BOUND”

Again and again and again she kept saying the word.

Lauren sat by the bed, puzzled. Why would her mother get stuck on one word this way, what was she trying to say? So the two of them started to play a kind of charades with my niece saying this and that and my sister going no no no no and around and around they would go her saying bound and bound and bound and no and no and no

And suddenly out of nowhere (it only took half an hour or so) Lauren throws out the words, “BOUND AND DETERMINED?”

That’s when my sister screams “YES!” and that’s when her spirit fires up and her eyes glow and she seems to come alive, no longer is she lying so limp and pallid against the pillow.

The next day the speech therapist says Karen’s swallow reflex is suddenly strong enough that they can give her a taste of

vanilla pudding and applesauce, ten tastes from a spoon.

My sister’s eyebrows kept flying up, one mouthful at a time -- try going a month without a single thing to eat or drink, not even water -- anything (even mouthwash) tastes good.

That was Monday. Bound and determined as she now is,

by Wednesday, only two days later, she excelled on the so-called swallow test (I should have known, this brainy sister of mine routinely got 100s on her chemistry exams as a student.)

The nurses and aides were thrilled, the speech therapist was speechless -- never had he seen such rapid progress in a patient before. Immediately the staff gave her half an egg salad sandwich to eat and then, a very blessed chocolate chip cookie.

On Thursday, I sat with my sister while she ate a plate of Swedish meatballs and noodles for lunch. The thrill of it is hard to express.

Yes, miracles do happen and here I want to say that it’s hard but extremely important to stay in gratitude as long as possible, to keep holding onto the attitude that “I respectfully thank you over and over again dear God for helping my sister get off the feeding tube so very quickly.”

Alas, it doesn’t take long before I see myself starting to get greedy, I start imagining other miracles, one perhaps where she stands up and takes her first step. I will stop myself right here. I will spend today in thank you thank you thank you.

And rest with the magical mantra,

“Bound and determined.”

I am very grateful to my mother-in-law, Abigail Kirsch, who painted this wonderful watercolor of an iris. Knowing my sister's love for this flower, Abby spent countless hours in the last few weeks getting the painting just right! I know my sister will love it!!

Poetry and Prayer

Poetry and Prayer

On Saturday, September 29, 2018, the day before her 63rd birthday, my sister, Karen Ricci, suffered a stroke. It was a serious bleed on the left side of her brain, in the area where language and motion reside. Karen survived surgery, in which they removed a blood clot the size of a tennis ball. She has now begun intensive rehabilitation. We are asking people to join with us as we pray for her speedy recovery. When I was sick with cancer years ago, I wrote poetry to help my body and spirits heal. Last week, I decided to write poetry to help my sister recover. 

The weather has snapped cold.

I am holding my sister threaded in my heart.

She has started on the long road to recovery.

It’s hard sometimes to see that she needs help to do simple things, like touch her finger to nose.

At those moments when my faith begins faltering, I imagine a column of the brightest light.

I step inside. I remain there. I breathe in hope and acceptance, I breathe out despair.

I strike love like a match and it fires up crisply in the center of my chest. I rest with my hands clasped at my breast.

I stare out into the sky, sometimes white, sometimes blue. I gaze into the trees, their leaves green, yellow, red and brown. I know for sure there is a place called heaven, because even now, even through all of this torture, there is  the mystery and joy of love and love and love.

And there is the awe of all things grown.

Karen, an avid gardener, loves purple flowers.  

There are those irises that my sister particularly adores. Irises that three or four decades ago, she transplanted from my grandfather Angelo’s astonishing garden in Bristol, Connecticut. Karen carried and planted them in Hancock, Massachusetts, and then when she moved to California, she carried them and planted them in the desert air of Santa Clarita. And then when she moved back to Easthampton, Massachusetts three years ago, she planted them a third time.

A few months ago, when she visited me in my new house in North Egremont, Massachusetts, she said,

“Come September, Claud, I will divide up Grandpa’s irises and you can plant some here.”

And so, this week, as fall’s sharp weather warns us of winter, I will do it for her. I will go to her house and divide up the purple flowers. I will bring some home and dig them snugly into my garden.

