| Romance Writer Mary Quast |
| "Quast's emotionally charged and intensely romantic novel is so well researched and so exquisitely told," says Karen Mayes, contemporary romance reviewer, "I will be looking for more of Mary's work, that is for sure!" |
| "Within every artist is a twisted mind, no matter how normal they try to be. They vent their emotions onto canvas or paper for sanity and relief." - Mary Quast |
| " I'm proud of how my characters become so real, to make the reader's heart race with anticipation or relax with a walk through London. The characters and locations are heavily researched for realism with hopes to target women of all ages." - Mary |
| Romance for those with a creative soul. |
| Contemporary Romance With A Twist Writer Hits Bookstores June, 2008. As a professional artist, Mary Quast has learned to answer the call to express herself creatively. While attending a Mid-Michigan college she learned to write descriptively and after years of writing for herself is now allowing readers the opportunity to examine the minds and lives of the wonderful characters she's created in the late night hours. |
| Don't expect romantic attachments to be strictly logical or rational! Watch for the second book in the Soul Series coming this winter. |
| Love begins in the eyes, then quickly goes to the heart, and only sometimes ends up in the brain. |
Fire Within
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The Mind's eye The Mind's eye A gallery of my own artwork & others who inspire me |
Puzzola stood with a beer in his hand staring at the large canvas propped against the wall. The conflicting emotions inside him needed to be released. He looked at the prepared canvas like a gunfighter eyeing his opponent. His chest heaved as he swallowed the last of his beverage then slammed the bottle onto the concrete wall. The shattering of glass was barely heard above the blaring music. With a fierce grasp, he moved the large canvas into better light in the studio. Never taking his gaze from the barren space, he stripped down to his boxers to escape the heat and allow him the freedom of movement to cover the massive canvas. Tipping his head back, he inhaled deeply and closed his eyes in meditation. The world was spinning, except where he was standing, time was still. The image came to him. Opening his eyes, he grabbed a favorite paintbrush, which quickly became an extension of him, and twirled his paint cart to an accessible location. A force escaping from his soul would create the painting. He began to paint with violence as thoughts and memories passed over his mind’s eye. He saw his paternal grandparents, in their golden years, so much in love working in their art and pottery studio. He touched the gold cross lying on his chest. He remembered his grandmother giving him the cross when she recognized his artistic ability, as he gave her his promise to use his God-given talent. He saw his father’ s disapproving scowl. His father was openly resentful of the relationship between Puzzola and his parents. Puzzola’s mind envisioned the kiln explosion again as if it were real and felt the pain of watching his grandparents die in the blaze. Puzzola stepped back momentarily to assess his work. His breath came rapidly as if he was running. Sweat covered his taunt, muscled body. Blood raced through his veins. He vowed to keep the promise made to his grandmother, even as it enraged his father. He remembered his father accusing him of being a sleaze, filth, scum. He thought of his mother’s tears and his father’s attempts to strangle his artistic spirit, his soul slowly dying, while his heart was hardening. If Edwin Somerby couldn’t accept his son, who could? |
| Tormented Soul |
| Light Your Creative Soul |
Touch the silver chain,
Precious links wound ‘round your neck.
Let your fingers stroke
The tiny silken circles.
The cool of metal
Against the warm heat of skin.
Each link is a word.
Forming thoughts.
Creating ideas.
Weaving stories.
What words do you hear?
“Once upon a time…”
“In the terror of the storm…”
“Look to the west, the sun is rising…”
Listen to your heart.
How does your story end?
Search, find the last link.
You know the one, sad but true.
Tired not broken,
Holding the silver circle.
Staying together,
Not willing to be destroyed.
What are the last words?
I love you eternally.
-M
Precious links wound ‘round your neck.
Let your fingers stroke
The tiny silken circles.
The cool of metal
Against the warm heat of skin.
Each link is a word.
Forming thoughts.
Creating ideas.
Weaving stories.
What words do you hear?
“Once upon a time…”
“In the terror of the storm…”
“Look to the west, the sun is rising…”
Listen to your heart.
How does your story end?
Search, find the last link.
You know the one, sad but true.
Tired not broken,
Holding the silver circle.
