Tornado

When award-winning author Mary Anne Mohanraj learned she had breast cancer, she immediately began recording the details in her blog. Tornado is her honest, day-by-day account of diagnosis, chemo, surgery, radiation, and reconstruction, over a three-year period.

One out of eight women gets breast cancer. You know someone who has it, or work with someone, or may have been diagnosed yourself. This is a book for all of us, but especially for anyone facing a breast cancer diagnosis for yourself, or for someone you love.

Featured Books

Previous

Next

If you’d like to support me, consider joining my Patreon, where you can get awesome rewards like new recipes, story bits, treat boxes, and a subscription to a new monthly magazine from all of my home, garden, and kitchen endeavors!

Or keep in the know by signing up for my newsletter

Welcome to the Internet's third oldest blog. Check out my latest posts.

New in shop: eucalyptus tray

November 17, 2024

New in shop: eucalyptus tray.

Read the full post »

WGN piece on the Berwyn Shops

November 16, 2024

WGN piece on the Berwyn Shops — I haven’t watched it, because I am too self-conscious watching myself on video unless I absolutely have to, but I did notice that it looks like they open the video with a pic of some of my jewelry, so that’s nice. 🙂 https://wgntv.com/video/weekend-break-berwyn-shops/10224432

Read the full post »

Well, publicity works

November 16, 2024

Well, publicity works — did about $600 in sales today, best single day in the shop so far. Several people who came in said they’d heard about it on the TV news. So that was fun. Hopefully it kicks off a profitable season of holiday shopping…guess I better make more art. 🙂. (This serving board sold today.)

Read the full post »

Never too old

November 16, 2024

Never too old for free hot chocolate with marshmallows, fresh popped popcorn, and a visit from Santa and Mrs. Claus. I love their costumes; so gorgeous. She sewed them herself!

Read the full post »

Holiday kickoff party at the Berwyn Shops

November 16, 2024

Holiday kickoff party at the Berwyn Shops today (Sat 11/16): • shops and cafes open 10-6• Santa’s visit 12-2• Lincoln school choir 1:30 – 2 I’ll also be collecting Oak Parker signatures for Ade Onayemi (Park district) and Dr. Theresa Chapple (Park district) this weekend. (If anyone else needs signatures collected, don’t hesitate to ask — I think anyone willing to run for office should get a chance to run; happy to support that.) Stop

Read the full post »

The story of

Mary Anne Mohanraj

Mary Anne Mohanraj is author of A Feast of Serendib, Bodies in Motion, The Stars Change, and twelve other titles. Other recent publications include stories for George R.R. Martin’s Wild Cards series, Perennial: A Garden Romance (Tincture), stories at Clarkesworld, Asimov’s, and Lightspeed, and an essay in Roxane Gay’s Unruly Bodies.

Mohanraj founded Hugo-nominated and World Fantasy Award-winning speculative literature magazine Strange Horizons, and serves as Executive Director of both DesiLit (desilit.org) and the Speculative Literature Foundation (speclit.org). She is Clinical Associate Professor of fiction and literature at the University of Illinois at Chicago. www.maryannemohanraj.com

0

Books Published

Current Books Progress

Vegan Serendib 99%

Jump Space 95%

Cancer Log 50%

“The streets were more empty than usual—everyone who had someone was probably at home, cuddling them up, waiting for the bombs to fall or the shooting to start or the diseases to spread or just for the chips in their heads to catch viruses, melt, and drip out of their brains.”

“Devan wasn’t sure why he was doing this—just because she looked lost, and he wanted to see what her face would look like if it were smiling, as it was meant to. He ducked into the back room, where the last of the Christmas décor lingered, and clipped off a sprig of holly. A few twists of floral tape, a pin, and now he had a little holly pin. He brought it back into the main room, and handed it to the woman, who looked bemused. / “Holly—it’s still green in the darkest part of the year; it’s a traditional symbol of hope, protection, and victory.” / She smiled then, and carefully pinned it to her scarf. “That’s exactly what I need—thank you.”

“Amara ran. She had started out walking, her steps slow but steady. Walking away from the exploded ship that had been her marriage. It hadn’t been spaceworthy in a long time, leaking air, on the verge of decompression. But she had held on, slapping patches up as fast as she could, holding the ship together with wire and prayers and dogged determination -- no one could ever accuse her of lacking willpower. She had committed to this marriage, and she had been determined to see it through. Until Rajiv had come home stinking of another woman, and blown a hole right through the heart of it.”

“The rain has been coming down hard for weeks, working its way through her not quite sealed roof, sending quiet trickles down the walls of hardened clay. There are days in the monsoon season when lentils and rice are no longer enough, when the insistence of memory overwhelms her. Those days, she stands on a teetering stool to reach the highest shelf; she pulls out her hoard of spices, from dust-brown fenugreek to crimson saffron threads. The rain stopped for a few hours this morning, but now it starts coming down again. She walks through it to the village center, her white sari plastered to her slight frame. There she trades smoked fish for rich coconut milk, ghee, fresh vegetables. The other women look at each other, and then tell their daughters: ‘Mangai Aunty is cooking. Go. Watch.’”

“Aarti danced, joyfully and spectacularly, bounding higher than she ever could have under the rules of her homeworld’s gravity. She danced under the Earthlight, the Moon’s landscaped bathed in a dim bluish-white twilight. Brighter than the light of a full moon, but still night-like. Aarti didn’t understand how she could be here, on what was clearly the Moon, in the shadow of her beloved Mons Argaeus, how she could breathe – though did she actually breathe? Aarti felt no breath leaving her body, or entering it again. Yet that didn’t seem to matter. Her body was her own again, restored to what it had been before the virus hit. Although not exactly the same – better.”

Previous

Next