And then I will say a prayer of thanks, that there are all those miracles we call flowers. I will say a prayer of thanks that that there is a miracle called language. That there is something magical called poetry, which can feed you in times of great need.

I will marvel and say prayers of gratitude that there is such great power in the words that we form in our mouths. That we share with our teeth and our tongues. That we draw and write in black squiggles onto white paper. That we tap into keys. That pour out onto screens.

I pray that my sister may once again have words, that they may pour from her like water crashing over great white blocks of rock.

My niece yesterday texted me this: that my sister for the first time made noises, her first attempt at speech.

I pray that I may be steady in my faith, that I can reach into myself and find a way to keep saying thank you thank you and thank you endlessly, and please and please and please forever, that she may one day soon be once again whole.

October 14, 2018

Miracle Mind

It sits deep inside my sister's mind

that bloody wound

while someone and someone and someone and so many someones

are all calling to her. I believe that

Karen hears the sound in a growing whisper. 

This now is the prayer,

this is how we plead:

 

we beg you not to listen to

the doctors who have little hope.

Focus instead your eyes here,

On this Burning Bush,

On the parting of the Red Sea

on every miracle Moses witnessed

and each and every gem and blessing

that is every moment of every single day.

This is how to live:

above all else,

give yourself and others love and love and love

and heavenly vision.

Don’t just recite poetry

eat it morning, noon and night.

Feed too on divine light and breathe 

your mind and heart right into hers.

As I write these words, a new flock of birds has settled on the limestone rocks.

There is a curious golden color coating the underside of their wings.

And a splash of white on their tails.

They slip in and out of view

And land on the trees like woodpeckers do.

And you too, your eyes slip in and out of view

But today I’m taking take comfort in this:

Both your eyes opened, over and over again, and when you beheld your daughter, you vise-gripped her hand. 

That was yesterday.

And today is still one more day for miracles.

October 7, 2018

I Dreamt About Them Last Night!

By Richard Kirsch

I dreamt about them last night, their faces rising in my dreams and each time I awoke. Hers – sad, powerful, dignified. His angry scowl barely hiding a smirk. 

Can you imagine if she acted like him: raging, crying? What they would say about whether an hysterical woman has the temperament to be on the Court?

She answered calmly, quietly. Reliving her nightmare with dignity. Asking for the truth so it could help her be of more service to her country.

He bobbed and weaved, evading questions, attacking his questioners. Angrily denouncing a great conspiracy. A conspiracy of truth? And he has a judicial temperament?

He was silenced for a moment when Senator Durbin asked him whether he personally believed there should be an FBI investigation. Because he knew the answer was yes –  he also knew it wasn’t up to him, because he had to kowtow to the orders of the President and Republicans in the Senate. Showing himself to be the political hack he still is, even as he sits on a federal court.

Where do we look for hope? Yes, in her heroism. Yes in the millions who declare they believe her and other women. And men. Yes in the movements we have seen surge around the country these last few years, movements that were rising even before Trump’s election. Movements rising more and more since.

Does the moral arc of history bend toward justice? I often ask that when I’m looking for hope. When I’m looking to spring from the anger of injustice to the activism that powers my life. Anger the trampoline. Hope the sky above. But does that sky really have a rainbow bending toward a moral pot of gold?

Yes and no. Yes, over time the world has become a more just place. But not as an arc. More like a lightning bolt – zigging and zagging from the deepest most awful periods in which tyranny and cruelty and hatred and the cowering, scared, tribal, awfulness of humanity dominates. A lightning bolt of fire and destruction. To periods when justice and solidarity and love and people and our governments acting out of the profound understanding of our common humanity triumph. A lightning bolt of progress that transforms lives for generations. 

But today I’m sad. Their faces haunt me. As the faces of children separated from their families have haunted me. And the faces of families fleeing war in Syria have haunted me. As …

I’ll have to sit with that. 

A Grey Morning With Nothing to Say

This morning when I went into the forest to collect the words

I found that they were grey and damp from the cold autumn rain.

I picked up an armful of dark phrases from the forest floor, and carried them back to the house.

I set them there beside the hearth and wondered once again

how can I possibly light a fire or write a poem without kindling or paper or the possibility of matches?

