Above the Cut ~The Nudes of Dasguptarts

Published February 15, 2019 by paulandpaulasbooks

Sudipta Steve Dasgupta, the artist behind Dasguptarts is a hugely talented and successful artist.  The mural concept, “A Father’s Pain” that I shared eleven days ago on the blog, Mother, God & Father’s Love, evokes deep emotions and truly needs more of a home than a blog.

Following Gallery is in celebration of Love.

A Father’s Pain51162353_2225227224358984_2869315763234144256_n

Passion Of A MachinePassion of a Machine

Heart and Soul                                        heart n soul copy                                                                                                                                    Solitary ConfinementSolitary Confinement


Undelivered LetterUndelivered Letter

Autumn and a Widow 13-Autumn-and-a-widow

Relaxing                                  Relaxing copy

Of a Statueof a Statue

Once Upon Atrocityonce-upon-atrocity











Body and Soul            body n soul


Ica Iova ~ Above the Cut ~ Interview

Published February 14, 2019 by paulandpaulasbooks

Hi Paula, here it is again. P.S. I couldn’t open your attachment and I only saw 7 questions, so I added a few of my own. Thus starts my interview with a lady I met on Facebook years ago.  She was an aspiring writer, I already had a published book, but our main thrust was friendship.

Over the years, Ica has written award-winning books, won contests and generally just stayed the course eyes forward in accomplishing goal after goal.  I would recommend any of her books; they all hold solid engaging stories.  I will be reviewing her first book, Whispers, an award-winning book.


When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

I think, subconsciously, I always knew that writing was what sparked my fire. My grandparents were great story-tellers, and from a young age, they instilled in me the love of story-telling—but like many other writers, I had to choose a different path and work for a bi-monthly paycheck.


How long does it take you to write a book?

A number of factors play a role in how long it takes to write a book—the amount of research necessary, my muse, length of the book, etc. But on average, I can finish writing a 50,000 words book in three to four months.

What is your work schedule like when you’re writing?

I try to write at least 2000 words every day, even when my inspiration is gone or hiding. Sometimes it consists of random thoughts, but you’ll be surprised how efficient moving words around could be.

What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?

Hmm. I had to think about this for a moment because to me my quirks aren’t just quirks. It’s the way I write. I’d have to go with my readers’ comments that my characters act and sound very realistic. And that is because I don’t just write what comes to mind (well, I do, but then I delete it, *big grins*) I give each character his/her own personality, his/her own goals, and I let them tell me What’s stopping them from achieving that goal. Is it his arrogant personality? Her defiance?  These two are my favorite since they tend to paint strong personalities. I often eavesdrop on other people’s private conversations (I know, bad habit) but I like to hear how real people carry on a discussion. On rewrites, I may change the dialogue several times. If it doesn’t make sense to me, it probably won’t make sense to anyone else.

How do books get published?

There are three ways (that I know of).

  1. The traditional way, which is a long and exhausting process, especially if your confidence in your writing is not up to date. This is a very competitive industry, and you may get lucky at your first try, or you may get a thousand rejections before a publisher/agent agrees to even look at your work. It doesn’t mean your work is not worthy of publishing; it merely says that publishers are invaded with submissions and they can choose. You have to make sure that when you submit your manuscript, you and your work stand out from thousands of others that the publisher may have received that day.
  2. The DIY self-publishing way. Several platforms allow you to publish your book at minimum or no cost to you. All you need is a computer and to be able to follow instructions.
  3.  Pay a vanity press to do it for you. I strongly advise against this form of publishing. These organizations are not cheap, and they all promise you the world when in fact all they want is your money. But don’t take my word for it. Do the research yourselves. 

Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?

Everywhere! Literally. Sometimes it takes as little as a word to spark an entire story. I also do a lot of research on the Internet and by interviewing people in different fields to get my facts straight.

When did you write your first book and how old were you?

