Sunday, April 7, 2013

Offshore Sailing


White Wings on an Ocean,
straining, a billowing team.
The sailor braces against his contrary wheel
raping the rudder as lines wail taut.
The storm flogs with malice.

White Wings on an Ocean
screamed into shreds that bandage the mast. 
A halyard flails, lifelines gone,
the dinghy torn off.
The sailor weeps for soft green meadows.


Excerpted from my
Moments of the Heart,
A Book of Poems and Short Prose
 

Saturday, April 6, 2013

Hugo, the Atlantic’s Misbegotten Child


Sailing has played a big part in my life. Warm days, anchoring in sequestered coves, sipping a cool drink—and being with the man you love. Idyllic, wonderful, and forever-lasting, you think. But it takes only one bad storm to wipe all that warm and fuzzy feeling from your now terrified soul forever.

The following is an excerpt from my short story/poetry volume
“Moments of the Heart.”





* * *
Sometimes, I did wonder where and how I would die. This night, it seemed, held the answer: Latitude 18-North, Longitude 63-West, my murderess not the Atlantic but her misbegotten child Hugo, screeching its dirge over our pristine cutter, ripping our topsides bare. We were sailing miles offshore, likely beyond the saving reach of the Coast Guard, should we get into trouble.
A dripping figure swathed in stiff foul-weather gear slithered down the companionway, bringing with it the deluge of a following sea, before we both were able to slam the wooden slats into their grooves, closing off the large opening.
“Pouch! Hand GPS! Water! Flares!” the dripping, bug-eyed monster screamed into my ear. Short, long, short, short. Dit-Da-Dit-Dit. L, for Love. It was also the signal of Point Loma’s Radio Beacon. If only we were still on that San Diego coast instead of being churned to death in the romanticized Caribbean.
“Move, Move, Move!” the yellow apparition shouted and shook the diving goggles from his head. Without them, his eye-lids would have been shredded by the wind. Richard’s usually curly hair had been screamed into salt-stiffened arrows. For the last five hours, my intrepid skipper had hand-stirred our lovely double-ender across liquid mountains foaming their insolence at us, while I had lain strapped in a bunk mid-ships below, waiting for it to end. Wham! The boat’s death-shudder ripped away another strand of my badly frayed nerves. At least the lights were still on; a dark cabin would bring me to the brink of insanity, I was certain.
“Get the pouch!” Richard’s shout almost burst my eardrum.
Suddenly, it seemed that the noisy freight-train had pushed past us, leaving behind a sudden eerie calm. At least, we were still afloat. Oily water sloshed over my ankles and I shivered with cold. Other than that, I could not move. The Pouch? Where was it? We had trained for most emergencies but for the life of me I could not recall where that pouch had been stowed. It held our boat papers, passports, money. My teeth hurt from their uncontrolled chattering. There was a searing pain in my right temple. I watched Richard dig for something under the splintered chart table. The stove had wedged itself on top of it, its oven door hanging open like a village idiot’s uncomprehending mouth.
Richard turned back toward me. “Christ!” he said and laid his gloved hand against my face. When he pulled it away, the soggy leather dripped red. “Did the stove hit you?”
“I don’t remember.” I began to dry-heave.
“Hang in there, baby,” he said softly. “We have to pull our stuff together as long as the wind has calmed down. Can you help me?”
Help him? How? I couldn’t even move. I wanted to lay my head on his chest and cry my heart out; for me, for him, for our surely doomed Artemesia, our Nevada Tumbleweed, that had helped us forget our desert origins and carried us over thousands of miles of benevolent seas; until this awful night.
“Are we a-b-b-b-abandoning?” My teeth still chattered violently.
“Not yet. We’ll wait,” the lover I had followed into his dream said gently while hurriedly stuffing things into plastic bags.
“Wait? Oh, is the Coast Guard on its way then?” Suddenly, I was calm. Like a block of ice. I figured that was good. However, I still could not move which, I knew, was not.  Richard shook his head.
“We’ll wait for what?” I whispered again.
He was searching for something at the bulkhead where two large empty clamps reached back toward him. It was the first time I saw panic on his face. The EPIRB was gone. It would be our only hope for a rescue team to locate us.
“We can’t launch the life-raft until after,” Richard said and pulled a foul-weather jacket over my head, careful not to scrape against my blood-encrusted temple.
“Until after what? The water is getting higher in here. Why not now? It’s so much calmer outside now.”
The man I knew to be such a capable sailor didn’t look at me. “The calm will last only for a little while, sweetie.” He smiled with lips that formed a crooked apology, as if this was his fault. “We don’t have much time. We are in the eye of the hurricane.”
All of a sudden, I felt myself propelled forward, groping for things as I moved through the cabin. Pouch! GPS! Water! Flares! Life vest! I grabbed the long flashlight from under the companionway stairs and repeated to myself: Dit-Dit-Dit - Da-Da-Da - Dit-Dit-Dit. Three Short, Three Long, Three Short. S.O.S.

