tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22160159316604668042024-03-05T07:13:04.280-04:00Just My OpinionQuality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.comBlogger871125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-45870779132755498252015-03-04T09:00:00.000-04:002015-03-05T05:52:29.375-04:00WHAT FREEDOM SMELLS LIKE: A #Memoir by Amy Lewis @AmyLewisAuthor #AmReading #NonFiction<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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Every
single item that you buy in life, that outlives you, someone, some
person, has to deal with. Has to pack, has to decide what to do with: to
sell, to donate, to throw away? If you sell it you have to decide how
much to sell it for, maybe even research what similar items go for; you
have to advertise, you have to exchange money, maybe even make change.
If you donate you have to pack up, decide what charity or friend to give
it to, usually you have to bring it to them or arrange to be home when
they come by. You have to make sure it works because you don’t want to
donate something that is broken. If you throw it away you have to lug
it, schlep it to a waste bin and if it’s a lot of things to a dumpsite.
You don’t think about this when you have money in your pocket and want
things.</div>
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<br />
Every item in our Vegas house had a memory
connected to it. Now I had to decide what to do with them all. I rented a
huge storage space close to my parent’s house. It was almost as big as
our first tiny slum apartment. All of our stuff had been deposited
there.<br />
<br />
The week after he died, I had gone into our
walk-in closet in Vegas and sniffed every item of his clothing, removing
those pieces that still had his scent and packaging them into gallon
size vacuum packed Ziploc bags. I imagined this was a new use for Ziploc
bags they probably never advertised: preserving the scent of the dead. I
would have taken his clothes in the dirty laundry basket, but my father
had washed them. I cried when I found him in the laundry room trying to
be helpful. I put the zip locked bags of clothes under my bed in my
parent’s guest bedroom.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/whatFreedomSmellsLike.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/whatFreedomSmellsLike.jpg"><img alt="whatFreedomSmellsLike" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41176" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/whatFreedomSmellsLike.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/whatFreedomSmellsLike.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Diagnosed
with Borderline Personality disorder, Amy struggled with depression and
an addiction to sharp objects. Even hospitalization didn't help to heal
her destructive tendencies. It took a tumultuous relationship with a
man named Truth to bring her back from the depths of her own self-made
hell.Amy's marriage to dark, intriguing Truth was both passionate and
stormy. She was a fair-skinned southern girl from New Orleans. He was a
charming black man with tribal tattoos, piercings, and a mysterious
past. They made an unlikely pair, but something clicked. During their
early marriage, they pulled themselves out of abject poverty into wealth
and financial security practically overnight. Then things began to fall
a</span></span>part.<br />
<br />
Passionate and protective, Truth also proved violent and abu<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">sive.
Amy’s own self-destructive tendencies created a powerful symmetry. His
sudden death left Amy with an intense and warring set of emotions: grief
for the loss of the man she loved, relief she was no longer a target
for his aggression.</span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Conflicted
and grieving, Amy found herself at a spiritual and emotional
crossroads, only to receive help from an unlikely source: Truth himself.
Feeling his otherworldly presence in her dreams, Amy seeks help from a
famous medium.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her
spiritual encounters change Amy forever. Through Truth, she learns her
soul is eternal and indestructible, a knowledge that gives Amy the
courage to pursue her own dreams and transform herself both physically
and emotionally. Her supernatural encounters help Amy resolve the
internal anger and self-destructive tendencies standing between her and
happiness, culminating in a sense of spiritual fulfillment she never
dreamed possible.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An amazing true story, What Freedom Smells Like is told with courage, honesty, and a devilishly dark sense of hu</span></span>mor.<br />
<br />
Bu<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">y Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Freedom-Smells-Like-Memoir-ebook/dp/B00JTHDCSC/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=" href="http://www.amazon.com/What-Freedom-Smells-Like-Memoir-ebook/dp/B00JTHDCSC/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Memoir</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000; text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Amy-Lewis/e/B00KERPYYQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Amy-Lewis/e/B00KERPYYQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000; text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Amy Lewis through <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/AmyLewisAuthor" href="https://twitter.com/AmyLewisAuthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000; text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.WhatFreedomSmellsLike.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-u-DEq6B2o3ZSLOwj9JWZOYB9gHA" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.WhatFreedomSmellsLike.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-u-DEq6B2o3ZSLOwj9JWZOYB9gHA" target="_blank">www.WhatFreedomSmellsLike.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-26006224422341000312014-12-23T07:00:00.000-04:002015-03-13T01:51:37.422-03:00Kimberly Shursen Shares an #Excerpt from HUSH @KimberlyShursen #Thriller #AmReading #Goodreads <div style="text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Minneapolis, Minnesota<span style="font-family: inherit;"> - </span>August 21</b></span></span></i></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Twenty-eight-year-old Ann Ferguson covered her ears to avoid the imminent, deafening roar.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pass
the salt, pass the salt, pass the goddamn salt!” the crowd shouted,
waving hands overhead as Buffet’s “Margaritaville” resounded through the
speakers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just
another typical Friday night in downtown Minneapolis—the lighting in
Donita’s Pub dim, the air thick with pheromones while blenders zapped
ice, lime, and tequila into margaritas.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Feisty crowd tonight,” Jess said to Ann, pushing her long, naturally curly, strawberry-blonde hair behind one ear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Always is.” Ann took a sip of white wine.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stiletto
heels, form-fitting jeans, lips lacquered in hot pink or ruby red
mingled with Brooks Brothers’ suits, dress shirts, and silk ties.
Looking for soul mates or one-night stands—all the hoopla bored Ann.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This thing tickles.” Ann lifted up the sticky-backed, fake hair and scratched under her nose.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Noted
for their creative fundraisers, tonight the money collected at the door
of the bar to purchase faux moustaches would go to prostate cancer
research.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann
leaned back against the paver brick wall of the renovated warehouse.
Standing room only, members of generation X and younger were squashed
shoulder-to-shoulder, rear end to rear end.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann
pushed her bangs back off her forehead. It was only last week that
she’d held her breath as her thick, dark, shoulder-length hair was cut
into a pixie. Dark eyes raking the room, she wished she was home curled
up on the couch, watching a movie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jess cocked her head to the side. “You need to get out more.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And you need to find another playmate.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann
and Jess had lived together for three years, and though polar
opposites, they’d become best friends. Growing up in a small town in
southern Minnesota, Ann offered the pragmatic side of the friendship
while Jess added the excitement. At five feet two, Ann was small boned
and petite. Jess, with her full hips and robust breasts, towered over
Ann by a good six inches. Unlike Jess who enjoyed showcasing her breasts
with low-cut, scooped necklines, Ann was comfortable in her faded jeans
and tank tops.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Picture, ladies?” A roaming photographer asked, decked out in a white shirt and red bowtie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Absolutely.” Jessica squished her cheek against Ann’s, a margarita glass clasped in her hand. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Photographer from<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Minneapolis-St.Paul</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Magazine</i>,” Jess whispered.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Great,” Ann said sarcastically, “my parents will be so proud to see their daughter in a bar.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey.”
The deep voice startled her, and Ann turned around quickly. “I hope you
don’t think I’m too forward, but you look familiar.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jess tapped Ann’s knee nonchalantly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann
stared at the handsome man blankly. “I don’t think we’ve met.” However,
there was something familiar about him. Dark hair parted to the side, a
few strands fell casually over his forehead. He grinned, giving way to a
dimple in his right cheek.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You come here often?” he asked.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Second
time.” Men had come up and struck up a conversation when Jess had
dragged her to a bar before. But, just like the others, once this hunk
found out Ann wasn’t into one-night stands, he’d move on. Ann took a sip
of her wine, and the phony moustache toppled into her wine glass. “Oh
no.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeling
her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment, she quickly reached into the
glass and pulled out the sopping wet hairpiece. She wrinkled her nose.
