About Cynthia G.

Cynthia Gregory is an executive coach, nonprofit consultant, and creativity coach living with a menagerie of two among the vineyards and coastal hills of Northern California.

sassy b*tches

Posted on November 3, 2013 by Cynthia G.

Don’t you just hate it when you spend the time looking for a yummy read, a book to fire your imagination and sooth your sense of adventure, only to find the heroine completely unlikeable in the end? We all know the pain of flirting with a book we think we will love only to break up with it half way between the covers because it’s a big fat dud. What if the story is good, but the writing itself is dull or just one bald cliché after another? Fear not, gentle reader. We have tools and search engines, and even clever strategies to make good book choices.

So how do you judge a book by its, er, cover? As in any endeavor, it’s important to know what you like. Just now, I pulled a Google search for “debut novels, 2013.” Many selections popped up. I clicked on the one entitled, “10 Dazzling Debut Novels to Pick Up Now” because I love to be dazzled, and it sounds like a promise. How do I choose? I know my limits. I know what I love and know what I won’t go near with a red hot poker.

Here is a small sampler of the “dazzlers,” a brief description of the storyline, and my reasons to adopt or reject them.

A Constellation of Vital Phenomena: “A neighbor saves an 8-year-old Chechen girl from the Russian soldiers who have taken her father, and together they seek shelter in an abandoned hospital.” Reject: too sad.
Crazy Rich Asians: “Opulence and zaniness reign when one of Singapore’s richest bachelors invites his American-born girlfriend to travel from New York to vacation in his native country.” Reject: Zaniness aside, I’m not terribly interested in fictional adventures of rich bachelors.
The Golem and the Jinni: “Two supernatural creatures accidentally unleashed in 19th-century Manhattan forge an unlikely alliance in this fantastical work of historical fiction.” Adopt: Magic + historical fiction. Yay!
American Spirit: “In this first novel from the outrageously funny host of The Moth podcast, a 40-something media exec goes rogue after losing his job in the recession, taking up drunken residence in his car before embarking on a vision quest to Bali by way of Los Angeles and Yellowstone.” Adopt: Vision quest + Yellowstone + Bali. Oh, yes!
The Execution of Noa P. Singleton: “In this grippingly off-kilter thriller, a young woman sits on death row after being convicted of murder until a high-powered attorney—the victim’s mother—intervenes, leaving everyone to wonder why.” Adopt: a young murderess saved at the 11^th hour? Hells yes.
Golden Boy: “A good-looking, athletic British teenager’s seemingly idyllic life gets turned upside down when his oldest friend betrays him, revealing a closely held family secret just as the boy’s father is about to run for political office.” Reject: Politics + betrayal. Zzzz.

And there you have it. Are my selections biased? Yes, without a doubt. I know what I like and life is too short for bad fiction.

Cynthia Gregory

razzle dazzle

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Cynthia G.

We are passionate women who write, right? So it’s only natural that we publish, too.

Download some amazing fiction by Pam Lazos here.

into the woods

Posted on October 26, 2013 by Cynthia G.

n is for nature. and nurture. and nihilist.

read our coolest review to date. here.

and then, as if that wasn’t enough, we’re even blushing about the subject.

B is for Book

Posted on October 14, 2013 by Cynthia G.

A is for Artist. and Anomaly. and Ahhhhhh.

We review what we love. Read all about it here.

the good life

Posted on October 5, 2013 by Cynthia G.

books are what we love.

share the love. here.

let’s make a deal

Posted on October 2, 2013 by Cynthia G.

OIL IN WATER

Pam Lazos

Chapter Seventy-Two

“Do you have any collateral, Mr. Hartos?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Hart opened his briefcase and displayed stock certificates for tens of thousands of shares of Akanabi Oil. The banker raised his eyebrows and picked up one of the certificates, analyzing it for authenticity.

“So what do you need me for?” the banker asked, setting down the certificate and folding his hands across his ample belly.

“I don’t, actually,” Hart said wryly. “Not if I sell that.” He nodded toward the briefcase. “But I don’t want to sell. Not yet.” Hart opened Sonia’s brown leather backpack and pulled out a thick business plan.

“I’ve been working on this all week,” he said, pushing it across the table toward the banker. “I’m prepared to give you a twenty percent return on your money for the first five years in exchange for an unlimited line of credit.”

The banker pitched forward in his chair and laid hands upon the document.

“Uhh uhh,” Hart said, shaking his head. “Not before we make a deal.”

“How can I make a deal if I can’t examine the business plan?”

Hart pulled a confidentiality agreement from Sonia’s backpack and placed it in front of the banker who read it.

