Attempting Flight by Raven Wolfe
Book cover design and layout co-designed by Bo von Hohenlohe & Raven Wolfe.
Now available on Amazon Books.
•In She Was Killed by Cabbages, a tough young woman living in the Salinas Valley finds love with a horse whisperer.
•A woman deals with the profound loss of her eyesight and her attempt to learn what and who to trust in the story Accidental Clarity.
•Attempting Flight begins with a woman flying to her father’s funeral. It is the story of a young teenager, just beginning to uncover family secrets and her somewhat questionable attempt to escape her life.
•Porter, while taking an early morning walk, discovers a naked woman doing yoga in her backyard. Annabel Embraces the Day, tells the story of his search for connection with her.
•The End of the Journey recounts the author’s experience in one of the baths in Istanbul.
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My book Attempting Flight is now available on Kindle through Amazon books. I thank everyone who has supported me in this great adventure.
I welcome your comments and would love for you to post a review, either on my Amazon Book page or at the bottom of this page.
Read a few excerpts from stories in Attempting Flight on this web page.
Also, my book can now be bought at Chaucer’s Books in Santa Barbara.
Click here to visit my Kindle book page.
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A Few Excerpts from Attempting Flight…
•There are photographs of a small dark man. His teeth are very white and he smiles with his mouth open, as if he is laughing. Nicolo knows this man is his father. When his mother isn’t looking, he stands on a stool in front of the mirror and tries to make his face look like the face of the man in the photos. He holds his head up, thrusts one shoulder back and forces himself to laugh with his mouth open. There. I can do it too, he tells himself. I am the son of this man. (From the story “The Landscape of Aphrodite’s Body”).
•When they went out into the corridor to stretch their legs, he imagined he was in one of those foreign films where women smoke like men and men lean out of train windows. He wanted to hear a concertina playing French ballads over the rhythmic sound of iron wheels clattering along the track. He felt emptied and self-satisfied. (From the story “Remembering Maggie”).
•At night Yola pulls the blanket over me and my twin sister. Her brown face is lined with deep wrinkles and there is a bucket of skin under each eye. I think she is beautiful like this. She has looked this way as long as I can remember. Yola wears tennis shoes. White ones. My mother buys them for her at Walmart, (From the story “Yola Wears Tennis Shoes”).
•Cynthia is in a corner of the play yard. Crouched, hidden in the shadow of a huge tree, next to a crude rabbit hutch. She cries quietly as she watches the large brown rabbit munch tough green curls of kale. She is four years old, small for her age, with huge black eyes. I approach her quietly and ask “Que paso? Que paso, Cynthia?” The small child has no answer and I sit down next to her in the dirt. I am a pre-school teacher and Cynthia is in my class. There is something about this child that touches my heart. Lately she has been very emotional, difficult to deal with. (From the story “Cynthia”).
•Every night we met at a local pub, drank a few beers and then headed down the road to a tunnel under the train tracks, where we sat on cold rocks and smoked cigarettes. Bayard played the guitar and sang folk songs, political songs and Spanish ballads that he never translated for me. I was transfixed, watching him, his long fingers moving up and down the neck of his guitar, his dark eyes filling with tears. (From the story “Bayard”).
•My mother’s main chore every summer, besides dabbling at housework, is to attain and maintain a beautiful tan. She spends hours lying on a lounge chair in the back yard, where she torments her sun-darkened skin on a daily basis. Slithered in olive oil, she flips from front to back like a hamburger, until I imagine I can hear a faint sizzling sound. Then she goes upstairs to take a bubble bath and comes down fresh and sparkling, her long legs polished with lotion, toenails painted slick and shiny, smelling of Chanel #5. (From the story Naked Tomatoes)
•Elliot remembers meeting Maggie in the Amsterdam train station, waiting for the train to take them to Rome. He had been traveling alone for several weeks, a pseudo hippie in jeans and a ripped leather jacket, growing his beard and his hair in an attempt to create a new persona. He was, actually, a fairly conservative engineering student at the University of Pittsburgh, acting on a whim. (From the story Remembering Maggie)
•It had been almost eight months since Delia died. Porter still awoke each morning slightly startled to see the empty space beside him in the bed. It had not been a sudden death. And even though he had been beside her, watching the dark storm breathe through her body, taking away parts of her until there was nothing left, it seemed that one morning she had simply disappeared. Like all those people in Argentina or Chile he read about. Disappeared. (From the story Annabel Embraces the Day)
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Travel to a familiar place, another time, a world that has come and gone. You can feel, taste, love and smile at the writings of Raven Wolfe. Her short stories are spellbinding. They come alive as the reader is hurled into a place that ignites the senses and brings smiles . Well written and I thoroughly enjoyed it. More!! —Jay Meiselman
By Kindle Customer on June 5, 2017
Format: Paperback|Verified Purchase
Much like Norman Rockwell, Raven Wolfe memorializes moments of mundane, unspectacular life with such detail that it is joy to recall and identify with the events captured in her stories. Just as Rockwell’s magazine covers portrayed plain everyday life, so does Raven in her stories in Attempting Flight. Both artists (one using paint and one using words) communicate with such great detail that the observer is provided with insight to “minor” events in their life that otherwise might have gone unnoticed. For me, I got to take a walk down memory lane, but with details that I had long forgotten (or maybe had never been consciously aware of at the time). I found this extremely satisfying. The sense of humor found in much of Norman Rockwell’s work is also present in Raven’s book, which is another reason I drew a parallel between these two. In conclusion, unless you grew up in a mansion, with famous parents and among Hollywood stars, you will find memories of your life related with such detail and humor that you will wonder if Raven is not relating personal events from your own past. I highly recommend this book.
Loved This Short Story Collection
By Amazon Customer on May 19, 2017
Format: Paperback|Verified Purchase
I feel extremely fortunate to have had this collection of short stories recommended to me. Each of these 21 stories more than held my attention. They’re all little gems from which I’ve gotten to know the protagonists and some secondary characters at levels of depth I’ve rarely felt in other story collections. The plots are equally fascinating and intriguing. For instance, ‘She was Killed by Cabbages’ is literally about that. It’s hard to choose favorites, but I especially loved ‘Attempting Flight’, ‘Baby Graves’, and ‘The End of the Journey’. Most importantly to me, her stories radiate abundant light and life.
By Janet Lucy on May 21, 2017
Raven Wolfe has captured the fragility and strength of the human spirit in Attempting Flight, her diverse and delightful collection of stories. “Some are pure fiction, some are autobiographical, others are a merging of real events in my life,” she explains. (What fun to imagine!) Of varying lengths (two to twenty-six pages), I savored every one of them! Attempting Flight is a great bedtime book. In the final story, The End of the Journey, about the author’s experience in one of the baths in Istanbul, Turkey, Raven writes: “Istanbul at night is mysterious and exotic. I shiver in the cooling air and flag down a taxi. I feel clean and shiny, hungry for lamb and rice, succulent figs and olives. The setting sun, over the Bosphorus Strait, a golden apricot in a deep azure sky.” Sweet dreams.
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