Release Day of A BOOK OF CHRISSYISMS

I’m 50 today and what better way to celebrate than releasing my book…

 

ebook CHRISSYISMS (1)

A Book of Chrissyisms portrays Christina Strigas’s inner perspectives; explaining her viral quotes, popular poems, and an evolving outlook on life. Based off of reader commentary, journal entries, social media, and life, Christina depicts what it all means: being a writer, a mother, a friend, a confidant, a mentor, an editor, a teacher, and a member of society.

Part confessional and part quirk, A Book of Chrissyisms includes essays and a variety of creative writing—a fun, idiosyncratic page-turner which readers and writers can learn from, enjoy, and best of all, relate to.

Christina Strigas started working on this book for fun. She amassed some of her quotes and tweets that were popular on social media, especially on Twitter and Instagram.

It is a non-fiction book.

So many people wonder what it is like to be a writer, to be a creative person. I hope to shed some light from my perspective. The title is A Book of Chrissysisms because that is a word that best describes living in my own mind from Monday to Sunday

This book is a labor of love. In this coffee table book, I write poems, quotes, short essays, and give you my perceptions on various subjects, from public phone calls to narcissists.

M popular quotes that went viral on Twitter are all included in this book. I try to explain in a philosophical and psychological way what has helped me in her path. Creativity and blocking off people who harm you are one of the paths to self-healing. From my own experience and life, as a poet, writer, woman, and mother, I open up my eyes to the multi-dimensional mind inside all of us.

If you love poetry, quotes, and essays, this is a fun easy read for you to delve into and read over and over again, to pass along to a friend and to keep on your coffee table.

 

Thank you for being here and supporting my work. I appreciate it very much.

Much love,

Chrissy

 

Click on the link to check it out:

 

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Poets sleep awake

Photo by @dan_cretu from Instagram

 

I need my naps

I am a modern poet

in semi-deep sleep

never fully awake

dreaming about pre-raphaelites and the Rosettis

still thinking

in all the colors

you left behind.

I hug you close

yet you disappear

into orange clouds

and sunset lawns.

I want to forget

the long trails

to your heart

and climb up

your mountain

to kiss your eyes

to sleep.

Alas, I slumber awake.

Awake, yet not.

Goodreads

https://www.goodreads.com/author/dashboard

 

Hello everyone,

If you’ve read any of my books, I would appreciate a review on Goodreads and Amazon. Click on the link above to see what I’m reading and my reviews.  I have tried for the past few days to add the Goodreads widget to my blog, but I feel so lost in cyberspace, not even youtube tutorials help, so I suppose it’s not meant to be. However, I feel that Goodreads is such a useful social media site for writers and readers to share their works and opinions on books.

I am always honest in my reviews and don’t believe in fake praise.

I have received some invitations to review some poetry books from authors I know, and I am going to be posting some of them up on my blog soon.  If anyone is interested I will consider reviewing some poetry books if you want to email me at christinastrigasauthor@gmail.com

To review novels, you can email me and we can discuss.

Looking forward to hearing from you.

All my best,

Chrissy

 

Coffee Shop poems

I imagine myself

dying of some

disease. A morbid thought,

I know. I tell my children,

one day I will be dust.

I think I can fly. They nod

their heads and laugh.

I stare at the birds hoping one day

I will reincarnate into one and migrate,

take flight. I want to leave this city

in the heavy winter and fly south. Meet

the other nomads and talk about

our body heat. I want to see him

naked, knocking him down

with his knack for knowledge

about my imperfections. I want

him to look past the words and

battery chargers, the truth, the

half-made up lies, the quick

good-byes. It is all a bunch of

fucking crap. I smile, falling into

his trap. I am the best actress you

have seen off-screen. The theater

is in my mind. The mirror is off

the wall in between the hooks

and family portraits you barely find. I want

every poem to be the worst one.

I wish the next one,

to shake his world, make him

think about why he leaves me

every day, why I expect every man

to be him. I want him to continue

hating everything he loved

about me. The way he saw the sea

through me, the crashing waves,

the all night raves. The days

pass slow, he wrote me in a letter,

you make think I have forgotten

all the masks you wore, but

I went to Venice too, I saw how you

were everywhere, in the art you can explore,

the pleated skirts, the Murano glass

in spurts. I have not thought about you,

I will not think about you, no matter

how many times you want me to.

I want to be you and you want to be

me. When I write a poem that

makes me physically sick, the kind

of poem you would share with no one

the kind, that even

your lover couldn’t handle.

The coffee shop is too crowded.