Who Wrote The Waste Land: A Biography Of A Poem And Why?

"You know how much I hate it when you say that.." he gritted, He didn't stop moving, until he invaded her space, "And you know how much I fucking hate it when you step away from me, Elara." He looked entirely unhinged. "If I have to destroy your entire world, bleed your family dry, and break your wings just to keep you under my roof... I will do it." He murmured, with a breathless smile.. "W-what?" she whispered.. "Over and Over Again.." his hands suddenly wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his chest. He leaned down, his lips brushing her. "And I will ruin absolutely anyone who dares to stand in my way." he delivered the final, chilling promise. ~︎♠︎~ On the night of her engagement party, Elara Pierce’s perfect life shatters. Her father is arrested, her family’s empire collapses, and her cowardly fiancé betrays her. Desperate and hunted, she flees straight into the path of Killian Vane, the most ruthless, terrifying billionaire in the corporate world. He offers to free her father and clear his name. The price? Nothing. But in his world, "nothing" is always the most expensive price tag. ~♥︎~ What to expect: 🖤 Stalker/Billionaire Romance 🖤 Forced Proximity & Marriage of Convenience 🖤 Touch Her & Die / Obsession 🖤 Morally Dark Anti-Hero 🖤 Mind Games & High-Stakes Drama

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

The novel is mainly about the forgotten British poet/writer named C. J Richards who lived in Burma/Myanmar in colonial times and he believed himself as a Burmophile. He served as I.C.S (Indian Civil Servant) and when he retired from I.C.S service, he was a D.C (District Commissioner) and he left for England a year before Burma gained its independence in 1948. He came to Burma in 1920 to work in civil service after passing the hardest I.C.S examination. He wrote several books on Burma and contributed many monthly articles to Guardian Magazine published in Burma from 1953 to 1974 or 1975. Though he wrote several books which had much literary merit to both communities, Britain and Burma (Myanmar), people failed to recognize him. The story has two parts: one part is set in the contemporary Yangon (then called Rangoon) in 2016 context and a young literary enthusiast named “Lin” found out unexpectedly the forgotten writer’s poetry book and there is surely a good deal of time gap that led him into a quest to know more about the author’s life. The setting is quite different comparing to colonial Burma and independence Myanmar (Burma), early twentieth century and 2016 which is a transitional period in Myanmar. The writer’s life is fictionalized in the novel and most of the facts are taken from his personal stories and other reference books. It is a kind of historical novel with a twist and it has comparatively constructed the two different periods in Myanmar history to convince readers, locally and abroad more about history, authorship, humanity, colonialism, and transitional development in Myanmar today.

While celebrating our tenth year anniversary, my boyfriend, Archie Cullen, and I are caught in a sandstorm warning on the grasslands. Instead of staying with me, he leaves me behind to save the equipment in the tent. Having worked with Archie for years, I know he cares about his work more than anything. The storm rattles the gear, and a falling saddle strikes me, leaving me in too much pain to go after him. I could only pray through the night for us and for our work. When I finally return to the studio, I find my most important camera lens and hard drive destroyed. Meanwhile, he's carefully wiping down Sharon Thatcher's walkie-talkie, looking relieved. "Thank goodness we weren't in the worst-hit area. I did everything I could and managed to save the work Sharon and I had poured our hearts into. "She comes from a renowned family of artists and has a great degree. I'm very confident about this competition." Archie is always full of praise for her. Whenever the two of them talk about art and filmmaking, I can barely get a single word in. I look down at my injured left arm. "What about me? What about everything I poured my heart into?" I ask Archie. He looks up at me in confusion. "You're angry over a broken hard drive? Everything you shoot looks about the same anyway. Just shoot it again. "Besides, you're fine, aren't you?" Suddenly, I have nothing left to say. I look up and hold back my tears. So in his mind, what they create is real art, something worth risking everything for, even if it means leaving me in danger. If that's how it is, I'll enter the film competition on my own. From now on, my work will never carry his name again.

The tale of a widow's harrowing journey through grief and peril into the cold remnants of a dead world. Damon Sharpe had in part found victory, he believed, in his battle to unearth a truth obscured by time. By autumn, he was dead, leaving to his wife Anne a house of unfulfilled wishes, remnants, and the key to the enigma of his obsession, the Mourner’s Cradle. A journey through grief and peril delivers Anne Sharpe from her home in St. Charles to the faraway skeletons of a long-dead civilization where she will find the desperate answers she seeks…or die trying. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

A lethal neurotoxin had taken hold of my lungs. My time is running out. My mother, Sofia, was the most connected lawyer in Palermo, excelling in burying crimes and twisting the law. When my brother Vincent mowed me down and shattered my leg, she called in every favor to clear his record. My father, Tommaso, the most feared private doctor in Sicily, faked my medical files, branding me unstable and delusional, all to mold me into the obedient son they needed. Then there was Lina, only daughter of Don Vitali, my wife. She said, “We let him out for Vincent’s liver. What if he says no?” Dad’s voice went cold. “He has two choices: lie quietly on that operating table… or waste away in the sanatorium for what’s left of his life.” I pushed the parlor door open, steady and slow. My voice was flat. “I’ll do it.” Every one of them let out a breath they’d been holding, showering me with hollow words. They didn’t know there was no life left to threaten. I had twenty-four hours. By sunrise, I would be dead either way. Funny… now that I’m in the ground, why are they all crying?