Broken Shadows by Tarek Refaat

I’m glad to post here that my friend Tarek Refaat has finally published his new book. Last Thursday was the unvailing and it was welcomed with great enthousiasm.

I hope you will like the design of the cover title, it is one of my trials in discovering usages of the Kufi script.

Stay tuned for the work progress!

 

 

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BSCRTourButtonTitle: Broken Shadows

 

Author: Tarek Refaat

 

Release Date: April 8, 2016

 

Publisher: Red Sands Publishing

 

Genre: Thriller, Crime, Suspense, International

 

Book Description:

Broken hearts and dark shadows, will love ever find its way back to them?

Fifteen years ago, Heidi Aasar fled the country, hoping to make sense of the chaos that

surrounded her. A burned ex-operative, she refuses to continue hiding in the shadows.

She now has the chance to right the wrongs of her dark past. Determined to find a way to

redeem herself, she must first fix the loose threads she left behind so long ago.

A successful business owner, Nadim Mohamed Sharaf has done his best to move on after

his heart was broken fifteen years ago. In his mind, he has everything he could ever want

or need at his fingertips. Until the moment Heidi makes a sudden reappearance in his life.

It’s then everything around him changes.

A chain reaction of events soon turns Nadim and Heidi’s lives upside-down. Forced to

confront the turmoil brewing between them, they must put aside their differences if they

are to survive another day. The choices they’ll have to make will define the outcome of

the lives they lead.

Will they be able to overcome their painful and chaotic past? Or will the pain and

heartache consume them in the long run?

 

(Purchase links are not yet available.)

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/28927401-broken-shadows

 

BSBCFULL

 

EXCERPT:

AFTER A LONG DAY AT WORK, Nadim stood in his office,

observing Cairo from the seventeen stories high window. The streets below were

crowded. He could see the people rushing to get back to their homes, eager for a little

respite from a hard day’s work.

Cabs pulled up to the curb along the two-way street to pick up clients and those eager to

get away from the ensuing chaos. People scurried about like rats trapped inside a maze.

Some greeted others in a timely fashion, while others grew surly and shouted obscenities.

Nadim smirked and shook his head. He was used to this scene spreading out before him.

It wouldn’t be long until he joined the ‘rats’ trapped in their own chaotic mazes. The

thought of making his way home appealed to him.

His mind wandered, trapping him in another maze. A maze that took him back fifteen

years. One that brought back memories he’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid. Memories

he wished he could forget, once and for all.

Nadim thought he’d forgotten all about her, the one woman who’d broken his heart.

She’d meant everything to him. He would have given her the world if she’d asked him to.

During his high school days, he’d been known as a playboy. A sweet-talker who’d gotten

exactly what he’d wanted. Charming and attentive, every girl in school came to him for

advice about guys. Most of them ended up hooking up with him.

He’d experienced the same throughout college and work until he’d met her. Beautiful and

brazen, she’d wrapped him around her finger. She’d drawn him in like a moth to flame,

inciting his baser desires. In the end, she’d played him like a smooth violin, cutting its

strings with a scalpel so that it made no noise, whatsoever.

Nadim growled with annoyance. He never thought he’d ever see her again. After fifteen

years, the bane of his existence had popped up in his life once more. Heidi had recently

dropped by his office for an interview.

 

TarekRefaatABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Tarek Refaat is an Egyptian author born in October 1980. He comes from a family that

has diverse cultural roots, and has spent most of his adulthood between Saudi and Egypt,

until finally settling in Egypt.

Tarek is an avid reader of history, and has been into writing since a very young age. He

loves to describe the thoughts and feelings he’s experienced through words. He has

written poetry and prose, and decided as of 2009 to move forward into stories and novels.

Tarek has previously been published, and has also self-published. He views writing as his

aim to reach as many people through his thoughts, and provoke positive and hopeful

energy through his stories.

SOCIAL MEDIA LINKS:

Website/Blog: http://forgottenrealms.me

Twitter: https://twitter.com/energizre

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Tarek-Refaat-142437057778

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4919674.Tarek_Refaat

Email: Tarek.h.refaat@live.com

 

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Terry Pratchett

A Spinozan view of child development sees the opposite of wish-fulfillment. There are rules, constrains, that limit what we can do. The child learns, as she grows, to modify her plans as she perceives more of the rules. Initially, she might attempt to cross the room assuming that the chair is not an obstacle, when it doesn’t move out of her way, she will feel frustration, a ‘passion’. And throws a paddy. Later, as she constructs her path to avoid the chair, more of her plans will peaceably, and successfully, come to fruition. As she grows and learns more of the rules -God’s Will or the warp and woof of universal causation- this progressive success will produce a calm acceptance of constraints: peace rather than passion.

بعد كده اتكلم عن أهمية أن الواحد يتعلم من القصص اللي البطل فيها بيفشل في تحقيق هدفه مرة و اتنين، و ازاي ده بيخلي الواحد يركز على التعلم من أخطائه و اكتساب الخبرة. فالقصص البدائية في نظره، البطل فيها بيلاقي المصباح و يقعد يدعك فيه لغاية ما يطلع له الجني يحقق له رغباته. أما القصص المفيدة من وجهة نظره، هي اللي البطل الأولاني القوي يحاول الزواج من ست الحسن و الجمال ، لكنه يفشل. ييجي أخوه يحاول يتعلم من أخطاء الأول و يبين للقارئ (المتعلم) صعوبة المهمة. لكنه يفشل لأن العلام مش بالساهل. و بعدين ييجي الأخ التالت اللي بيتعلم من فشل الأول و خبرة التاني و ينجح.
جايز القارئ العادي ميفكرش في كسب ود ست الحسن و الجمال، لكنه بعد ما يكبر، ممكن يستفيد من بذرة القصة ديه لما يشتغل في مشروع أو في عمله.