“Disgusting.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He grinned, his dark eyes settling into half moons. “Oh…so, that isn’t real?” he asked poker-faced.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She shook her hand until the small fluff let loose of her finger and fell to the floor. “I forgot I had it on.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Whoa! There’s my song,” Jess said excitedly and started to shoulder her way through the crowd to the strobe-lit dance floor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann
watched Jess disappear, knowing she’d purposely left her alone with
this stranger. She wasn’t good at this and, again, wished she were home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ben.” He offered Ann his free hand, the other wrapped around a Samuel Adams.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann pointed at her ear and shook her head, signaling she couldn’t hear.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He leaned into her. “Ben Grable,” he said over the noise.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ann,”
She slipped her hand into his, eyeing him. Suit coat draped over an
arm, his tie hung loose around the open collar of his light blue, dress
shirt.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
wanna dance or—” He got out before someone shoved him, spilling his
beer down the front of his shirt, droplets falling to Ann’s sandals.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Whoa”—she picked up her foot—“that’s cold.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ben took a few steps back, brushing the beer off his tie. “Sheesh, I’m sorry. You okay?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Where had she seen him before?</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>She waved a dismissing hand. “I’m fine, but this noise is a killer. I think I’m going to call it a night.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wanna get a burger or something?” Ben blurted.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If you’re asking if I will go with you in your car,” she said, raising an eyebrow, “the answer is no thanks.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If I am asking you to go two doors down to grab a burger,” Ben asked with a sheepish grin, “what would the answer be?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sure.” Her eyes lit up. “If it’s quieter than here, I’m game.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ben
followed her through the maze to the dance floor. After Ann found Jess
and told her she was leaving, Ben put his hand in the small of her back,
sending a tingle up her spine.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Groups of men and women passed them on the sidewalk—their inebriated laughter echoing through the brightly lit streets.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A foot taller, Ben looked down at Ann. “You must think I’m pretty cocky just walking up and introducing myself.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Actually, I’m glad you did. Definitely not my scene.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Well, you looked as uncomfortable as I was.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ben
opened the door of the tavern for her. Tally’s was crowded but not
nearly as loud. Peanut shells speckled the black-and-white tile floor,
and men wearing denim shirts and cowboy boots waited for a turn at a
video game. A trio of middle-aged women with painted on smiles huddled
together on the barstools, their puffy eyes darting from man to man. The
aroma of burgers and onion rings filtered through the long, narrow
space, making Ann even hungrier.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not much ambiance here,” Ben apologized as the shells cracked beneath their feet.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“But a much tamer crowd.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ben stopped at an open booth. “This okay?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Perfect.” Ann slid in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Want a beer or something?” Ben asked, sitting down across from her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann thought for a couple of seconds. “I’d rather have a Coke.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Me, too. Diet or real?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Diet?” Ann made a face. “Yuck.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m with you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What can I get you two kids?” a waitress asked, her weathered face giving away her age.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Two<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>real</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Cokes”—Ben glanced at Ann—“and this young lady is starving.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I would love a cheeseburger, American cheese, medium-well,” Ann said. “And is that onion rings I smell?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes, ma’am.” The waitress smiled proudly. She folded her arms over her red-and-white checked shirt. “Best in Minneapolis.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Great,” Ann said. “Oh…and ranch dressing on the side.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The waitress turned to Ben.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Exact same thing for me,” Ben told her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann leaned back in the high-backed booth. “Most guys take their burgers medium-rare.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not into E-coli.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Smart man.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“So,” he said, locking his hands together and placing them on the Formica tabletop, “what’s your story?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann waited for the waitress to put the drinks in front of them. “Do I have to have one?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Everyone has a story.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">No
one had ever asked what her story was. For some reason, Ann didn’t feel
as uncomfortable as she usually did when she first met someone. She
tilted her head back, her eyes focusing on a stain in the ceiling.
“Pediatric nurse. Raised in Worthington—”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ah…the turkey capitol,” Ben said casually.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann’s eyes grew wide. “How’d you know that?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Big turkey fan,” Ben answered with a straight face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are not.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Love their combs.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann giggled. “You’re putting me on, right?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I was in Worthington for a conference once.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There was a conference in Worthington?” she asked as she tore the wrapper off the straw.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“On that one, I’m not fibbing. Had to take a class.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She raised an eyebrow. “In…”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Law.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ann wrapped her hand around the soda glass, not taking her eyes from him. “You’re a lawyer?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hello?” Ben grabbed his tie and waved it a few times. “Don’t I look like one?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do they all look alike?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“According to all the lawyer jokes, we do,” Ben said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The waitress served the burgers and onion rings with two sides of ranch dressing. “Anything else?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The older lady put a hand over her hip.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mustard,” Ben and Ann said at the same time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/hush.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/hush.jpg"><img alt="hush" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41080" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/hush.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/hush.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #000000; text-align: center;" id="outer_postBodyPS" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soon
after Ann Ferguson and Ben Grable marry, and Ben unseals his adoption
papers, their perfect life together is torn apart, sending the couple to
opposite sides of the courtroom.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Representing
Ann, lawyer Michael J. McConaughey (Mac) feels this is the case that
could have far-reaching, judicial effects -- the one he's been waiting
for.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Opposing counsel knows this high profile case happens just once in a lifetime.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />And
when the silent protest known as HUSH sweeps the nation, making
international news, the CEO of one of the top ten pharmaceutical
companies in the world plots to derail the trial that could cost his
company billions.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Critically
acclaimed literary thriller HUSH not only questions one of the most
controversial laws that has divided the nation for over four decades,
but captures a story of the far-reaching ties of family that surpasses
time and distance.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>***
Hush does not have political or religious content. The story is built
around the emotions and thoughts of two people who differ in their </b></span></span><b>beliefs.</b><br />
<br />
EDITORIAL REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">-packed legal
thriller will take readers on a journey through the trials and
tribulations of one of the most controversial subjects in society
today."<span style="font-family: inherit;"> - </span>Katie French author of "The Breeders," "The Believer's," and "Eyes Ever To The Sky."</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Hush-Kimberly-Shursen-ebook/dp/B00HZKBGW4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1404820465&sr=1-1&keywords=hush+and+kimberly+shursen" href="http://www.amazon.com/Hush-Kimberly-Shursen-ebook/dp/B00HZKBGW4/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1404820465&sr=1-1&keywords=hush+and+kimberly+shursen" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Thriller</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Kimberly-Shursen/e/B00C7ZBTIS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Kimberly-Shursen/e/B00C7ZBTIS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Kimberly Shursen through <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kimberly-Shursen-Author/286879094678995" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kimberly-Shursen-Author/286879094678995" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/kimberlyShursen" href="https://twitter.com/kimberlyShursen" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.kimberlyshursen.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-uex70LjIEkr9CbwWbuB4zDHIOKw" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.kimberlyshursen.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-uex70LjIEkr9CbwWbuB4zDHIOKw" target="_blank">http://www.kimberlyshursen.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-6520494529932697882014-12-06T08:00:00.000-04:002014-12-08T12:31:52.695-04:00#Excerpt from INSIDE/OUTSIDE : A #Memoir by Jenny Hayworth @JennyHayworth1 #SexualAbuse #Women<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
2004 I had commenced studying for my bachelor of nursing degree at
university. I completed nine units over a twelve-month period and then
decided it was not for me. When considering other careers, I decided to
transfer to social work as I was allowed to do eight subjects of another
discipline as part of the degree, so I wouldn’t have wasted a year of
study. However, the university had closed the midyear intake, and I did
not wish to wait until March the following year to commence studying. I
looked at psychology and transferred my nine subjects over to that
degree and commenced straightaway. I was living in a small town and
working part time at the local hospital as well as studying.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
read an advertisement in the local paper asking for volunteers. I had
not forgotten in the past years how many times the Lifeline counsellors
had been there for me in my darkest hours, and I was determined to give
back for all I had taken. It was an inner force driving me. I had always
known, from the first time I had been encouraged by the mental-health
support nurse to enrol and do the course, that I would return one day
and work on the phones. Now, looking at the advertisement in the paper, I
decided it was time.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
applied to do the telephone-counselling course and was accepted. During
the following three months, I completed 120 hours of role play
education and learnt the art of reflective listening. My journey of
personal growth at that time was extraordinary. Once again I felt in awe
of this agency, set up to help normal, everyday people help other
everyday people in distress. I loved the fact that it didn’t matter what
faith or belief you had; as long as you agreed with the foundation
principles, you could be trained to be a telephone counsellor.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
completed the course and loved every minute of it. I found much of it
challenging, as we had to learn to listen actively and reflectively and
support people who were suicidal, self-harming, or in dire need of a
listening ear for all different reasons. People who had been victims of
domestic violence or sexual assault, or who suffered from mental
illnesses, came and spoke to us, which personally challenged any
preconceptions and biases we might have held. I learnt so much from the
role playing and having a group reflect back to me about how I
performed. The feedback from others, on such things as tone of voice and
my effectiveness in how I used each of the skills we needed to learn,
was invaluable.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
learnt how I had to put aside my own experiences, background, and
preconceptions even if I had experienced some of the issues that clients
raised on the phone. I had to truly listen and be there with people, by
their sides, as they poured out their personal pain. I learnt so much
about myself and more importantly, about how to truly be with someone
else who was going through personal crises or was in emotional pain.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
passed the course and was approved to move on to practical experience
on the telephones. There were plenty of support people on hand to sit
with me for as long as I required. I found that knowing what had helped <i>me</i> the
most when I had been the one calling helped me now to a certain degree,
but the most important thing was to be fully available emotionally to
the person on the other end. The Egan method of counselling, which is
the basis of Lifeline training, is a person-centred therapy. The tools
they taught us in regard to how to listen and guide another actively
through the maze of often-conflicting options and emotions were
invaluable.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
encountered every situation you could think of in these few months.