I told this story many times, but I never get tired of it. In my second grade, the curriculum included reading a story—Puiul (The Chick) by Ion Alexandru Bratescu-Voinesti. It’s a somber story from the Romanian literature, about a baby quail, who hadn’t listened to its mother to sit still with its siblings while she tried to divert a hunter’s attention. The naughty chick flies from its hiding place, and the hunter shoots and injures it badly enough so it can’t join its migrating family to warmer lands. 

Though the story is meant to teach children to listen to their parents, I hated the image of a baby quail slowly freezing to death. So, I did what writers do: I re-wrote it. My version had a happy ending, where a child founds the injured bird and takes it home to nurse it back to health.

What is your favorite, and your least favorite thing about writing?

When my mind buzzes with ideas, I can’t seem to type fast enough, to put it all down on paper. Yes, sometimes during rewrites my head may drop on the desk, and I may ask myself aloud, “What the heck were you thinking,” but when that new idea pops in, I feel like a child the night before Christmas. Editing, on the other hand, and I bet I’m not alone in this, feels like a chore. Believe me: there is a good reason why I’m a writer, not an editor.

What would you most like readers to know about you?

Of course, first and foremost I’d like my readers to know the professional side of me—how I started to write; why I started to write; how each one of my prior jobs has helped prepare me to take on this crucial role. But I also like my readers to know me beyond my writing. I want them to connect with me on a personal level as well. While I’d love to share everything about myself—my likes, dislikes, the places I’ve visited, the oceans I’ve crossed, there isn’t enough room for all of it here and now, but I like my readers to know that I appreciate the little things money can’t buy. I am also open-minded and approachable.

What is your WIP?

I just finished writing another romantic suspense—Convenient Lies—and I’m putting the finishing touches on a historical fiction that is a mix of fact and fiction inspired by my own story. Set in two wolds, and two different cultures, Reflections will resonate with a lot of people—immigrants or not—because it offers a window into the life of people who choose to leave their homes and everything familiar and plunge into the unknown in search for better lives.

ica lova photo


Ica Iova – Award-Winning Author



Mother, God ~ & ~ Father’s Love

Published February 4, 2019 by paulandpaulasbooks

The world is in turmoil and has been since its creation. There is a Light side in which love resides. The Light grows dimmer with each encroachment of evil.

What each society calls good and evil is determined by the power in charge of that society. And eyes are shrouded to love and in evil sees righteousness.

I cannot make a judgment on another person, no matter how wrong I believe their decision may be. Their choice is part of their destiny, their contract with the Almighty, even when they do not think there is a God, or by what name they call the Great Spirit.

My spirit is very troubled by decisions made almost clandestinely, putting laws into place that were jarring to a spirit that conforms and accepts most laws.

The following poem by a fellow author and poet echoes our cries ~

I wrote this as I am troubled by what these Politicians today have done… I do not want to see Roe V Wade overturned, as that is a woman’s choice, nor do I want to see back alley abortions… But these new laws that say at birth or there after a child can be aborted??? That I do not abide… So please read, and help me give it a name…

My Thoughts are loud
But not as loud
as The voice I sometimes
The sound has laughter,
Crying, so many tones
to the sound
That reverberates
as I lay here…
I stretch,
I yawn,
I am growing
I move all around…
It is dark but warm
Sometimes quiet, others times loud,
I hear humming soft, low
coming from I know not
There are those special times
When I am floating free…
No bouncing, sloshing,
I try to show
my love
for keeping me safe
by making the sound
of our hearts beat in
Unison as
I feel my time here
has about come to an end…
I am turning, I am pushing,
I have been inside here
for almost 9 months…
I am ready to leave
this place of warmth and safety
What do those words mean???
What are those things coming in???
Why do I feel such pain
When I am ready for my
Life to begin???
Mother, God
What have I done
That you are saying
to put me to an
“Pain of a father” a digital painting
of mural concept by Dasguptarts
To help ~ please read and sign the petition to Supreme Court https://aclj.org/petitions?utm_medium=Email&utm_source=ExactTarget&utm_campaign=d-02082019_top-PL_seg-REexRE20pDPTREpDFOpDRESTpFBR_typ-PT 




How Grows Your Tree?

