Books by Karen Fowler
Just Desserts- New Release!
Beth, a young widow and former battered-woman, tries to overcome the issues over her husband’s death with the help of a therapist, but her Aunt Wilma ends up being her catalyst for healing.
***** This is a short story of approx. 4,500 words.
Still Life Paintings
In the first story, Abstract Remembrances, a young mother has a mental breakdown after a tragic event. She paints the same image day after day only she can’t actually “see” the image she repeatedly paints. Will art therapy be her salvation, or her final undoing?
In the second story, Different Strokes, a harried mother tries to teach her children a lesson in individuality and tolerance by introducing them to Art History Masters and the different methods each painter used. In the end, she teaches her self an important lesson as well.
In the third story, Still Life Paintings, a woman is forced to attend a gallery premiere spotlighting her ex-boyfriend. The painful business event takes an abrupt turn, as she sees that each canvas holds a message just for her. In the end, she must read the paintings as a whole and decide what the message means for her future.
*** Some Great reviews have come in for Still Life Paintings and you can read them on Amazon, GoodReads, Barnes & Noble , Smashwords and LibraryThing. Also, ReadingGoodBooks posted a nice review (and helpful too!)
Reflections on Motherhood
What People are Saying about Reflections on Motherhood:
“I think every mother can relate to these feelings. I loved the author’s humor and thought provoking perspective! Look forward to reading more from this author.” from reader Debanair at Barnes & Noble
Excerpts from Reflections on Motherhood:
Few things strike fear in my heart more than the idea of bringing up my daughter, from precocious waif to fully self-sufficient adult, with the obligatory passage through the train-wreck teen years.
First came the typical mom-of-a-girl-child thoughts. Boys. Peer-pressure. Mean girls and cliques. Popularity. Heartbreak. Drinking. Oh, please God don’t let her be like me. That, I really don’t think I could handle.
After I let those tender morsels marinate for a little while (basically five minutes past hyper-ventilating while sprouting a fresh set of hives) my thoughts turned to more perplexing issue. Worse than the typical perils of growing up, are the intangible; those things unseen and underlying. (from the essay Cultivating a Rose, Instead of a Weed)
The desire to procreate, in some, is so strong that it creates a sort of tunnel vision in the afflicted. One can’t see beyond trying to make a baby, and they never stop to think about what it will really be like once said baby has in fact, arrived.
I don’t want to demean the whole carrying-on-the-family thing. Hey, I’m as guilty as the rest of people that once had a dream, and in getting that dream, got a whole lot more. (from the essay, Of Genes and Hormones)
There is a water-stain on the ceiling above my bed, created one night when the roof decided to leak. I stare at it often, early in the morning, when the only thing stirring is my mind. While the sun is rekindled from blackened ash, thoughts of escape creep into my head. This stain, this black mark upon my dawn, has become an omen. How else could it haunt me so?
Somehow, whether a fluke of nature or the twisted device of the Gods, this puddle of water has dried into the shape of the contiguous United States. It is the color of my morning coffee– café au latte– sweet with cream. And it is driving me mad.
This stain is there to remind me, morning after morning, that I am going nowhere. Not to the next state, not across the country, and certainly not around the world as I once dreamed. I am stuck in this muddy rut of my life with no vehicle of motion in sight. Somehow, while I wasn’t paying attention, I became a rusted-out jalopy, with wires hanging from my undercarriage and two flat tires. Obviously, I am going nowhere. (from Water-marked Dreams, and essay)
Memories for Sale
What Readers are Saying about Memories:
“A really good short story. I truly wish it was longer so I could get to know the characters better, a great story idea. Enjoyable read!” – from reader ABCAROL on Barnes and Noble
Excerpt from Memories for Sale:
Glancing over her shoulder to be sure she was alone, Eleanor reached down and depressed the blue button. At once, the computer hummed to life. She drummed the desktop with her bony fingers while the system booted up and considered what she was about to do. It was crazy. No, it was more than crazy. It was absurd! Here she was, sitting in the library about to log onto the premiere Internet auction site. She didn’t need the money all that bad. She could always take a loan out on her house, or cash in part of her life insurance.
Eleanor had this conversation with herself many times over the last dozen or so nights. And the conclusion was always the same. She would not leave the house to her daughter with a mortgage in place. She would not diminish her life insurance in any way. Those funds would be need for her burial and any medical expenses left over after she was gone.