Most who were suicidal had attempted suicide before and been in
hospital, or they felt suicidal and were in extreme emotional pain that
they didn’t feel they could share with their families or friends. Some
had actual suicidal plans, and yet something had made them ring instead
of carrying through with them at that particular time.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many
were just plain lonely to the bone and had no one to listen to them or
to talk with. I was surprised that just a hearing ear was what most
people wished for. Nearly all who phoned had no trouble talking, and
they let me know when they had talked enough, felt better and more able
to cope, and could carry on.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Many
people said they had told secrets they had kept for years—things they
had done they were ashamed of and didn’t feel they could live with if
anyone found out, conflicted emotions about partners and children and
parents. They spoke about things they were scared to voice out loud to
those around them but needed to be heard and to say. They needed to have
a chance, in a safe place with a safe person they couldn’t see, to say
the words and work out their own path in the telling.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone had a story.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One
particular night I went on my shift as usual. From the time the phone
rang and I picked up the call, I knew I had a young woman on the line
that was serious about taking her life.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hello, Lifeline. How can I help you?” I answered.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At
first there was only silence. I sat quietly listening as I had been
taught, and I could hear music in the background, and the soft sounds of
someone breathing.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s okay, take your time. I am right here when you want to start talking.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
heard the sound of a deep intake of breath. Gulping, ragged sobs filled
the earpiece of my phone, and the sound of someone trying to suck back
in all the pain echoed in my ear. I could identify it was a female
crying although no words had been spoken by her yet.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I allowed about fifteen more seconds to go by whilst I listened to her crying.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
don’t have to start at the beginning. Sometimes it’s too hard to know
where to start. It’s okay not to know,” I said. Sounds of more crying
filled my ear, louder now and less controlled. It was the sort of crying
that occurs when someone is absolutely bereft, exhausted, and in
despair. The wailing was coming from the depths of someone’s soul, the
sound of someone who had lost everything and had nothing remaining.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
allowed a few more seconds to go by until I heard a lull in the crying
as the person struggled to get their breath. “I am right here with you.
You are not alone,” I said. The wailing was less intense, and I could
tell she was listening to me. “I can hear you are in enormous emotional
pain. It is okay to cry. You’re not alone anymore.” I stayed quiet for a
few seconds. “What is your name?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen.” Sobs started slowly building up intensity again.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen, can you tell me what is happening for you right now? What made you pick up the phone and ring me tonight?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
just want to die. I just want to die.” The female voice wailed loud and
high, frantic and nearly shouting. “I can’t do it anymore. It’s just
too hard. I just want to die. I can’t take anymore. It’s too much. It’s
all too much.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
identified exhaustion, slurring, lack of hope, and the clink of what
sounded like a glass. I pushed the “alert” button and, at the same time,
dialled the number for my supervisor on the mobile phone I had next to
me. I left the phone on the bench and kept talking.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Where are you right now? Are you at home?” I asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Where is home, Karen?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It doesn’t matter. I want to die. I just want to die.” Her voice rose again to a crescendo.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen, have you been drinking?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Vodka.
It is my favourite drink. I’ve nearly finished the bottle.” Her voice
was slurring, and my concern elevated another notch as her ability to
self-moderate and respond to reasoning would be compromised. Suddenly
her voice slipped into the hushed sing-song tones of a little girl. It
was so soft, and her words so slurred, I was finding it hard to pick up
the meaning of what she was saying.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m touching me. I’m touching me. Oh, there’s blood all over everywhere. I can taste it.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Soft
moaning filled the air. The strains of music in the background muffled
her voice. “Daddy, Daddy. Oh, I am so turned on. Why are you doing this
to me? Why?” Her moans changed to a high-pitched sob, and her gulp for
breath filled my ear.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen, are you cutting yourself?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes. There is blood everywhere. I am going to die. I want to die.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen,
can you please put the knife or razor down whilst you are talking to
me? Karen, have you put down what you are cutting yourself with? I need
you to put it down whilst you talk to me.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Karen,
I hear that you want to die. I believe you. But part of you picked up
the phone and rang me tonight. Part of you must want to live, as you
rang me tonight. I need to talk to that part of you that wants to live.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No,
I want to die.” Her voice suddenly changed back to that of an adult.
“All of me wants to die. I can’t take it anymore. My daughters will be
better off with me dead. I’m no good to them. They should stay with
their father all the time. They would be better off. I am useless to
them.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
hear you say you believe your daughters will be better off with you
dead. I hear you say you want to die.” I allowed a few seconds’ silence.
Her breathing was noisy and raspy. “Why did you ring me tonight, Karen?
Why did you ring me on the night you want to die?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Her
voice, interlaced with sobs, shouted down the phone at me. “Because I’m
scared. I don’t want to be alone when I die. I want someone with me.” I
waited a few seconds until her loud, frantic sobs started to die down.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
hear you’re scared, Karen. Karen, if I could wave a magic wand and take
all your emotional pain away, would you still want to die? If all the
emotional pain was gone, would you still want to die?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No,
but you can’t. No one can. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything, and
nothing works. This is going to work. It is all going to end tonight.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Tell me about your emotional pain, Karen. Tell me why it feels so bad.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Everything
else in the room and in my life ceased to exist except for her voice,
her words, her story, and the phone against my ear. I tried to stay with
her as she went to some dark places and took me with her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
was currently separated and had two young daughters. They lived with
her full time, but this weekend they were staying with their father. She
said he was a good father, and her daughters enjoyed going. She
sometimes spoke in a normal-sounding voice and then would switch to a
voice that sounded like a little girl’s as she regressed in time and was
living a reality back from when she was a child. She was drinking vodka
as we spoke and sometimes masturbating. She kept on picking up the
razor and cutting herself. She was in her bedroom with loud music
playing whilst she was cutting the top of her leg deep down to her
femoral artery.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She wanted to die.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
had made up her mind that it would happen this weekend, and her
ex-husband would find her on the Monday morning after he had dropped
their daughters at school and come around to drop off their gear. She
was a victim of long and sustained childhood sexual abuse by her father.
She kept drifting in and out of consciousness toward the end of the
call. She was in an altered reality because of emotional pain,
intoxication, and sedatives and was cutting and masturbating to try to
alleviate some of her tension while stating she wanted to die. Her
memories of childhood and adult emotional pain intermingled.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My
supervisor had come in and had called the police in the caller’s area
twice already. Unfortunately, as police had taken her suicidal to
hospital some months previously, they were in no hurry to get to her.
