Terry Pratchett on Life, Marriage, And Everything

• A marriage is always made up of two people who are prepared to swear that only the other one snores.

• Only in our dreams are we free. The rest of the time we need wages.

• One of the universal rules of happiness is: always be wary of any helpful item that weighs less than its operating manual.

• He'd noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: It fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination.

• “Wen considered the nature of time and understood that the universe is, instant by instant, re-created anew. Therefore, he understood, there is, in truth, no Past, only a memory of the Past. Blink your eyes, and the world you see next did not exist when you closed them. Therefore, he said, the only appropriate state of the mind is surprise. The only appropriate state of the heart is joy. The sky you see now, you have never seen before. The perfect moment is now. Be glad of it.” 

• Sergeant Colon owed thirty years of happy marriage to the fact that Mrs. Colon worked all day and Sargent Colon worked all night. They communicated by means of notes. They had three grown-up children, all born, Vimes had assumed, as a result of extremely persuasive handwriting.

Love Stories by Terry Pratchett

Eve Summers in print

If you’re tempted by the romance in Sweet Somethings or the heat of Spicy Somethings, but you prefer the feel of real paper, we have great news for you. Both books will soon be available in print.

Excerpt from Sweet Somethings:

This is my To-Do-Before-I-Turn-30 list:

•         Eat an ostrich egg. Check.

•         Play with a cheetah cub. Check.

•         Swim with a dolphin. Check.

•         Scuba dive in a foreign country. Double check for doing it at night.

•         Skydive. Check, bonus points because I wasn’t scared.

•         Dare to love again. Nah, cross it out. So not going to happen. I’ve learned my lesson.

•         Make love on a yacht.

•         ... With a stranger for extra points.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not into one-night stands. The idea of getting close and intimate with someone I’m not emotionally involved with gives me the creeps. I only included it in my to-do list because I was hurt and devastated and not thinking straight.

Getting dumped wasn’t on my to-do list. Neither was an impromptu trip to Africa. When my now-ex-boyfriend broke up with me, I simply sold my engagement ring and booked the first holiday package I found. My Before-I-Turn-30 list was born on the long flight towards the Black Continent.

And now I’m in Africa. The sun is hot. The air is hot. My energy levels are up there with over-boiling. In just two short weeks, I managed to put a big fat checkmark next to five items on my bucket list. Beats choosing the wedding cake, that’s for damned sure.

The Rosie Effect

The Rosie Effect is the sequel to superbly wonderful debut called The Rosie Project, but I suspect you can read it as a stand-alone. Although the protagonists are newly married, this is very much a love story, and a reminder to us all that there is no such thing as “lived happily ever after”: you have to work for it, compromise, fight for it. And if you fail, you should try and try and try again.

If you like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, you’ll fall in love with Don. You might even learn an obscure fact or two along the way. I’m betting once you’ve read the book, you’ll never confuse yellow and blue tuna again.

Love stories - Short Fiction Collection

(excerpt)

Facebook is weird. It lets you list your favorite movies (Casablanca) and music (Snow Patrol) and books (Joshilyn Jackson), it shows updates about your day (another late night at the office, Christopher was asleep by the time I got home), and yet it fails to capture the very essence that makes you—you.

Growing up, I wore homemade clothes because my parents couldn’t afford labels or even store–bought dresses. It made me feel inferior, but also loved beyond belief, because every garment I wore had been lovingly designed, cut and sewn by my mom. Where do I write that on Facebook?

My short–term goal is to work saner hours, my dream is for my son to get to know his dad, and my secret fantasy involves a happily–ever–after with Luke. Facebook remains totally oblivious of all that.

I choose not to confirm Luke as a friend. A Facebook friendship would be so much less than what we once had.

That leaves me one option: I have to go to the reunion.

***

The school hall is dim with ambience lights and the speakers pump out hits from five years ago. The music was lame then and is even lamer now, and yet a tiny trickle of nostalgia seeps into my heart.

Luke and I once danced to that song in the darkest corner of this very hall.

Get a grip.

I pass a few people I don’t recognize and wave to those I do. When I spot Clara, my arm freezes mid–gesture. The guy she’s talking to... I know the shape of those shoulders, the line of that neck.

Luke.

I need to speak to him before I lose the courage to do what’s right. Even if he’s married, he’s entitled to know about his son.

“Glad you could make it,” Clara says, though I can tell she’s not thrilled to see me. “How’s Christopher?”

My cheeks grow hot. I dare not glance at Luke. “Fine. He’s gone to Jemima for the night.”

Clara has no idea how I feel about Luke but she does know how I feel about Jemima the nanny, the ‘other woman’ in Christopher’s life. “You all right with it?”

“Sure.” Not really, but I don’t have a choice. A modern mom is supposed to leave her child and earn a living, especially if she’s a single mom. And after she pays childcare and transport and taxes, she’s actually worse off financially than if she were getting financial support from the government. Meanwhile, her child is raised by strangers. One day somebody will explain how that makes sense.

“Abby. You remember Luke Taylor?”

“Sure,” I say again. I remember every moment.

My head is so empty and light, I feel I’m about to float away. Right now, that would suit me fine. I don’t know how to greet him. Should I give him a hug? A peck on the cheek? Five years.

“Abigail.”

“Hello, Luke.” My tongue grates on the sandpaper of my palate. Talking hurts. Swallowing hurts. Looking at him hurts the most.

See more

Spicy Somethings

How many ways are there to have flaming wild sex? Count them all in these 10 erotic short stories from master storyteller Eve Summers. 

Hot beaches? Check. Fast boats? You bet. Elevators? Shh... don’t tell.

The Journey

The Journey by Keitha Smith is no ordinary love story. It's a literal and figurative journey the heroine must undertake in order to overcome the wounds of her childhood and open up to the possibility of romance.

The book is beautiful and delicate, like its heroine. You will fall in love with New Zealand's countryside, with vine fairies, and with the fellow travellers.