Published December 31, 2018 by paulandpaulasbooks


In eons past, I wonder how many times I failed to cause my spirit needing fleshly clothes to set out a new path to learn once again. I shared a vision I had at the age of four so I know of several failures.


I grew up in Brooklyn off Fulton Avenue, the conduit to downtown shopping and uptown schooling. The apartment buildings were over the subway line leading to the East side where twice yearly we shopped for shoes and fabrics to cover our growing bodies.


Our block and those immediately surrounding were occupied with Black, White, Red, and Yellow…every shade from pasty white to ebony brown – our neighborhood was a united nation that actually flowed in love and acceptance through the children who saw only playmates. I was privileged while young to be the only girl in the neighborhood and accepted by the boys as one of them because I liked to play ball, skate, race, build forts and a very good pitcher of ice balls. I did not cry if I skinned a knee or took a ball in the face.


The girls came late to my neighborhood and all in the same season. I left the boys to hang with people that were not only my gender but my age except Olive, she of the ebony hue and five years my senior. Her mom was my grandmother’s assistant in the running and maintenance of our building. Olive and I were sisters even though I was the pasty white and the younger one.  I was the first born in my family and she was the last born of brothers, so our personalities meshed. We only had one fight – not argument – fight. she pulled clumps of hair from my head and I ripped her dress off. While my grandmother and her mom were hashing out our bad behavior the two of us were already outside best of friends/sisters again. We accepted all the other girls – Italian, Irish, Romany, Armenian, German, Polish, Puerto Rican while I was mixed with five different cultures and a dash of a sixth.


There were love and acceptance among the tenants for the differences as well as the unity of one’s own culture. In that environment, we had a tolerance for all. One needed help, all hands were extended. Joys shared, sorrows comforted, differences celebrated, but that truly must start within oneself.


All of us girls stayed friends until our early teens and then we all deployed into our next assignments in other neighborhoods. None of us promised to write letters because all of us knew we would not.


Now I’m in a different countrified local but we all know one another, our block and those surrounding we walk, we talk, we still share joys and sorrows. We have each other’s back. There is no us or them within our borders. People respond to kindness and in that, the differences disappear. It must start in our own heart and ripple out.


Each one of us is an island – we bear the fruit of kindness or fruit of discord. It is amazing what a smile can accomplish and what a snarl can demolish.


So, in the turning of the year when we make decisions to change or to enhance our being, how cultivated is the fruit and how grows your tree?

aged aging background bark

Photo by Fancycrave.com on Pexels.com

For my friend, Rosie

Published December 25, 2018 by paulandpaulasbooks

     “Are you sure they’re coming today?  The Red Dog asked.

“Santa said they were, you know that.  When  Santa says something, believe it.  He is a friend of Jesus.  And I’m pretty sure Jesus put him in charge of Christmas, “ said the Raggedy Boy.

“Yes, Christmas is when we celebrate Jesus birthday,  but I think He really was born sometime way back in September.”  The Black and White Tiger growled.

“So we all get presents on Jesus’ birthday.  Isn’t that sort of weird.  Most people get presents on their birthday, not someone else’s birthday,”  The Red Guy that laughed a lot said in a whisper.

“I heard you, Red and the reason for that is ….   Well, I actually don’t know the answer to that, but I do know that Jesus gave us his Saving Grace and all we have to do to get that gift is to say ‘thank you, Jesus, I accept your gift,”’  said Mr. Octopus.

“Yes, and that’s all well and good, and I do believe in Jesus.  What I’m not so sure of is, are the kids coming, and if they are, will they still remember us, and will they take us with them,” all the bears sang out in harmony.

Orange Fish blubbered out, “Why do you think they’ll take us?  They didn’t even name us!”

“Oh, stop crying Fish.  The kids were really young when they got us, and then they went away for a long, long time.   It will be okay this time around.  Santa said so,” declared the Raggedy Boy.

The Stuffies and Friends had spent a long time in a large black bag out in the shed.  When it got cold, they all huddled together to keep warm, and the second time the cold came, in came a family of mice.”

”Eeek, Eeek, Eeek,”  yelled the biggest girl Mouse, Stuffie, as she pushed away from the brown creatures.