They were prioritising other calls, not realising the seriousness of the
situation. This was not an unusual situation for us on the phones. Many
police were escorts for the mentally ill and suicidal, taking them to
hospital, and most had regulars in their areas that they got to know
well. This sometimes made them act with less urgency.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However,
my supervisor kept ringing and conveying to them that I was an
experienced counsellor, and she trusted my instinct that this girl was
actively attempting to suicide and would bleed to death if no one
reached her soon. All my gut instinct was screaming out to me that this
was so. I channelled all my energy and every fibre of my being down that
phone to her; I was a hundred percent focused on trying to say the
right words to convey to her to live and not to die, and that I was
there for her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
appealed to her as a fellow human being, through her daughters, through
the young self she kept slipping into, that there was hope, there was a
reason to live, there was a way out of this pain, there was a way to
have the emotional pain stop and end without her having to die. She
wanted the emotional pain to end, but that didn’t mean her life had to
end. Her daughters would not be better off with her dead. When she
didn’t have the emotional pain to deal with, she could be there for
them. She could be the mother she wanted to be. She could build a new
life once the pain was gone. She could trust people again.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
asked her what had happened this particular weekend that was the final
straw that had made her decide to kill herself. She had received a bill
in the mail that she said she could not pay. It was added to the other
bills, and it was the breaking point for her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It
was all too much. She had no one to share her pain with or to support
her through her marriage breakup, being a mother, or her own abuse
memories that were flooding her now that she was on her own. She did not
feel she could cope as an adult in this world any longer. She did not
feel she could be an adequate parent and role model for her daughters
when she could barely get out of bed each day. She didn’t want them to
see her like this. She didn’t want to frighten them. She was starting to
behave in ways she did not like. She felt they would be better off
without her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
tried to ask her what had helped her get through these times in the
past, when she had previously been this distressed and suicidal. But it
was nearly impossible to reason as an adult with her when her
rationality was not in charge, and her younger, seemingly emotional self
was in charge.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
therefore said that Karen the adult needed to look after Karen the
child. Her child self didn’t need to be cut and hurt. Her child self
didn’t need sexual stimulation when she was drunk and scared. Her child
self needed the adult Karen who had rung Lifeline to put down the razor,
put down the alcohol, and just let her sleep, let her lie down and
rest, as she had been through enough.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
stopped talking, and I no longer knew if she was conscious. I just kept
talking and talking, hoping she could hear me and hoping something I
was saying in a calm, soothing, nonjudgmental voice was getting through
to her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
police arrived at the house; I could hear through the phone that they
were breaking down the door. One of the police picked up the phone and
started talking to me. He said she had cut down to the artery, and it
looked like she had nicked it. There was blood everywhere. She was
unconscious, but the paramedics had arrived, and they were taking her to
the hospital.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was so relieved.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
hung up the phone, and suddenly there was just silence where there had
been intense energy and focus. All the energy just drained out of me,
and I felt myself start to shake. She was alive. She was going to make
it—for that night anyway. I prayed and hoped someone at the hospital
would relate to her and help her. That she would find a doctor or
therapist who could help her find a way out of the maze and trap she had
found herself in with no hope.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On
the way home, in the dark and quiet, I suddenly had to pull my car
over. I thanked the whole universe for letting me be the one to sit with
Karen during her pain, for the police and paramedics who had gone to
her assistance, and for the doctors and nurses who would be attending to
her. I had intensely related to her. I understood her switching between
her child self and adult self. I understood her use of masturbation and
alcohol to try to alleviate the intense aloneness and emotional pain. I
understood the cutting and thumping music for the same reasons.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
I just sat in the dark, in the stillness and the silence, and with my
whole heart wished and prayed she would find a way in the coming weeks
and months through her emotional pain so she could find a reason to live
again and be wholly there for her daughters as she grew older. As
people had been there for me when I was at my lowest.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
felt something click together in my head and heart. It was a physical
sensation and a feeling of completeness that washed over me. Something
closed up in me that I had not realised until then had still been open. A
feeling of fullness and wholeness filled me.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
prayed to the universe to watch over the young woman, and in my mind’s
eye I handed over the responsibility for her healing and destiny to the
universe. I trusted that her journey and mine had collided for a reason,
but that reason was completed now. I let go of her figurative hand. I
felt the anxiety connected to what might have been happening with her
leave me.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
started the car again and drove home. I felt deep within my bones that I
had fulfilled a karmic debt, and the circle was complete.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was released.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/insideOutside.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">***Award winning book (finalist) in 2014 Beverley Hills International Book Awards***</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jenny
Hayworth grew up within the construct of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, which
she describes as a fundamentalist cult-like religion. She devoted her
life to it for over thirty years. Then she left it. The church
“unfellowshipped” her-rendering her dead to those family and friends
still committed to the church.Hayworth is a sexual abuse survivor. The
trauma changed her self-perception, emotional development, trust, and
every interaction with the world.</span></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Inside/Outside
is her exploration of sexual abuse, religious fundamentalism, and
recovery. Her childhood circumstances and tragedies forced her to live
“inside.” This memoir chronicles her journey from experiencing comfort
and emotional satisfaction only within her fantasy world to developing
the ability to feel and express real life emotion on the “outside.”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It
is a story that begins with tragic multigenerational abuse, within an
oppressive society, and ends with hope and rebirth into a life where she
experiences real connections and satisfaction with the outside world.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Those
who have ever felt trapped by trauma or circumstances will find
Inside/Outside a dramatic reassurance that they are not alone in the
world, and they have the ability to have a fulfilling life, both inside
and out.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Foreward
Clarion Review – “What keeps the pages of Hayworth’s life story turning
is her honesty, tenacity, and sheer will to survive through an
astounding number of setbacks. Inside/Outside proves the resilience of
the human spirit and shows that the cycle of abuse can indeed be broken”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kirkus
Review – “A harrowing memoir of one woman’s struggle to cope with
sexual abuse and depression while living in – and eventually leaving –
the Jehovah’s Witnesses”</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Readers Favourite 5 Star Review – “The book is an inspiring story for those who are going through traumatic times…”</span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Inside-Outside-Womans-Recovery-Religious-ebook/dp/B00I08IY3E/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-3&qid=1390284848&tag=booaremag-20" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Memoir</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jenny-Hayworth/e/B00HWV6K8Q/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Jenny Hayworth on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jenny-Hayworth/201860833330961" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="http://twitter.com/JennyHayworth1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-30078306999421976712014-12-06T07:00:00.000-04:002014-12-08T12:27:37.700-04:00ENEMY OF MAN (Chronicles of Kin Roland) #Excerpt by Scott Moon @ScottMoonWriter #SciFi #MustRead<h1 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
CHAPTER ONE</span></span></h1>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">HEROES
weren’t sealed in space caskets and launched into the void—not while
they were still breathing. Kin shuddered. Memories came at night; they
came with regrets, fears, and nightmares only a man buried alive could
understand. Heroes destroyed the enemy. Heroes saved the day and died
before they could wear medals or explain what it was like to shed the
blood of millions.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This room is too dark</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
needed to go outside and look at the sky, but the wormhole song, the
distant groaning of a universe unraveling, reminded him of
Hellsbreach—gunfire, plasma bolts, and nuclear explosions on the
horizon. Better to dream of Becca, though she was the reason he
volunteered for the campaign.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stop thinking of her,” Laura said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
sat up in bed, dropped his feet to the floor, and watched her drift
back to sleep. Her chest rose and fell, a silk sheet accentuating her
curves. Her eyes began to move under her eyelids.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
don’t even know who she is.” He ran a finger behind Laura’s ear and
down her neck until she giggled in her sleep. He smiled. “I can share
anything with you in moments like these.” He slowly pulled the sheet
lower and she didn’t stir.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura
would like the game—exposing her skin to the night air and staring
until she sensed his attention and awoke, but he stopped, reaching to
cup the side of her face instead. Lust didn’t mix well with the darkness
still in his mind.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’d fail again, given the same choice. Could you commit genocide, Laura?” he asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hmm?”