“It bars you from even speaking about this matter to anyone who is not intimately involved in the release of funds and then it’s only on a need-to-know basis. After you read the plan, you’ll understand the paranoia. This is revolutionary technology. The urge to steal it will be strong.”

“This bank is not interested in anything illegal or immoral, Mr. Hart.”

“It’s nothing like that. But it will be the greatest invention since the advent of the industrial revolution. And you have the opportunity to be a part of it.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I need a line of credit. You’re in business to make money.”

“But why not do it yourself?” the banker asked, motioning toward the stock certificates.

Hart smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Once the first plant is built, that won’t be enough to cover the cost of expansion. It’s gonna spread like the wildfire, I guarantee you. Cities, states, municipalities – they’ll all be clamoring for it.

Interest piqued, the banker signed the confidentiality agreement and opened the business plan. Hart watched his face change as he read the one-page introduction.

“Either you’re crazy or a genius, I’m not sure. But if it’s true, I take your point. There’s no telling how big this could get.”

“So, we have a deal?”

“I need to look this over in detail, but my preliminary response would be yes, we most certainly have a deal.” The two men shook hands.

“I’ll call you later . . .”

“Absolutely not.”

“Hmmm?”

“I’ll sit and wait until you’ve finished reading.”

“Mr. Hartos, a line of credit of this magnitude will require the acquiescence of the bank’s Board of Directors. And it’s not going to be granted on a verbal request.”

“That’s fine. After everyone signs the confidentiality agreement, you get a copy of the business plan.”

“Okay, well I’ve signed, so I’ll keep this copy.”

“Not until you’ve approved the line of credit.”

“But I just told you…”

“Look. I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but until I get everybody’s signatures . . .”

The banker shook his head. “We just don’t do business that way.”

“There are plenty of banks on this street. Someone’s going to lend me the money.”

“Not without the proper paperwork.”

“Suit yourself.” Hart collected his papers and stuffed them in Sonia’s backpack. “Remember. You signed an agreement. Not a word. Because if I hear one, I’ll own this bank.”

Hart smiled broadly. “Good day.”

to be continued. . .

catch up here

fun with food

Posted on September 19, 2013 by Cynthia G.

we’ve done it again. . .and now our food is blush-worthy, too!

read all about it here.

the egg was airborne

Posted on September 18, 2013 by Cynthia G.

OIL IN WATER

Pam Lazos

Chapter Seventy-One

Gil was under attack. He dodged a plastic missile and huddled under a small bush a few feet from the house. A large, old man, older than his father by a lot, was laughing. His laugh echoed, like it started down deep in the earth, and bulged and grew and it clawed its way to the top where it became fearsome and overpowering. It made Gil’s insides shake even though it was the first day of spring and pretty warm out.

The man threw empty plastic water bottles at him: Perrier, Deer Park, Evian, Crystal Springs. The small bottles bounced off, harmless. He only ducked when the man launched the larger one-gallon bottles. He looked around for an escape route and his eyes landed on the small plane parked next to the house. Kori would be pissed that he forgot to park it in the garage again, and more, that he was going to drive it without a license, but so what? He invented it. It wasn’t a conventional plane, but looked more like a giant egg laid on its side. Little claw-like chicken’s feet descended from the main compartment and kept the body steady when the plane was grounded. The wings retracted into the body. Inside the egg were two seats, a cushion on the floor for Max, and a control panel. Avery wanted to sell these planes some day, for a fraction of the cost of a Hummer.

Gil pulled a gas pump hose from an outlet below the kitchen window and crawled on his belly over to the egg, kicking plastic bottles as he went. He lifted the hatch and inserted the nozzle into the egg’s fuel tank, dodging several bottles thrown in rapid succession. The hose connected to a small TDU in the basement and was fed by the garbage disposal and the trash bin, a complete in situ unit. After a few minutes, the filling stalled and the hose went limp in Gil’s hand. He shook it, but nothing happened. He crawled back over and kicked the wall of the house like a man kicking the tires of the car. “Oowww,” he yelled, but the mini TDU failed to restart. “Dammit,” he said, then covered his mouth and looked around to see if his sister was within hearing distance.

The large man started laughing again. Gil panicked and dropped the hose. He was crawling toward the egg when he heard Max at the kitchen door, barking like a crazy dog, so he crawled back to the house and let him out. Together they ran and jumped into the egg. Gil started the engine and the little chicken legs took off running at a fast clip. The wings fanned, the thrusters thrusted and the egg was airborne, the chicken legs still running, but with no ground beneath them. When he retracted the legs, the egg shot straight up into the air. The large man bellowed, something between a laugh and a moan, and Gil accelerated. He turned around to see the man remove his Armani suit jacket, fold it neatly over his arm, and bend down to turn on an automatic ball toss machine.