* * *


Friday, April 5, 2013

A 5-Star Review for KHAMSIN

Waking up to a new five-star review is the best there is in life (well, almost); but for a writer, IT IS! It's the proverbial shot-in-the-arm which, however, also places new responsibility onto our shoulders: now, the next books have to live up to expectations. You owe it to yourself, to your readers, and to the reviewers who spend their time, their energy and their thoughtfulness on your writing. I surely trust they know how valuable all feedback is.



---------------------------------------------
5.0 out of 5 stars Work of art April 4, 2013
By diebus
Format:Kindle Edition
"Khamsin: The Devil Wind of the Nile" by Inge H. Borg is a complex story set in Egypt ca. 3080 B.C. Knowledgeable and armed with plenty of research the author paints a very authentic feeling picture of the Egyptian court with its intrigues and many-fold players: the priests, the generals, the wives and children, the servants and so forth.
The book is full of small and bigger stories involving a huge ensemble cast, making this a great read that gives multiple insight into the life as we have to imagine that it could or would have been. With great insight into human nature and a colourful imagination Borg manages to enrich the reading experience with plenty of ideas and stimulating thoughts. There s a lot to be learned about the priesthood, the weapons, transport and warfare, the religion and life in the desert country.

This was quite a captivating read and a well illustrated work of art. The themes may not be innovative - adultery, questionable paternity, war, competitive men to name a few obvious ones - but that did not stop me from caring for the characters and their fortune during the novel, especially when the title character Khamsin, the devil wind of the Nile, befalls the country.
Although the author claims in the foreword that this is not a work of science but of art, the writing has a confidence and an air of authority that gives this 'entertainment' an extra value.
If you like an unusual setting for your books or love ancient history this is a book worth reading.
  Take a "Look Inside" here:

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

A Strand Runs Through It

A Strand of Golden South Sea Pearls

There is one particular strand (oh, how I wish I had one of those) that runs through Edward, Con Extraordinaire and Sirocco, Storm over Land and Sea. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part that I wove it into these two books; but it served me well, I think, as part of these different stories. Of course, Edward is there, too, but I really wouldn’t wish one like him on any woman. Quite likely, some of us have met, even loved and then been deceived by, one of his ilk.

Other than drawing from one’s life experiences, where do those ideas come from? Mostly at two in the morning only to vanish upon waking up. Like most writers do I assume, I keep a notepad by my bed so I can catch that wisp of a thought, that perfect sentence, that new idea. And it is treasured like a precious pearl, to be strung along with others, maybe not yet perfectly formed. At least they are there, ready to be polished; as they are, time and time again, until the writer perceives his or her strand of verbal pearls to be as perfect as they can be.

Sunday, March 24, 2013

Who reads my books anyway?

My target audience—that is who the marketing guys would call the readers for my books—should be carefully, coldly viewed and—yes, targeted. I should be writing to them; to their taste and reading level. That last one really hurts. Reading rather grown-up books at an early age, I learned not only to comprehend and appreciate the melody of words and to be an excellent speller, I also learned about people, about their feelings, and about the world. It is a never-ending journey.

I enjoy composing the perfect sentence with the perfect nuance. It has a rhythm, a melody. That’s how I like, nay, must write. But it is not how to sell. Not to today’s speed reader who prefers action over substance. Hence, I sell very few copies of my fiction, and almost none of my non-fiction book about my cat and other shelter animals.

So, how to be successful? Writing vapid romance? Steamy sex? Mindless violence? Little volumes with those themes sell like the proverbial hotcakes. I should take heed. The trouble is, if one still needs to know what one writes about, I am too old, too conservative, and likely too uptight to let loose with stories like that. Maybe it’s just sour grapes.

Wherein then lies the answer? I do not know. Meantime, however, I shall continue to write what I love to write. And I shall try to do the best I can with it. YOU are my audience, my readers. I write for you. No survey shall diminish that.

* * *
Perhaps I need to appeal to Toth, the Egyptian God of Writing



Tuesday, March 12, 2013

SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea - SECOND EDITION - ON SALE

Feedback from reader to author can be a precious gift. Thus, I listened closely when one of my readers proclaimed, I just wanted for Jonathan to get laid.”

Well, my (male) audience has spoken. So, I had a glass of wine (ok, two) and rewrote the last chapter of SIROCCO, Storm over Land and Sea. It may not be as hot and steamy, or as explicit as a lot of other works, but one thing is clear: Boy finally gets girl. I must admit that I, too, like the ending much better now. Alas, the Epilogue still stands. Sorry, world—after all, it was December 2012!

Kindle Edition Reduced from $5.99 to $3.99
Print Edition Reduced from $11.95 to $9.95

Perhaps, one of these days, I’ll sell enough books to buy “Lorenzo’s” mega-yacht, the Bucanero. Who is Lorenzo? The answer lies in Sirocco.

Though, to be honest, I’d rather have a Valiant-40 like the Tumbleweed. What is a Valiant? That answer, too, lies in Sirocco.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile--Second Edition

I have cracked the whip (or somebody did).