She struggled to open her eyes, it seemed, but pushed him clumsily away
with one hand as she rolled onto her stomach, twisting the sheets as
she moved.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I still love her. You know that, right?” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Motionless
on the bed, Laura seemed not to breathe. The wormhole that dipped into
the atmosphere quieted. Silence spread across the planet. Sea birds
called to each other and waves gently touched the beach.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
pulled on his pants and gun belt, then picked up his boots and go-bag
as he crossed the room. Outside, he pressed an ampoule of caffeine
against his neck and injected it. Sleep wasn’t a friend. The
intramuscular dose was meant to be injected in the gluteus maximus,
otherwise known as the place Laura hung on for dear life when they were
together, but Kin didn’t want to ruin the feel of her hands by sticking
his ass cheek with a needle.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
watched the sky as he did upon awakening morning, noon, or night,
hating the way the wormhole that dumped them on the uncharted planet
seemed alive and sentient. Lightning flashed through the undulating red,
orange, and purple tube of light as it climbed lazily toward the ring
of moons around the planet. The moons, by contrast, soothed his spirit
when he could stop thinking about the gaping mouth of the wormhole. They
climbed vertically from the horizon like the underside of an arch,
brilliant at night and hazy during the day.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin steadied his breathing, forcing his shoulders to relax as he studied the anomaly.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The <i>Goliath</i> came
through that hole. The enormous exploration vessel had been designed to
orbit a planet and send down shuttles, not descend to the surface. No
one planned for the uncharted wormhole to catch the ship and drop it
inside the atmosphere. Much of the ship broke apart and scattered along
the coast. The survivors existed between the sea and the impact site of
the main fuselage.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each
year, sand covered the available salvage, making building materials
scarce. The thought of leading another scavenger mission bored Kin,
though he knew the children looked forward to crawling into holes the
adults couldn’t reach. He rubbed his neck and decided he was done with
caffeine injections for a while.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
had grown more sensitive to his surroundings since the deadly campaign
on Hellsbreach. He heard Laura roll out of bed, though the heavy
curtains were drawn over the doorway and she was trying to be stealthy.
The floor creaked and Kin guessed she paused to scoop her pants and
shirt off the floor. He didn’t hear her tug zippers or take the time to
fasten buttons. Their relationship wasn’t that formal.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
ocean breeze and crashing waves soothed his mind, but didn’t mask the
sounds Laura made. To Kin, there were simply more sounds, distinct and
easily identifiable. She would have been smarter to move when the surf
broke, but he still would have heard her. Auditory discrimination was
why he hadn’t been slaughtered by Reapers on Hellsbreach. They could
sound like men, or wolves, or stalking tigers, but beneath the obvious
sounds there was always a clicking in their throats.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura
moved closer to the doorway but stopped, probably listening for him. He
measured the pause and assumed she was peeking through the curtain. She
wasn’t incompetent at stealth, but he knew her game.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his trim waist and pressing
her body against his. She gripped him hard with no pretense of romance.
Perhaps she heard what he said about being in love with Becca. She
pretended she wasn’t jealous, but she was. She bit his ear. He continued
to lean on the rail, ocean breeze blowing on his face, solid wood under
his feet. She bit his neck. He smiled. The bite hurt, but he pretended
it didn’t.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You put your pants on,” she said. “Did I tell you to get dressed and sneak out of my bed?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I would hate for the Fleet to send a rescue mission and find me out of uniform.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If
the Fleet comes to Crashdown, I’ll tell them about you,” she said. Her
lips brushed his ear as she spoke and she lingered with a kiss even as
one hand went into the front of his pants. Kin smiled and shook his head
minutely.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Crashdown
is a good name for this place.” He thought the planet was huge and
extremely dense, because the gravity was heavy and the ocean horizon to
the west was flat as a blade.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you think I’m joking?” she asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
didn’t answer. He wished she wouldn’t try to provoke him. He had killed
for less. She enjoyed rough sex, danger, and power. Kin was bored with
two of the three. She released him, patting his ass before she walked
away. He knew she kept them all alive. She was a force of nature. He
needed to meet a nice girl, someone like Becca.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
wormhole convulsed. Kin let go of the rail and stood straight. His hand
went to the pistol hanging on his leg. Objects burst from the hazy
opening high in the atmosphere. Most ships that crashed on this huge
planet came alone—pioneers, explorers, or pilgrims fleeing persecution.
Meteors were more common, but during the last three days, a variety of
space junk and wreckage had splashed into the ocean and smashed against
the mountains east of Crater Town. Somewhere in the universe, an epic
battle raged and the debris drifted through the wormhole.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Pacing,
Kin watched the sky until the wormhole began to puke earnestly. Small
pops sounded in the distance, but he suspected they were explosive
thunderclaps.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Damn</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Objects
burst into the air close together, sounding like the chatter of machine
gun fire. Pop-pop-pop. Pop-pop. Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>That’s a planetary assault force</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each
cluster of fast-moving smoke trails were troopers in Fleet Single
Person Assault Armor units. He had worn an FSPAA unit during his
enlistment and recognized the formation. Several larger objects
followed, flanked by more troopers in airborne assault mode.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura emerged from the doorway, paused to stare at the sky, and hastily buttoned up her shirt. “I’m going to the meeting hall.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Go to a bunker,” Kin said, but she was already running.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Damn!”
Kin estimated a division of Fleet troopers were plummeting toward
Crater Town. He jumped off the side of the deck and ran to the
lighthouse, sprinting up the spiral staircase. When he reached the top,
he doused the light and picked up a horn.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
large ship emerged from the mouth of the wormhole, bow elevated twenty
degrees too high and drifting sideways. The ship was still under power,
laboriously righting itself as the atmosphere burned it. Kin watched
pieces break off. He didn’t recognize the ship’s class or if it were
built for entry into the atmosphere, but it was shaped like a Fleet
vessel.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An
armada of broken ships, huge things never meant to enter the atmosphere
even if in one piece, were the last through. Kin sounded the alarm.
Horns answered from every corner of Crater Town. Men, women, and
children rushed from their homes with survival kits. He saw many running
to the well to form a bucket line and parents rushing their children to
crude fallout bunkers.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two
companies of assault troopers splashed into the water off shore. Two
additional companies veered right while another two veered left of
Crater Town as flanking elements. Four came straight at him. The command
ship and heavy vehicles—Tanks, Strykers, and reconnaissance
vehicles—fought for altitude. They soared over the town, landing near
the <i>Goliath</i> half buried in the sand between the coast and mountains.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
picked up binoculars from the railing and tracked the progress of each
assault force and the efforts of Crater Town’s people. About the time
young men surrendered to Fleet troopers in seven-foot-tall armor, the
space debris hit. The noise of the plummeting ship parts had been
minimal from a distance, but as they neared, they ripped through the
air, vibrating the tower where Kin stood. Troopers and townspeople ran
for shelters, threw themselves on the ground, or gaped at the
destruction. Earth exploded. Water erupted into steaming clouds of
death. Fires rampaged like demons.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin risked a final glance toward the wormhole before descending the tower.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>That’s not a Fleet ship.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He jerked the binoculars up.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>No military emblems. No weapons. And it’s shaped like a blockade runner.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
watched the small craft drift away from the others, seeming to sneak
free of the chaos. Kin didn’t like the feeling in his gut. Dread
hollowed him out. He thought of Reapers and stolen technology.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
faster Fleet vessels and plummeting debris posed the immediate threat.
Kin knew it. He needed to ignore the small civilian ship, but understood
Reapers hijacked anything that would take them from their home world.
The creatures didn’t build ships and were notoriously bad pilots, but
when they left Hellsbreach, they were on a mission of murder.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin forced his gaze toward the ships and troops already on the ground.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Don’t think of Reapers. Don’t think of Hellsbreach. Captivity. Death. I should have died. </i>Kin steadied his breathing, unsure if it calmed him or merely suffocated his panic. <i>Should have killed them all.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sweat
beaded on his forehead. He waited for Fleet ships to spot the stranger
and destroy it, but nothing happened. The craft disappeared beyond the
mountain pass. He wanted to go after it, but Crater Town took priority.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
left the tower and ran down the unpaved street twisting around
ramshackle huts near the bay. Laura hurried from a building up the
street, wearing a firefighting coat. She paused to tie up her hair, then
pulled on heavy gloves. People carrying tools rushed from their
shelters to follow her. She accosted a group of men held at gunpoint by
Fleet troopers and ordered them to follow her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The squad leader pointed at Laura and gave an order. <i>Get back. This is Fleet business.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Laura elevated her chin and put both hands on her hips. She said something. <i>I’m
sleeping with Kin Roland, a murdering deserter and traitor to the
Fleet. He’ll cut your balls off if I even nod your direction. Fleet
business my ass. This is my business. These are my people. Kindly mind
your manners, you faceless killer.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Fleet trooper spread his hands in frustration and surprise. He yelled and thrust his gauntleted finger near her face. <i>Listen you stupid bitch. You’re lucky I don’t blow your head off.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could imagine it. He wasn’t
surprised when the troopers released the people of Crater Town to Laura.