“Where the heck did that come from?” Gil yelled to Max who raised his head to investigate. The machine began firing the empty plastic water bottles, pelting the egg mercilessly. Singularly, the bottles posed no harm, but collectively the force resulted in an erratic trajectory, throwing them off course while jolt after jolt caused the egg first to zig and then to zag. The large man laughed like a maniac, sending shock waves that caused the egg to tumble with each successive and inexorable guffaw.

“Hold on!” Gil yelled to Max who crouched down at Gil’s feet, his paws over his eyes. Gil steered a hard right to avoid a fresh onslaught of plastic and came close enough to see the man’s large mouth. And like the Cheshire cat, as the man’s the smile grew larger, his face shrank away until all that remained were his hideous radiating teeth, each half the size of the egg. The man threw a switch, converting the machine to fast pitch and Gil was bombarded. The egg began to plummet. A bottle cracked the window. A hole emerged and grew. Air leaked out of the cabin. Gil flicked at the overhead switches.

“We’re losing pressure,” he screamed. He pushed a button and air masks dropped from the ceiling. He covered Max’s large snout with one and was attempting to put his own mask on when the egg took another hit and rolled over on itself. The mask flew out of Gil’s hand and he lost control. He began coughing, choking for air. . .

Gil’s eyes flew open and he coughed for a full minute before regaining his breath. Images of eggs and plastic swirled in the world behind his eyelids and he was cold and sweaty. He burrowed a hand under Max’s furriness and lay his head on the dog’s massive neck. Max yawned and put his head on the bed pillow. Gil closed his eyes, but the images still danced behind the lids, so he forced himself awake and sat up in bed. He yawned. His stomach growled rudely, and the noise threw his feet over the side of the bed. He put his slippers on and went downstairs to breakfast.

to be continued . . .

start reading here and work backwards

sweet like honeysuckle

Posted on September 14, 2013 by Cynthia G.

Thirteen Ways of Looking at Words

Arianna Rich

Words:

They’re sweet like

honeysuckle,

hiding in the bushes.

They’re the words

of mourning, when you get

a midnight phone call: “There was a crash…”

III

Words can be soothing,

a gentle caress of your cheek

just when you need it the most.

They’re lemon bitter, the hate words.

They jump down your throat and

Sit

like a lump,

no oxygen escaping and none slipping in,

threatening to bring tears to your eyes.

They’re Swift

like a shadow

in the night,

slipping through the darkness without a trace of light.

They’re soft and swirly and light as a feather.

White cotton sheets,

rippling in the wind.

VII

They’re bright and bubbly,

popping, like drops of golden sunlight

into your sun-kissed hair.

VIII

They’re EVERGREEN.

Fresh and pure as young pine, hiding

behind the old ones in the mystical forest.

Words are slick as a blade,

gliding across the ice.

tHey conjure and drEam and imagine

those siLly words.

They buiLd castles in the clOuds.

There are words that rhyme,

but not all the time.

XII

Words are STIFF

hard

j-a-g-g-e-d

quick

sharp

Ridiculous. Illogical. Truthful.

Often impatient.

XIII

Words are the center of the Earth,

the glue that holds her inhabitants together.

Without words, there would be no poems to write

or stories to speak.

No Way To Communicate.

Yet sometimes — when words are needed most…

is the time no words are spoken at all.

be home more

Posted on September 11, 2013 by Cynthia G.

OIL IN WATER

Pam Lazos

Chapter Seventy

Kori walked in the back door and dumped a pile of mail and the Sunday paper on the kitchen table. She shot Avery a dirty look which he didn’t catch because he didn’t bother to look up from his magazine.

“Hi to you, too,” she snapped. Avery took a bite of his cereal.

Kori got close to his face: “Hi!” she yelled.

Avery pulled the honey pot over, forcing Kori out of his immediate space. She crossed her arms and stared at him as he rolled the honey dipper around inside the pot. He pulled up a ball full and drizzled honey over his Cheerios, making little swirly patterns with the sticky golden liquid.

“Are you going to say something?” Kori asked.

He replaced the lid and pushed the honey jar away before turning his full attention to his sister. He scowled, contemplating his options.

“Yeah. I’ll say something. Don’t you think you’re behaving outside the scope of what constitutes a good role model?” He took a sip of his juice and rather than waiting for an answer, turned back to his magazine. Kori watched him, mouth agape.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” she shot back.