After painstakingly re-editing KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile, the Second Edition for this Egyptian saga is now available.

In celebration of my blurry eyes (and Spring), a special price-reduction went into effect as follows:

Kindle/Nook Editions,
reduced from $7.99 to $4.99
Paperback reduced from $14.95 to $ 12.95


 Just thought I'd let you know.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Newest Review for SIROCCO


4.0 out of 5 stars
Thriller, February 18, 2013

Adventure: cons, thieves, archeologists; temptation and redemption February 18, 2013
Format:Kindle Edition
As always, don't let the star count decide for you. Borg uses "thriller" to describe this work, and it does not disappoint. You will meet some of the key characters in the opening chapter. If you've followed Edward Guernsey-Crock before, you'll soon meet him again, even more of an `adventurer', and even more of a smoothie, in this tale. The cast of characters includes Americans, Egyptians, Turks, and others. There is some sailing technology and terminology, and I found all of it (to my limited knowledge, augmented by Google!) to be correct. There is a bit of science, more archeology, Egyptian treasures, and even a mix-in of superstition/belief. There is a sort-of love story as well, which drives its characters to rethink their life positions. There is rivalry and sexual tension. There are criminals and danger, risks and choices.

If I had to make tiny carps, they would be these: not all chapters are at the same level of tension, perhaps a good thing. The opening chapter has a lot of background to fill in, so we can excuse Borg for providing us with a slightly higher information-to-suspense ratio than the majority of the book. Occasionally an additional sentence or word could have been omitted, as in `inappropriate rudeness'. These are indeed tiny carps; the writing is nicely done, often literary. Borg tends to describe in more detail than some more terse, `modern' writing, as this is her style. You will be aware of dress, eye colour, building shape, and character habits. Engaging.

The complex plot unravels in parallel stories toward their multiple collisions and resolution. The major climactic scenes (at least three, imho, and no spoilers here) are set up with Borg's usual cleverness. (See `Edward, Con Extraordinaire'; and Journey to Kiev in `Moments of the Heart', for other examples of Borg's deft setting up of key scenes.) Important details `just happen' and you are there, because they occur in a background which makes them reasonable, almost inevitable. This is fiction writing at a high level. You will feel for the heroine, and sympathize with the other chief protagonist. The story takes place during the Egyptian revolution, which is woven into the tale and forms part of its drama and background. And there is a sirocco. This is not a trivial story, and it is definitely an enjoyable read. You may, as I did, reread it more than once, simply for pleasure.

Why four stars? This is one reviewer's opinion. In an `official' KBR review, five stars is `best in genre or equal,' and rarely given. Your personal pleasure may vary. In Sirocco, Borg has created a work that is a real page-turner.
Definitely recommended.

Jim Bennett, Kindle Book Review Team member.
(Note: this reviewer received a free copy of this book for an independent review. He is not associated with the author or Amazon.)

Monday, February 11, 2013

Newest Review for KHAMSIN



4.0 out of 5 stars
Ancient Egypt Historical Fiction, February 11, 2013

By 
This review is from: KHAMSIN, The Devil Wind of The Nile (Legends of the Winged Scarab) (Kindle Edition)

Ms. Borg has written a terrific story of Ancient Egypt before the age of pyramids. She has researched it well and documented the period through characters about whom most of us have little knowledge. The story and her characters are extremely believable.

In reading this novel of triumphs and tragedies of ancient pharaoh, Aha, and his heirs, I couldn't help but recognize a parallel between this monarchy and some of the European monarchies of the Renaissance and even modern times. Thrones are high places beset by public intrigues, tragedies and triumphs. Ms. Borg has illustrated this well in Khamsin.

One of my history professors insisted that his classes read a historical novel during each quarter of his classes. I remember well his suggestion of The Egyptian for Egyptian Historical Fiction. Had Khamsin been written at that time of his teaching, it would likely have been added to his list of suggestions for his students to read. Good work, Ms. Borg!

Dawn Edwards, The Kindle Book Review

The KBR received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. We are not connected with the author, publisher, or Amazon in any way.


 

Saturday, February 2, 2013

The Power of the Author

I am distressed to see that Egypt is being dismanteled, toppled bit by bit, just like its awe-inspiring monuments.

Somehow, I feel remorse that I predicted such unrest in my novel SIROCCO, Storm over Land and See. But then, I must ask myself, what about my other prediction? The one at the end of the book? Could I perhaps rewrite history?

Yes. I am the author! I have power!

I shall concoct a sequel. And while I cannot change the unfortunate path Egypt's people are choosing in hopes of a better future, perhaps I can "rescue" my characters one more time...I'll work on that. At least, then I feel that I will have done all I can - in my mind; in my heart. Because I have grown to love those brittle bones still waiting to be freed from the desert sand; those ancient treasures hoping to be preserved forever.

The "Legends of the Winged Scarab" shall live on...