The guards followed, seeming a bit dazed.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>What the fuck just happen?</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Don’t ask me. You’re the squad leader. Take charge.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I’ll take charge of your face with my boot. Stay sharp. Watch the work crew. I’ll watch the councilwoman.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
ran up the steep hill, knowing planetary assault forces demanded
immediate compliance when they made planetfall. They were paid to shoot
people. He feared Laura would push too hard. Inflexible and harsh
standard operating procedures placed the interests of the Fleet before
the welfare of local populations. He needed to warn her about what
happened when people resisted. She won this scrimmage and freed her work
crew, but needed to consider a softer touch when dealing with officers.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
he realized she had a trump card. He believed he knew Laura. He
believed she had been toying with him when she said she would expose him
to the Fleet. Being wrong would cost him his life.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You
there, halt and identify,” a Fleet trooper shouted. His amplified voice
echoed from the helmet speaker. He held a rifle and a plasma thrower,
each connected to the armor by woven metal tubes. Kin ignored the
trooper, who moved forward, weapons ready.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
slipped around the corner and ducked through a cloud of smoke, then
circled the area until he was behind the trooper who continued in the
wrong direction.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Identify yourself,” Kin said, under his breath.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h1 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
CHAPTER TWO</span></span></h1>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">FLEET
troopers occupied the area. Dozens of squads moved along the next
street as Kin cut between several makeshift homes to avoid detention. He
could no longer see Laura but thought she was moving away from him
toward the most devastated section of Crater Town. She was doing her
job. He surveyed the town and started doing his.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
first three houses Kin checked were damaged, but had already been
evacuated. The next three were family dwellings, and by Town Protocol,
the parents should have moved their children to fallout bunkers at the
first sign of a meteor storm. He ducked inside each and looked around.
Finding them empty, he hurried to the home of Brian Muldoch.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
didn’t admire the man, because Muldoch had found religion halfway
through his mandatory ten-year enlistment as an Earth Fleet trooper and
decided he was a conscientious objector. After two years in a labor
camp, Muldoch escaped and stowed away on the <i>Goliath</i>. When Fleet
troopers found him, he was a dead man. The only thing that remained was
how quickly they would identify him and carry out the sentence for
deserters.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
told himself to focus on his job, find critically wounded survivors,
make sure everyone in Crater Town did their part, and create a list of
structures rendered unsafe by meteor strikes. He had no business
interfering with the Fleet, especially since his status would earn him
death, preceded by torture, yet he hurried toward Muldoch’s home.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Though
the man was a deserter, much of his Fleet training remained. He
performed every task efficiently and kept his quarters squared away. He
had helped Kin fight raiders who came down from the mountains. He had
scoured the foothills to find a missing child. Kin often wondered why
Muldoch refused to fight for the Fleet. He had shown bravery many times
on Crashdown.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Several Fleet troopers surrounded Muldoch in the street near his small house. One shouted, “On your knees. Don’t move.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
must report to the well to help with the bucket line. Can’t you see the
fires?” Muldoch asked, desperation in his voice. His eyes darted from
one man to the next as color left his face.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
trooper nearest Muldoch had a new helmet, though the rest of his armor
was scarred and scorched. “Don’t move and don’t talk.” He pointed his
rifle at Muldoch’s neck where a Fleet labor camp tattoo marked him.
“This is doing the talking for you, traitor.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Two
troopers, a corporal and a lance corporal, stood facing each other,
heads bent as they listened inside their helmets to an electronic
message Kin couldn’t hear. When they looked up, they nodded. FSPAA
helmets didn’t reveal emotion, but Kin could sense the smiles behind the
visors by the rhythm of their nods. They returned to the group.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have confirmation. This man is Brian Muldoch, a deserter and coward,” the corporal said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
watched New Helmet elevate his weapon a few inches and fire one round
before Muldoch could beg for mercy. Blood splattered the street and
armor of the men standing in a circle. Muldoch’s body fell forward.
Nothing above his teeth remained.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you have a problem?” The corporal’s tone implied having a problem would be a problem for Kin.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“What did he do?” Kin asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Deserter.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No trial?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No need.” He stepped close to Kin and looked at his neck and hands.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
focused on the body of Muldoch and exhaled slowly, steadying his anger
and fear. His tattoos had been removed. The painful procedure cost a
fortune. Muldoch should’ve done the same thing. Kin clenched his fists
and hoped the troopers didn’t notice the tension coursing through his
arms, shoulders, and neck. Before Hellsbreach, Kin always maintained
control over his unit and forbade frontier justice, but he wasn’t their
sergeant and they wanted blood.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">New Helmet moved closer. “Does he have a marker?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The corporal looming over Kin hesitated. “No. I thought he would. He walks like he was Fleet.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
stared at Muldoch’s body and said nothing. These troopers were as
unprofessional and violent as any Kin had encountered, but he didn’t
confuse their sloppy gear and mob mentality for incompetence. Killers
who enjoyed killing barely needed a reason to pull the trigger.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I asked you a question.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No you didn’t,” Kin said. <i>Shouldn’t have said that. Shouldn’t have come here at all</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
trooper stared at him, shifting the weight of his armor from foot to
foot several times. Without the armor, he might be Kin’s size, but in
full FSPAA gear, he was a giant. “Get out of here.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
lance corporal, the smallest in the group, slid his hand back and forth
on the barrel of his rifle with increasing intensity, as though stoking
his courage. “Shoot him like you did that Reaper on Hellsbreach.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">New
Helmet pushed the lance corporal aside. “He never shot a Reaper. A
Reaper wouldn’t hold still like this corpse and if it did, one bullet
would only make it angry.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t
fucking touch me, Raif.” The lance corporal started to point his rifle
at New Helmet, but lowered the weapon and backed away. Raif didn’t even
look at him. He watched Kin like a hungry wolf.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
corporal stared at his men until Raif stopped advancing and the lance
corporal walked back toward the rest of the platoon. A moment passed
before the corporal seemed satisfied. He faced Kin, pointing his rifle
at the sky with one hand. His elbow rested on his hip to support the
weight of the weapon. “Start walking, dead man.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
walked away, stopping once he neared the crest of the hill where the
street twisted toward the center of town. He looked back. The Fleet
troopers watched him. He directed his gaze toward Muldoch’s house. Like
many homes in this part of town, it was built into the side of the hill,
jutting out ten feet. Rough-hewn beams of wood supported the metal
siding scavenged from the wreckage of the <i>Goliath</i>. He remembered
the day Muldoch had scrubbed the metal clean and painted it, despite
Kin’s warning that the paint would never adhere properly. Weather had
taken a toll on the surface and the green color was uneven. Mixing
touch-up paint from limited resources wasn’t an exact science, yet Kin
recognized the effort put into maintaining the home.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
troopers continued to face him. How many were trying to decide if they
knew him, wondering if they recognized him from past campaigns or
security bulletins? The Fleet had probably buried his scandal deep,
erasing every record of their failure—of his failure. That was what Kin
hoped for. With his luck, the Fleet had his picture on every security
threat alert for the last ten years. What could he do? Flee into the
wilderness of Crashdown?</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
gust of wind from the sea blew sand, dust, and ash between them. Kin
studied the red dragon insignia on each of these troopers and committed
it to memory. He rested his hand on his pistol in the leg holster and
realized the trooper was waiting for him to draw it. Holding his gun was
a habit, unintentional, but now that the familiar grip was in his hand,
he wanted to use it.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
never liked Muldoch and told himself they were nothing alike. Their
situations were different. Muldoch, despite the fortitude he had
displayed since the <i>Goliath</i> crash landed, would’ve died within
seconds of landing on Hellsbreach. Muldoch hadn’t been forced to choose
between duty and his soul.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Pull
that pistol or go away,” the trooper said. The sound of his amplified
voice came just as the wind vanished, and Kin heard it clearly. He
released his grip and walked away. There were others like Muldoch, none
of them deserters, but men and women likely to run afoul of Fleet
justice.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin couldn’t protect them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Making
his way toward the town meeting hall, Kin kept an eye on Fleet
checkpoints. The people of Crater Town fought fires and moved wounded to
the simple hospital. He slowed as he approached the town hall,
realizing he was too late.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fleet
troopers escorted the council members, though Laura seemed to treat the
troopers as her personal escort rather than her jailers.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Please, Laura, be careful</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Love
wasn’t the perfect word to describe his feelings for Laura, but
something burned hot and miserable in his chest as he stared after her.
