Monday, October 15, 2018

Influence and the Constitution

Today is a very exciting day for me. I took a break from any significant amount of fiction writing the last few months, but I have been doing some editing. I am pleased to announce that book one of a series that already has three books written is available for purchase on Amazon!

Influence is a tale set nearly 300 years from now, in a future I don't think is too far off-base from what we might potentially be heading towards.

Marshall Strickland is the self-declared Majaristo of Springland, otherwise known as the remains of the United States after the Third World War.

Lydia Butler is the star of the show. She will take you through her journey from the Academy where she spent her entire life to meeting Majaristo Strickland and what follows.

Influence: Book One of the Marshall Law Series will keep your interest from start to finish.


For other countries, go to your local Amazon website and search 'Alison Insco' and look for Influence. And hey, feel free to check out my other books while you're there!

In the next day or two, the book should also be available on Kobo, iBooks, Nook, and through a variety of other retailers.

Also in the next day or two, some supplementary material relevant to the story will be available for purchase - specifically the Constitution of Springland. It's not a necessary purchase to enjoy or understand the series; it's just something I enjoyed putting together, and thought people might want to check out.

Have a great week, everybody!

Saturday, October 13, 2018

Freak

With an influx of people on social media deciding lately that it's OK to comment negatively on someone's looks, this poem I wrote almost exactly 19 years ago came to mind, particularly the last half dozen or so lines.

Freak 
We are the wayward people
the loners
the different
the strange
We roam around in packs or singles
individuals
among clones
Where we're from is seldom answered
Who we are is unanswerable
You cannot truly know us
before being us
Each is different from the norm
and the others
Each is unique in some little way
We all retain our sense of self
flying one day
lazing the next.
If you encounter us,
remember the words:
"Judge not lest ye be judged,"
Judging of any kind is not accepted
by the judged
and condemned
and abused
Beware:
We can fight back.
© 10/09/99 Alison Insco

Tuesday, October 9, 2018

WORDS

I stumbled across a poem I wrote almost 18 years ago, when I was pregnant with my oldest son, and wanted to share it with my readers.

WORDS
I keep strange bedfellows.
Words are my lovers.
Words embrace me,
and yet they push me away.
They are my terror,
and they are my passion.
Weeping, crying,
softly wetting the sheets with
the salt of my soul…
I want to be a vampire…
I want to be a child…
I want to be everything,
and yet I am nothing.
The music plays in the harmony of the words.
They have a rhythm,
a cadence,
a tone,
a way of running away with themselves,
never letting you catch up to them until it’s too late,
and they’ve been spoken
shouted
screamed
cried
said
whispered
So many ways to say the simple things,
yet no way at all.
What is it that dreams are made of?
Words.
Thoughts are images,
images are bred from words.
Words nullify me.
I want to own the words
I want to use the words
I want the words to lay with me,
caress me,
be me…
It’s late…
I sleep poorly alone,
but there is nobody here.
Everyone who has ever lain with me has succumbed
to the words.
The evil
vile
nasty
perfect
words.
One word
holds such perfect beauty
within its letters
and yet I see ugliness
disease
decay
rot
everything I detest
is held all at once
within a word
a name
a sound
a song
a poem
a story
a blurb
What is the difference
between now and forever?
What is the meaning
of love gone sour?
Can hate and love exist in the same place?
Aberration of nature,
describable only by words.
Something doesn’t cut it.
Something won’t give.
I can’t tell you what it is.
I can’t explain it to you.
Words betray me
and my tongue.
I’m left incapable of communication
without words.
And I can’t write a poem without words,
so instead I write a poem about words,
and wish words didn’t exist…

Coyright © 02/26/01