That was the moment you poked your head in the door and said no matter that it was 53 degrees, you were going to dress in winter clothing and sit with your rainbow hat and the prayer beads out on the deck.

Why do I need reminding that I too can aspire to some kind of peaceful start to the day?

Or at least, I can sit calmly, my hands covering my heart, my mind like a squirrel flittering over the rocks, and me lifting my eyes and staring out into the battleship-colored clouds.

"Of Hummingbirds and Lions"

Two Drops of Ink, one of the most popular on-line writing sites, has published my poem, "Of Hummingbirds and Lions:"

"Two hummingbirds come to the weathered rail of the grey porch, poke in and out of the red boxed flowers, back away.  


They hover beside my ear, wings beating the air, bringing the only hope of a breeze.
 
Beyond the sharp beaks, pointing, lie blonde hills topped by smoky blue haze.  The tawny mountains drop, disappear imperceptibly into the ocean..."

To read the entire poem, check out Two Drops of Ink.

To order Sister Mysteries, my new novel, go to claudiajricci.com or Amazon.com. 

It's no coincidence that the setting of the new novel is the same golden California hillside that appears in this poem. I wrote the poem while at a writing colony in California. And I wrote a lot of the novel at the same colony.

Readers are giving the new novel high praise:

“Ms. Ricci writes a real page turner; I found it challenging to put this book down! The immediately-engaging characters of Sister Renata and Gina develop a complicated relationship across time that sweeps the reader up in the dramatic events of the story that turns out to involve them both. In addition, Sister Mysteries is a wonderful fugue on the power of writing and also the power of music--a lot to accomplish. The author does this with seeming effortlessness--Bravo!” 

"Just an absolutely amazing piece of work. The vivid imagery, the poetry, the artistry.  Her writing has a flow and cadence that penetrates and turns the reader into a fellow traveler. I can't wait to share this with others."

"Claudia Ricci is an amazingly gifted writer. Beautiful, painful, torturous, true, mysterious, provocative and healing -- a story of courage and friendship in the face of greed, power and betrayal."

"Her descriptions are so vivid and the story itself is so intriguing."

"A Real Page Turner!"

You spend what feels like an eternity writing a book, and then, once it’s published, you wonder, are people going to like it?

But when readers start sending in reviews like the one below, a great weight is lifted.
“Ms. Ricci writes a real page turner; I found it challenging to put this book down! The immediately-engaging characters of Sister Renata and Gina develop a complicated relationship across time that sweeps the reader up in the dramatic events of the story that turns out to involve them both. In addition, Sister Mysteries is a wonderful fugue on the power of writing and also the power of music--a lot to accomplish. The author does this with seeming effortlessness--Bravo!” 

For those of you who have purchased the book, a hearty thanks. Are there one or two friends to whom you might recommend the book? Are you part of a book group?

Discounts apply, and I would be happy to visit with the group for a discussion.

To buy the book, please visit my website, www.claudiajricci.com, or go to Amazon.com for either a paper copy or an ebook.

 

Flamenco guitarist Maria Zemantauski plays at the book party!

Maria Zemantauski is a virtuoso guitarist and composer, and -- I am very fortunate to say -- a good friend.  She was kind enough to drive an hour and a half on Sunday to come to my party celebrating Sister Mysteries. The book revolves around flamenco guitar, and practically everything I know about flamenco I learned from Maria, during many years of guitar lessons. A more patient teacher I’ve never met. Nor have I ever met anyone more passionate about music and the deeply  important role it plays in human life.

If you like classical guitar, you will love her music. I highly recommend all of her albums; the newest, entitled "Maria Zemantauski," and available on her website,

is a compilation of songs she’s written or arranged in the last 20 years.

She brought a very special energy and flair to the book party; the guests were enthralled with her spectacular playing, as are all of her thousands of fans worldwide.

A special thanks to her. And thanks to all of you who came to the party and purchased the book. 

Another special guest was my cousin Barbara Sergio, who made the drive from Connecticut. Barbara was for many years a nun, and on Sunday she told me that one of the nuns in her convent was named Sister Renata!