The Fleet was a juggernaut of violence—not an organization to be
manipulated, not even by a savant of intrigue like Laura.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Strykers
blocked the next street. The engines of the eight-wheeled, light armor
vehicles chugged. Exhaust fumes, from diesel rather than jet fuel,
mingled with the cool evening air. The archaic technology remained a
favorite among ground forces because fuel could be foraged or fabricated
when resupply wasn’t an option. Diesel, jet fuel, moonshine—it didn’t
matter. They ran on anything.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
crept forward until he saw two troopers arguing. Wind blew dust,
obscured vision, and concealed him as he lurked in an alley near the
conversation.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We don’t have time for this,” the larger of the two said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Surplus
armor stamped with the standard Earth Fleet icon caught Kin’s
attention, because the external armaments were expertly placed and easy
to access in a fight, not the setup of inexperienced recruits. Elite
commandos couldn’t have done better.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Strange. Why are two badasses like you slumming in that junk?</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Something
exploded. The ground rumbled under Kin’s feet. Flames thrust skyward
from a building nearby. Townspeople screamed for help, their voices
ethereal and broken in the silence following the boom. Kin wanted to
know why these troopers were in disguise. Were they saboteurs intent on
destroying Earth Fleet, or were they merely high ranking officers spying
on their troops?</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“If
Imperials came through the wormhole after the battle, we’ll find them.
We have time. You’re such a pussy,” the smaller trooper said. The voice
was familiar and possibly a woman’s, but Kin immediately doubted
himself. FSPAA vocal filters were nearly gender neutral by default,
though most troopers disabled them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You had to go there,” the larger trooper said. “Watch and learn.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Imperials</i>.
Whoever they were, Kin had never heard of them. His first impression
was of a human, or at least humanoid, adversary. Until now, all enemy
races of the Fleet had been monstrous—Reapers, Soul Catchers, Shape
Shifters, and Cyborgs. War between human nations was ancient history.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
followed the troopers sprinting toward the burning buildings. They
quickly outdistanced him. He’d forgotten how fast a trooper could move
in armor. By the time he caught up, both troopers emerged from a
building holding armloads of terrified children.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cassie Davis fell at their feet, wailing for her babies.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin wanted to comfort her. He took a few steps forward, but stopped when the smaller trooper looked at him sharply.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin broke eye contact, though he couldn’t actually see the trooper’s eyes, and yelled. “Cassie! Are you okay?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
trooper watched him a moment longer before pushing free of the Davis
family reunion. “Get a support team here on the double! We have
collateral damage.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fleet
medics and firemen arrived, helping the townspeople extinguish the
flames and triage the wounded. The two mystery troopers took charge of
the chaotic scene.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin took the opportunity to leave.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Something
changed after the invaders rescued Cassie’s children. The routine
protocols of occupying strategic and tactical positions, detaining key
people, and requisitioning resources seemed more benevolent. Kin
witnessed Fleet troopers using war-fighting technology to rescue people.
An FSPAA unit had to burn for a long time before the person inside
became uncomfortable. Muldoch’s execution remained vivid in his mind and
he wasn’t swept away by the heroics of the Fleet.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
scoured the town for people who needed help or direction. Laura was in
the hands of the Fleet. She would either betray him or not betray him,
regardless of what he did now. He faced a dangerous choice: flee the
city while he had the chance or help the innocent victims of the
invasion.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It
wasn’t a difficult decision. Who was he? What did his life matter? He
had fought for it—lied, killed, robbed people to pay for a new
identity—but was his existence worth more than Crater Town?</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
the sun came up he was exhausted, but felt good. Crater Town had been a
better home to him than he had known before or after the Fleet. He
began a final circuit of the town, drinking water from a skin and
nodding at people who seemed glad to be alive.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">TIRED
men and women wandered the town square, wiping sweat and soot from
their faces with rags. Rows of Fleet troopers stood guard, seeming like
statues come to life, if only briefly. The younger Crater Town folk
played fiddles and pipes near the fountain. Celebration filled the air.
Children played as though they would never grow up while the adults
laughed and encouraged them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
walked past guards flanking each intersection—avoiding looking at them
when they turned their helmets to follow his progress. He doubted any of
these men or women could have been on Hellsbreach, but they might have
attended his court-martial. That farce had been held in the bay of a
Titan Class Battlecruiser with thousands of soldiers standing at
attention. Nine generals and three admirals had presided over the
hearing and passed judgment.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One
friendly face at his execution cried without wiping tears or moving
from her position of attention. She hadn’t dared to look directly at
Kin, because discipline demanded all eyes be directed straight ahead. He
didn’t like to think of Becca that way. He walked toward the town
meeting hall under the stare of soldiers—trained killers with the most
advanced weapons known to mankind, men he understood, men who were just
like he had been.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
last time Kin had seen Becca before Hellsbreach, she had been running
through a wheat field with her hair down. He still saw the girl behind
her intelligent eyes, especially when she was off duty and in a playful
mood. He remembered her bright-blue dress dancing below her knees, the
neck line modest but open, nothing like the high collar of her cadet’s
uniform. Her shoulders and arms had been bare. The fabric of her dress
fit her hips and body snuggly. He thought he could wrap his hands around
her waist and touch his fingertips, but never worked up the courage to
try. He smiled, remembering her looking over her shoulder and laughing.
He wished he could chase her again and be in love.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">They
had hiked all day and sprawled in a meadow overlooking a green valley
of Earth VI. Farmers worked terraced fields in small, open-topped
tractors. The crops were distributed locally, not to distant colonies or
industrial planets with barely enough plant life to photosynthesize
oxygen, much less provide their own food. Countless agriculture colonies
filled that need. Earth VI was a liberty planet, a place of rest and
revitalization for travelers. A day on an Earth Class Planet healed
humans with almost magical power.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
his mind, Kin sat next to her. She leaned back on her elbows, wriggling
her toes in the grass. He smiled, gazing at her, speaking infrequently,
attending her every word as though it were music.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve
been thinking of my father and brothers all day, my real brothers, not
you, Kin,” Becca said. “I’m trying not to be sad. Trying so hard.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“No one should be sad on a day like this,” Kin said. “So, I’m like a brother?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
leaned toward him, freeing her left arm to swat his leg. “You know
you’re beautiful, Kin. I’m going to have a long talk with the girl who
thinks she can marry you.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin tied a piece of grass in a knot, staring at each twist he made. “I miss your brothers.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
could have avoided mandatory enlistment, but it seemed wrong to enjoy
the safety the Fleet provided without doing his part. He wasn’t from a
military family like Becca was. His father had been a smuggler and had
taught him two things when he wasn’t in boarding school; how to fight
dirty and how to survive. Good lessons for boarding school. Good lessons
for storming a hostile planet. Perhaps Becca’s father and brothers
wouldn’t have been killed by Reapers if they’d learned the same lessons.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
miss them so much I can barely breathe,” she said. Tears welled in her
eyes. She turned them to the horizon, fixing them on something in the
distance. “The Reapers tore them apart, Kin. I have nightmares.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin held her and she leaned into him. They were silent for a long time.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m going to volunteer for the Hellsbreach Campaign.” He spoke softly into her hair, but his heart raced.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
don’t want you to go, because no one returns from Betaoin. But I want
vengeance. You’re the only man in the Fleet who can deliver it,” Becca
said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m
just one man, but only the best are allowed to volunteer for this
mission. If the Reapers can be wiped out, we’ll do it,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
didn’t want to go. He wasn’t afraid. The reality of the battle to come
was too far in the future. The danger seemed abstract. He didn’t hold
the same hate as Becca did. All men die. Some die badly. He didn’t need
vengeance, but Becca did, so he would deliver it. If he survived, she’d
be thirty by the time the Hellsbreach Campaign ended and ships traveled
back to Earth Fleet controlled space. She’d be married and barely
remember her childhood friend.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Memory
was a cruel sorcerer. He held the vision of Becca in his mind, but the
spell was destroyed by the fires of Hellsbreach and the sounds of
gunfire and plasma bolts. He saw splashes of red, explosions of orange
and gold. He smelled smoke from the past and present.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
fled the images in his mind and focused on what needed to be done.
