“Strangely intimate. Strangely nuclear and cosmic at the same time – time that you point out is circular in the prologue, ‘We are not wired to process.’ Strangely euphoric in the way it hits secret passworded buttons that open niches, cracks and gates to hidden gardens in the mind that unveil insights. Beautiful.” ~P. Shukla
“This book is a masterpiece! It should be made into a movie! It has the fire, it has the spark we all crave. I do not read many novels any more, but this… this book pulls you inside and you can’t put it down… You will want to BE the main character. The books starts in a poetic way and it only gets better. One may think it’s fantasy, but if you are working in certain field, you know that what for one may be impossible- for another is a possibility and a reality.” ~Amazon Reviewer
“…a fantastical trip through the possiBilitiEs,,, smashing illusions, holding space for us to realize the expansiveness of our souls place in this human experience… what a gift she offers us, right here and NOW.!!! I love Amie Martine and so will you…” ~N. Halberstadt
“This novel is so beautiful! I certainly hope the author shares much more of her work with us all. Wonderful writing. It is luminous!” ~M. Schaller
“Every few pages, there’s a line that cracks me wide open. Or an experience that is exactly as I experience things. Or a way of describing something that fits precisely something I’ve been trying to understand, or at least hoping I’m not the only one who sees it that way.” ~M. Chai
“It’s like you are writing me as Amie… The being of the person. It’s incredible how you write similar to my experiences… I love it!” ~T. Wry
The LOOK of Amie Martine by Laurie Perez | ISBN 1523664339
The Amie series: novels for lightworkers, filmmakers, saboteurs, vodka drinkers, poets, myth lovers, Phoenicians, paradigm shifters, travelers, creatives, people who are stuck, people who are rising, introverts, extroverts, women, men, human beings – (yes, you!).
A short list of things I’ve outgrown the need for evidence to support:
Proof is in the pulsing of my heart.
This is not a foolish statement.
Your love for me is inside my love for you. Needing proof of it is like needing proof that I myself exist. If someday it turns out I don’t (by some unimaginable standard) actually exist, then and only then can you speak to me of the need to rationalize Love.
Read my new novel, released like a valentine this month… The LOOK unravels life, love and the mysterious, precarious, perilous truths funding our existence: It’s here!
There are so many jails: The jail of tedium and routine. The jail of a cubicle or teleconference or to-do-list. The jail of what they did to you seven years ago (it was truly awful). The jail of a big, relentless dream anchored to a painfully distant tomorrow. The jail of an alarm clock, punch clock, traffic cop. The jail of your body not collaborating with the lithe truth of your spirit. The jail of diets and therapy and resumes and your parents’ opinions on just about anything…READ ON, then set yourself free…
Laurie Perez for Rebelle Society
The trick is: not to need gut wrenching treks into Mordor as a means to activate your courage. Rather, give yourself permission to bypass strife then begin to spin up courage in response to the prolific potential of your innate creativity — and so set out to live adventurously in the smallest moments of each day, and build ramparts of love in every waking dream you decide to make real.
We are here to wake each other up; no other reason I can see but this sacred, simple, meaningfully mundane purpose. We are here to wake up; we are here to wake each other.
Not that one person can MAKE another wake up. I need to re-phrase it. I can’t wake you up and don’t bother trying to wake me, either. But we provide the context for each other in which we wake ourselves. Catalysts. Matches in a dark room. Spur on tough hide. Spark, shock, shooting star, bucket of icy water over the head, clear affection, permissive silent acceptance, caught off-guard laughing, warmth, betrayal, gifts. The right word at the right time; the wrong word at the right time. Compassion’s neutral stamina. Someone who notices: you cut your hair! Someone who fills your coffee to the rim, sees your exhaustion, enjoys your enthusiasm. Discourages you, tells you it’s impossible, let’s you down, insults and dishonors you. The ones you forgive, avoid, deny, disappoint, seek, respect, love unconditionally, delight in, seduce and ravish.
Relationships are THE context of enlightenment.
The constant epiphany – if you care to notice.
“When I write, there is a feeling of necessity, of something that is stronger than myself, that demands that I must write as I write.” –Jacques Derrida
Yes, yes, yes, yes, YES!
I took a minute over coffee this morning to read an article in Fast Company and tripped into this video. When I’m writing, I lose all ego and feel carried by the act of words coming through me. It’s transcendent and compelling. Then, later, as he describes, I have moments of real panic: can I say *that?* It feels precarious and scary and I question everything. And then I pick up the pages from the day and re-read them and there’s no doubting the lift I feel — I love where it’s all going. I love shredding old paradigms with grace and passion and plot twists that lead me down unexpected paths. A new line of dialogue pops into my thinking and I have to race to jot it down and whole paragraphs come crashing through with it… As long as I stay out of the way, the work works me.
Enjoy this moment with Derrida! It’s given me such great fuel to rev up this day. -L
PS: I adore the french verb “blesser” – to wound, hurt, injure.
To call it writing is flat out wrong.
Expressing this thought to you in neatly typed words: this is writing.
Bringing a novel to light – revealing the form and cadence, shadows and demeanor of a protagonist constructed from thin air – linking scenes and synchronicity across translucent time – holding up a glass brimming with chilled, never-tasted liquid, then sipping from it with intoxicated focus – allowing lovers to make a perilous mess of things, fall apart and nakedly come back together again – looking through conjured windows deep into someone else’s snow-bound solitude, feeling utterly alone yet being all-connected: this is not writing. It’s world-creating.
It’s raw, exposed dreaming. It’s humbling. At first too personal and intimate to share, it evolves like a child into a life of its own until I have no say in what comes next.
It’s what I wake at 4am to say Yes to, the spinning possibility of a new story relentlessly commanding me to write it down so it can whirl in your experience.