“ What are you yelling about?  Are you scared of our relatives, “ asked the Boy Mouse?

“ Those, those creatures are our relatives?  Are you sure?  They’re so brown and fuzzy, not like us at all,” huffed the big girl Stuffie Mouse.

“Of course they are, just look at their faces.  Same pointy nose, waggly tail, whiskers.  Yes, they are our family.  But it really doesn’t matter if they are related though.  They need help. Look… The babies are shivering,”  the boy Mouse said.

“Welcome!”  All the Stuffies yelled, together, ashamed of not being friendly when the small family arrived at their bag.  Their shout scared the family of mice and the small brown mice started to scatter.

“Hush,” said the Raggedy Boy to the Stuffies.    “Please come back.  Do not be afraid of us.  We’ve been stuck in this corner of the shed and have not seen anyone except a Squirrel that needed some stuffing for her nest last time it was cold.  I let her take some of my sleeves.  You look as if you could use a bit of my sleeve too.”

The boy got the name Raggedy, after the time with Mrs. Squirrel.  He was a bit of a hero to the rest of the crowd of Stuffies and Friends because he had been brave to let Mrs. Squirrel have a piece of his arm.  Even the Vampire thought the Boy was brave.

Now, everyone considered themselves brave since they rode the rapids down a large white canyon that twisted round and round.  After that,  they were blown up, down and around through a dry, warm valley.  Everyone was dizzy but nice and clean when done, needing to rest.

But, today they had a family in need, to tend.  If they all worked together, they would accomplish all that had to be done before the children arrived.

The Raggedy Boy’s sister helped Mrs. Mouse wrap her babies in the blue shirt’s cloth and some of the cream cloth from the Ragged Boy’s arm.  They had just finished getting the babies settled in when they heard a car stop and children laughing.

“I hear the kids coming.  Now shush.  All will be okay.  Santa said so,” the Raggedy Boy declared.

And so it was, as each child greeted their old friends, having some ride home in the car, so they might catch up on all the news from The Stuffies and Friends.  And to share with the Stuffies and Friends what they had been doing for the time they had been apart.

Above the Cut~Holiday last minute Picks

Published December 19, 2018 by paulandpaulasbooks

Christmas is in sight and you still have gifts to get?  Of course, you do.  We all do.  Some of us won’t because of a lack of motivation, some of us will not because of a lack of funds. But, many it is because the perfect gift has not come to mind.

In our cyber world, we sometimes forget, the reason we are able to read and write is that as a child we were enticed into the magical world of a book.

My nose was in a book at the age of two, asking questions because my tongue was in motion along with my legs as early as nine months. I only remember back to nine months so I agree with my mother that was the time of my interest in… everything.  But, books have been my sidekick, my entertainment, my information, my teacher, my first and everlasting love.

The first books I offer up links to are a win-win for children.  The stories are delightful and all royalty goes to children’s charities. This year the focus is to raise money for the Every Child Foundation which helps Orphans in Africa.

The stories are international as our writers are from all areas of the world. We call ourselves the Peacock Writers, not in puffery but in a jewel-like facet of many colors, many talents.

whimiscal Holiday for children

A Whimsical Holiday for Children










2snowflakes on my lashes

Snowflakes On My Lashes


Keeping with our theme of Christmas around the world, this delightful story of an alien is out of this world visiting earth. His goal and absolute wish are to visit NYC but he lands far, far away. And… it is Christmas and he falls in love… with Christmas!

Told in rhyme by Chris Waddington, and illustrated by Desguptarts, this tale is sure to become a yearly treat.

The Alien who fell in Love with Christmas

The Alien Who Fell in Love with Christmas


The following story, The More The Merrier, made its first appearance in A Whimsical Holiday for Children with cartooned pictures depicting the dogs that inspired the story.  In this stand-alone story, it is found in three mediums – Kindle black and white, Kindle full color, and paperback full color with the cartoon illustrations that the fans of The Chronicles of the K-9 Boys and Girls on Locus Street came to love and expect.

the More the Merrier

The More The Merrier