Avery pushed his chair back and crossed his legs. In that moment, he felt he’d become one with his father. He felt agitated and fatherly, a lecture for the child’s latest transgression poised on his tongue.

“It means, you’re acting like a….” His mouth formed a “w,” but no sound came out. Avery’s face felt hot. He dropped his chin and looked at his stockinged feet.

“What? Go ahead and say it.” She threw a piece of junk mail at him. “Say it!” The envelope bounced off his shirt and fell to the floor. “Say it, you little dweeb.” She threw a stack of napkins at him. They fluttered to the floor like baby birds falling from the nest. “Who the hell are you to judge me? Huh? Do you know how hard it is being me? Keeping all this together?” She waved an arm behind her, a gesture so dramatic it may as well have encompassed the entire world, not just the pots and pans.

Avery rubbed the bridge of his nose, exactly the way Marty used to do to hide his smile.

“Stop it, you little bastard.” Kori lunged at her brother, intent on strangling him.

Avery had a good deal of upper body strength to his credit despite his lanky frame. He grabbed Kori with ease, stopping her in mid-lunge, holding both arms, their faces inches apart. He looked closely at her now, at the worry lines on her face, at the dark, puffy circles below her eyes, and he softened. He released her and she sat down opposite him, looking pitiful and embarrassed. Avery returned to his magazine and pretended he wasn’t moved.

“Just say it, would you?” Kori choked out the words.

“Okay. You need to be home more. Not just for Gil. For me, too.” He pushed his cereal bowl away. “I can’t remember everything. I have school, you know? And there’s laundry everywhere and grocery shopping and Gil’s homework to check and I got my own homework. I mean, look at that.” He waved his hand in the direction of the gargantuan pile of mail. “I think subconsciously I didn’t pick it up because I know there are bills due and I’ve got no money to pay them with. I never know if there’s going to be enough and I keep hoping that Social Security will make a mistake and send us two checks so I can pay off some of these credit cards that I’m using, not to buy fun stuff, but to buy groceries.” He dropped his head to his hands and stared at the floor.

Kori rubbed his back, but he shrugged her off and pulled himself together.

“You gotta get back to work. You have jobs waiting. Clients who can be tapped for other clients. Otherwise we’re gonna drown here, Kori.”

“Avery,…. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Avery rolled his eyes.

“Alright, I did. But I was trying to hide from it, too.” She flopped down in the chair next to him. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. Let’s just get back on track, okay?”

“Okay.” Kori slumped in her seat. “Anyway, I broke up with Chris.”

“You’re kidding. You and Mr. Wonderful are through?”

“He wasn’t so wonderful.”

“That’s not what you said last week.”

“Yeah well, last week my head was in a bubble of love and this week the bubble’s burst. Life’s much clearer without the filmy soap residue.”

“What happened?”

“Same old, same old, I guess. My “last man on the totem pole” complex. He’s so wrapped up in his work. I didn’t see that much of the time he was dedicating to me had to do with the story he was unearthing. His interests have been waning ever since the story ran on Gil. I got tired of ignoring it.”

“What did Chris say?”

“Nothing.”

“So you didn’t tell him.”

“I don’t think I need to.” Kori sighed. “Please don’t beat me up about it.”

Avery shrugged. “What good’s it do to beat the animal that pulls the plow?”

Kori wacked him on the back. “Are you calling me a cow?”

“If the yoke fits,” he said.

“Bastard.” She smacked him on the back again.

“Hey. Mr. Right’ll come along. What did Mom say? For every pot there’s a lid?”

“Are you calling me a pot now?”

“Jesus, you’re a bitch,” Avery said. “Now leave me alone, please so I can finish my gourmet breakfast.” He pulled his cereal bowl over and took a bite, but spit it out. “Uch. I hate soggy cereal.”

He dumped the mush in the sink and poured a fresh bowl. The doorbell rang.

Kori looked at the kitchen clock. “Who’s coming over at 9:30 on a Sunday morning?”

“Could be your new Prince Charming,” Avery said, pouring milk into his bowl. Kori scrunched her nose, looking distraught.

“What?”

“What if it’s Chris?” Kori asked, doing her deer in the headlights impersonation.

Avery laughed at the look on her face. “What if it is? You broke up with him, right?”

Kori didn’t budge.

“You better answer the door before the bell wakes Gil up.”

“Will you get it? If it’s for me, just say I’m not here.”

Avery drizzled more honey into his bowl. “No. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m eating.”

“Fine,” Kori huffed, and stomped from the kitchen.

to be continued. . .