Staying together,
Not willing to be destroyed.
What are the last words?
I love you eternally.
-M
The stick is lit. Smoke takes
to the air like a runner after
the gunshot, but only for a
moment does it run. With a
sudden yawn, the smoke
relaxes and begins to gently
twist and turn. A floating
spiral, on an upward path.
Scented smoke carries my
thoughts, my memories, my
spirit with it. I feel lifted,
unburdened by physical
things. My spirit calls out to
my ancestors and to my God.
Wings of grey take me to
weightlessness. I am free. No
pain, no sorrow. I am light.
I bend and arch in the
currents. Smiling as I float in
this newfound space.
Twisting, turning as I soar.
My heart beats out a soft
drum. It is an empty space as
is my soul. I breathe deep; the
smoke brings to me words
from heavenly voices.
Warm air wraps around my
body, across my skin and
through my bones. Delicate
webs weave me a staircase to
follow. Exotic scent beckons
to me. Grey wings pull my
spirit higher. I feel peace. I
am one with the elements of
air, earth, water, fire.
A line of smoke rises and
splits into two lines forming a
pair of wings. They take
flight and ramble in time as
they play. Circling, twirling,
weaving through memories.
The wings begin to fade, the
scent lingers. I’m not ready.
Take me with you, let me fly
some more. The smoke moves
as if in slow motion, not
waving farewell but giving me
a smile. Even when I can’t
see it, the scent is there and I
will be at peace. I know I am
not alone.
to the air like a runner after
the gunshot, but only for a
moment does it run. With a
sudden yawn, the smoke
relaxes and begins to gently
twist and turn. A floating
spiral, on an upward path.
Scented smoke carries my
thoughts, my memories, my
spirit with it. I feel lifted,
unburdened by physical
things. My spirit calls out to
my ancestors and to my God.
Wings of grey take me to
weightlessness. I am free. No
pain, no sorrow. I am light.
I bend and arch in the
currents. Smiling as I float in
this newfound space.
Twisting, turning as I soar.
My heart beats out a soft
drum. It is an empty space as
is my soul. I breathe deep; the
smoke brings to me words
from heavenly voices.
Warm air wraps around my
body, across my skin and
through my bones. Delicate
webs weave me a staircase to
follow. Exotic scent beckons
to me. Grey wings pull my
spirit higher. I feel peace. I
am one with the elements of
air, earth, water, fire.
A line of smoke rises and
splits into two lines forming a
pair of wings. They take
flight and ramble in time as
they play. Circling, twirling,
weaving through memories.
The wings begin to fade, the
scent lingers. I’m not ready.
Take me with you, let me fly
some more. The smoke moves
as if in slow motion, not
waving farewell but giving me
a smile. Even when I can’t
see it, the scent is there and I
will be at peace. I know I am
not alone.
| Guestbook Sign my Guest Book |
| A contemporary romance with a twist, Painted Soul is a story that takes the reader on a wonderful ride in an artist's life, through the streets of London, and into the shadows of the underground. Elizabeth McAlister was only eighteen when she met the art student, Puzzola in a London nightclub and gave him her heart. Ten years later, they meet again when a summer of intense passion and dark secrets begins. As Elizabeth falls deeper in love with Puzzola, she tries to rescue him from tortured memories he refuses to discuss. Eventually, his double life and erotic past are exposed in a local newspaper just as he is involved in a life-threatening accident. |
| "Quast's emotionally charged and intensely romantic novel is so well researched and so exquisitely told," says Karen Mayes, contemporary romance reviewer, "I will be looking for more of Mary's work, that is for sure!" |
| Purchase Painted Soul from local bookstores • ISBN: 978-0-9814739-3-2 • Retail Price: 15.95 Painted Soul available on Amazon.com |
| Published.Com a Free directory listingservice for authors"> Mary is listed with Published.com |
| Every Wednesday is Humpday Help Let Mary give you a little nudge to get over the hump in the middle of the week. |
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| Every Monday is Cleaning Day Pick up humorous & useful tips. Get a little inspiration, too! |
| Do you like to visit garage sales and flea markets? Visit Finders Keepers to pick up tips from Mary on finding hidden treasures and how to turn them into useful additions to your home. |