Meanwhile, readers continue to praise Sister Mysteries:

"I just finished reading Sister Mysteries. From the very beginning I loved Sister Renata. I really liked the Gina sections too — I like the way Gina is trying to write the stories. I particularly liked how Gina moved across time — sometimes she is with Sister Renata and then sometimes she becomes the nun. I also like how Señora moves across time. It has a magical realism quality that makes sense for the entire novel. It reminds me of Isabel Allende's writing. I also like how the book is really about the power of writing — writing saves Sister Renata because it brings Senora to the courtroom. Writing saves Gina too. The book is great!!!" 

To purchase the book, I encourage you to go to my website, where you will pay no shipping fee. You may also purchase an ebook or a paper copy of the novel through Amazon.

Readers are praising Sister Mysteries!

The first people to read Sister Mysteries are giving the book high praise:

"Just an absolutely amazing piece of work. The vivid imagery, the poetry, the artistry.  Her writing has a flow and cadence that penetrates and turns the reader into a fellow traveler. I can't wait to share this with others."

"Claudia Ricci is an amazingly gifted writer. Beautiful, painful, torturous, true, mysterious, provocative and healing -- a story of courage and friendship in the face of greed, power and betrayal."

"Her descriptions are so vivid and the story itself is so intriguing."

You can order from Amazon or my website, claudiajricci.com. And if you're nearby, you can celebrate the novel this Sunday, August 26th, from 4 to 6 p.m. at 5 General Knox Lane, in North Egremont MA. The driveway has two stone pillars at the top. If you're coming, please let us know. Our phone number is 413-528-4213.
Sister Mysteries, set in 1883 in California, is a framed tale: the inner story focuses on a young Dominican nun -- Sister Renata -- who is accused of killing her cousin Antonie, who writes erotic fantasies portraying Renata as a seductive flamenco dancer.  The web of words Antonie spins incriminates Renata directly in his murder.

More than a century later, a writer named Gina Rinaldi is lured back to the past by Antonie's housekeeper, Señora Ramos. Señora wants Gina to rewrite the nun's story to reveal the truth about Antonie's death. Is Gina as delusional as Antonie, or is she living a past life reincarnated as the nun? Is she whisked back through time on a mission to save her soul, and the nun, or has she begun to unravel?

To buy the book in print, I encourage you to purchase directly from me on my website, via Pay Pal or credit card, as Amazon takes 50% of the book proceeds. And buying from me you pay no shipping fee.

You can purchase an ebook or a hard copy from Amazon.

Thanks to all have ordered the book! Your support is greatly appreciated.

It’s here! At long last, Sister Mysteries is between book covers. Besides being a murder mystery, the novel is a 19th century #MeToo tale.

Set in 1883 in California, the book focuses on a young Dominican nun -- Sister Renata -- who is accused of killing her cousin Antonie. This is the same cousin who writes erotic fantasies about Renata, portraying her as a seductive flamenco dancer.  The web of words Antonie spins incriminates Renata directly in his murder.

More than a century later, a writer named Gina Rinaldi is lured back to the past by Antonie's housekeeper, Señora Ramos. Señora wants Gina to rewrite the nun's story to reveal the truth about Antonie's death. Is Gina as delusional as Antonie, or is she living a past life reincarnated as the nun? Is she whisked back through time on a mission to save her soul, and the nun, or has she begun to unravel?

In Sister Mysteries, says one reader, you are in store for "powerful drama, passionate writing, well defined and compelling characters, erotic passages, religious fervor, the metafictional presence of the writer and her problems, a heady mix of narratives and voices, suspense...and more."

To buy the book in print, I encourage you to purchase directly from me on my new website, via Pay Pal, as Amazon takes 50% of the book proceeds. And buying from me you pay no shipping fee.

You can purchase an ebook or a hard copy from Amazon. You can also purchase a hard copy from The Troy Bookmakers.

For those of you who live near Great Barrington, MA, I'd love to have you join me at a book party on Sunday, August 26, 2018, from 4 to 6 p.m. My home is at 5 General Knox Lane, in North Egremont. Please RSVP by August 20th.

I hope you'll join me and Renata in the mystery of the golden hills of California!