الحتة ديه جايباها من الويكي بتاعه:
Our minds make stories, and stories make our minds. Each culture’s Make-a-Human kit is built from stories, and maintained by stories. A story can be a rule for living according to one’s culture, a useful survival trick, a clue to the grandeur of the universe, or a mental hypothesis about what might happen if we pursue a particular course. Stories map out the phase space of existence

عجبتني أوي make-a-human-kit 🙂

و أخيراً قال:

Narrativium makes a different kind of mind from the tribal one, which is all ‘do this because we’ve always done it that way and it woks’ and ‘don’t do that because it’s taboo, evil, and we’ll kill you if you do’. And it also differs from the barbairian mind: ‘That way lies honour, booty, much wealth and many children(if I can only get a djinn, or a dgun); I would not demean myself, dishonour these hands, with menial work.” ……. The reader of tales that have been moulded and informed by narrativium is prepared to do whatever an understanding of the task requires

 

Italo Calvino – Invisible Cities

“On the day when Eutropia’s inhabitants feel the grip of weariness and no one can bear any longer his job, his relatives, his house and his life, debts, the people he must greet or who greet him, then the whole citizenry decides to move to the next city, which is there waiting for them, empty and good as new; there each will take up a new job, a different wife, will see another landscape on opening his window, and will spend his time with different pastimes, friends, gossip. So their life is renewed from move to move, among cities whose exposure or declivity or streams or winds make each site somehow different from the others. Since their society is ordered without great distinctions of wealth or authority, the passage from one function to another takes place almost without jolts; variety is guaranteed by the multiple assignments, so that in the span of a lifetime a man rarely returns to a job that has already been his.
Thus the city repeats its life, identical, shifting up and down on its empty chessboard. The inhabitants repeat the same scenes, with the actors changed; they repeat the same speeches with variously combined accents; they open alternate mouths in identical yawns. Alone, among all the cities of the empire, Eutropia remains always the same. Mercury, god of the fickle, to whom the city is sacred, worked this ambiguous miracle.”

“Yes, the empire is sick, and, what is worse, it is trying to become accustomed to its sores. This is the aim of my explorations: examining the traces of happiness still to be glimpsed, I gauge its short supply. If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance.”

“The city does not tell its past, but contains it like the lines of a hand, written in the corners of the streets, the gratings of the windows, the banisters of the steps, the antennae of the lightning rods, the poles of the flags, every segment marked in turn with scratches, indentations, scrolls.”

“The inferno of the living is not something that will be; if there is one, it is what is already here, the inferno where we live every day, that we form by being together. There are two ways to escape suffering it. The first is easy for many: accept the inferno and become such a part of it that you can no longer see it. The second is risky and demands constant vigilance and apprehension: seek and learn to recognize who and what, in the midst of the inferno, are not inferno, then make them endure, give them space.”

the passage from one function to another takes place almost without jolts; variety is guaranteed by the multiple assignments, so that in the span of a lifetime a man rarely returns to a job that has already been his. Thus the city repeats its life, identical, shifting up and down on its empty chessboard. The inhabitants repeat the same scenes, with the actors changed; they repeat the same speeches with variously combined accents; they open alternate mouths in identical yawns. Alone, among all the cities of the empire, Eutropia remains always the same.

“Yes, the empire is sick, and, what is worse, it is trying to become accustomed to its sores. This is the aim of my explorations: examining the traces of happiness still to be glimpsed, I gauge its short supply. If you want to know how much darkness there is around you, you must sharpen your eyes, peering at the faint lights in the distance.”

Fiction

Though books were potentially harmful, novels were all the more dangerous. The path of fiction could easily mislead you into the cosmos of stories where everything was fluid, quixotic, and as open to surprises as a moonless night in the desert. Before you knew it you could be so carried away that you could lose touch with reality -that stringent and solid truth from which no minority should ever veer too far from in order not to end up unguarded when the winds shifted and bad times arrived.

Elif Shafak – The Bastard of Istanbul  (the logic of a family who doesn’t approve that the daughter is a bookworm)

“الأدب الجيد قد يعلمنا الكثير عن الآخرين والحياة .. قد يمنحنا لحظات جميلة من الراحة بعيداً عن المشاكل ، وحين نفرغ منه نكون قد صرنا أفضل وصرنا أكثر استعدادا لمواجهة الواقع ”  – أحمد خالد توفيق
Is fiction important? isn’t just a waste of time?
Many times I felt so guilty reading all these novels. I sometimes felt I was wasting time, and instead of sitting there reading the imagintive world of some author, I should be reading something more beneficial, say political, scientific,  history books.
Lately I met these two different thoughts on the importance of fiction (one direct, one indirect). Both are reassuring (in their own way) that fiction is good.
Is it??
I understand that through fiction, the author can easily transmit his thoughts, analysis and message. This type of fiction I appreciate. But they are quite rare, and it all depends on the depth of the author’s analysis and his way of presentation.
Plus. fiction generally has a longer life span than non fiction. It records the thoughts of a nation and transmits it through generations, preserving and solidifying the communities values, and maybe even exporting the way of living.
still, isn’t fiction such a waste of time?