Resurrection Song (first version of two)

By Lizbeth Hartz | June 30, 2014

This version of “Resurrection” was born after I told a talented young singer/musician, Megan Petrie, the story of Vic, Jaku, and me. I often talked to her when she made me smoothies in a health food store I was fond of visiting in Haleiwa Town on Oahu’s north shore. Even though Megan was busy getting…

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From Book to Blog

By Lizbeth Hartz | June 22, 2014

Killer, not filler, posts are the ones I strive for. That’s why only one or two posts make it into my blog most months. It takes tons of time to find a fitting topic, write a draft, let it set, edit it, and write and edit some more. As I often do when seeking a…

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After Birthing a Book Blues

By Lizbeth Hartz | June 10, 2014

Forty five years ago, in spite of shaking in my shy shoes beneath the bright lights shining on my high school stage, I enjoyed donning different identities and acting out bit parts in theater productions. But on the first morning after the last curtain call, the post-production blues invariably set in. The magic vanished, daily…

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Virtually Grounded

By Lizbeth Hartz | June 3, 2014

On May 21st, I beamed as I read a recent five-star review for my book Angel Hero on Amazon. “Darkly Disturbing but Spiritually Uplifting,” wrote Hypnotist 101. “An exquisitely woven thriller, this excellent and compelling novel uses first-person narrative to great effect.” Hypnotist 101’s book about publishing on Amazon had helped me, so I’d praised…

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Book Author Butterflies, Part 1

By Lizbeth Hartz | May 14, 2014

On May 7, eleven other writers and I took turns standing behind a podium in front of some fifty folks seated around tables in a large room. We read from our poems, short stories, novels or narratives for five minutes max. The excerpt my writer’s group had helped me select sizzled with suspense. In the…

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Book Author Butterflies, Part 2

By Lizbeth Hartz | May 13, 2014

“I’m reading an excerpt from Chapter 9 of Angel Hero.” I hoped my voice wasn’t shaking. “Dark clouds extinguished the starlight and spewed out rain as my borrowed Ford with bald tires skidded along an unlit stretch of highway. “Everything’s going to be fine,” I whispered, and chanted “Om” again and again. “A flash of…

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