Fleet troopers watched as he walked. They towered above him in their
assault armor.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
examined the squad’s sergeant from a distance. There was something
about the way he moved—arrogant and cruel. He towered over the other
troopers, swaggering aggressively. They jumped when he said jump.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
shortened his stride when he saw the etching on the ceramic exoskeleton
of the suit. The design differed from what he remembered, but the style
was familiar. Sergeant Orlan decorated his armor with etchings despite
regulations forbidding it. Many troopers on Hellsbreach had done the
same thing, putting notches on armor for every kill, carving pictures of
loved ones or enemies or religious symbols to match the tattoos on
their skin, or merely decorating the ceramic shell with art. Sergeant
Orlan’s talent for ornamentation was impressive, despite his large,
thick hands.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
knew he should go around the man, yet he moved closer and saw a lion’s
head skillfully engraved on the breastplate. On Hellsbreach it had been a
wolf, but Kin recognized Orlan’s handiwork. It was unfair such a brute
could create something so magnificent.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin abruptly turned down an alley. A guard noticed him and followed.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You there, where are you going? Why are you armed? Do you have a permit?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
faced the guard, taking another careful step into the shadow of the
building. He glanced down the street, noting Orlan still faced the other
direction. The worst danger was over, or so he thought. But then he
realized this was the same trooper who saved little Kylee and Samantha
Davis from the fire before recognizing him.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>This guy is stalking me.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have a permit.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
guard accepted the paper, pretending to not recognize Kin. The
mechanized gauntlets looked too large to hold such a delicate object,
but Kin knew the assault armor was capable of both fine motor skills and
feats of incredible strength. He also understood the suits required
charging, despite the solar power they gathered to extend battery life.
In time, the fierce machines would be men and women, mere mortals
without shells of technology. Kin doubted this soldier would follow him
into an alley alone without the armor, even if he hoped to collect a
reward for capturing the Enemy of Man.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who
wrote this permit?” the trooper asked. The depersonalized voice sounded
neutered by the amplifier projecting it. The sound and deception it
represented bothered Kin.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“All
permits for firearms are approved or denied by the Crater Town Council.
Councilwoman Laura Keen signed that particular paper,” Kin said. Prior
to the arrival of the Fleet, Kin had been in charge of enforcing the
permit laws, but never bothered. Crater Town was a frontier settlement
on an uncharted planet. Life was dangerous. People carried weapons when
they could find or make them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are Kin Roland? Security officer for Crater Town?” the trooper asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am. Is there a problem?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Most people with that unfortunate name changed it after Hellsbreach,” the trooper said, studying his reaction.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin shrugged.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Commander Westwood wishes to know who doused the lighthouse as we approached.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin nodded. “I’ll ask around.” He turned away from the trooper.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wait.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin faced the trooper again, who seemed to be listening to a command sequence inside the helmet.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are to appear before Commander Westwood and the Crater Town Council in the meeting hall.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin hesitated, but knew he couldn’t delay for long. “I need to check one more person, then I’ll head that way.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
trooper shook his head and stepped closer to Kin, towering over him.
“My orders are to bring you without delay.” Another pause. “Who are you
looking for?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Sibil Clavender,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Who is Sibil Clavender?” the trooper asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
pointed at the wormhole, discolored and turbulent from the disturbance
of the planetary assault. “She’s the person who soothes the spirit of
the wormhole.” Kin couldn’t hear if the soldier snorted without
activating the helmet speaker, but he probably did. Kin held the
trooper’s gaze until the helmet slowly turned toward the pulsating
wormhole.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trooper faced Kin and waited for what had to be an order from Fleet Command. “You may look for her. I will escort you.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
turned, stepping through the alley to emerge on a street not much wider
than the path between buildings. He trudged up the steep dune,
navigating twists and turns, avoiding the direct route in order to
disorient his guard.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This is the wrong way,” the trooper said. “Our drones have already mapped this area. What are you doing?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Making a fool of myself, apparently.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
studied the reflective visor and searched for clues in how the trooper
stood and how he chose to arrange the accessories on his armor. There
were no engravings or unit markings beyond the Earth Fleet emblem. “Do I
know you?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Silence. They stared at each other.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Please continue.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
waited a few moments and turned away. He walked slowly, sensing it
would annoy the trooper. This type of guard duty was a waste of time. A
good soldier would resent it.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I thought you’d be looking for Imperials,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why would you think that?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
heard some troopers talking about them.” Kin waited. He assumed
Imperials blasted this Fleet Armada through the wormhole, but had never
heard of them. Whoever they were, their presence in Earth Fleet
controlled space occurred after Hellsbreach.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trooper didn’t respond.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
led the unhelpful guard to a cottage set into the side of a dune.
Little more than the door betrayed the location of Sibil Clavender’s
home. A gaggle of hopper birds loitered near the threshold. Fur grew
around the faces and forelegs of the strange creatures. The hopper birds
also possessed strong hind legs for running and multicolored wings in
perpetual motion.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
squatted, waiting until each hopper bird scrambled to him and pecked
his hands. “I am Kin Roland. I mean no harm,” he said several times,
making sure they recognized his scent and the sound of his voice.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why do you do that?” the trooper asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They’re my friends.” Kin stood.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They’re messenger birds.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“They are.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trooper stood motionless while receiving an order Kin couldn’t hear, but could remember from a hundred missions.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Secure all forms of communication. You’re the tip of the spear, Trooper. Report success to Command and Control. Do you copy?</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Roger that.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trooper looked at Kin. “They will be confiscated.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good luck.” Kin ducked inside the dwelling, leaving the Fleet trooper to chase birds around the yard.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dimly
glowing stones illuminated the surprisingly large room. As his eyes
adjusted to muted light, he noted simple items—a pitcher on the low
table, a bowl of local fruit, and silver beads in a pattern representing
the ring of moons around the planet. Glow stones were set in the walls,
like oval windows or portals to unknown worlds.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
moved to the table. He studied a book Clavender never allowed him to
open. Something like an angel graced the cover, with multicolored wings,
noble beard, and the face of a warrior king. The eyes reminded him of
Clavender.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His fingers grazed the book.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Are
you well, Kin Roland?” Sibil Clavender emerged from the shadows in all
her alien glory. She wore a silk tunic narrowly covering her small
breasts and gathered at the waist by a decorative chain. The fine metal
made Kin think he could hook one finger under it and rip it off. Her
back, naked all the way down, gave room for white wings tipped in blue
and dusted with diamonds. The hem of the tunic reached her ankles—slit
up the sides to her hips. Her unruly hair was tied high enough to expose
her slender neck. Her eyes, blue-green like a tropical lagoon, welcomed
him.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin stepped away from the table and cleared his throat. “As well as might be expected.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
smiled, moved closer, sent his heart racing. The exotic way she walked
fascinated him. Her wings dazzled his vision. The silver beads in her
hair seemed magical.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Have you been outside?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She nodded, pressing against him. Kin felt the warmth of her body.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Don’t move. She’ll disappear from this dream. </i>He held his breath.<i> Not everything on Crashdown is dangerous. A battle scared veteran like me could be healed in this room</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I have seen the strangers. They wear armor. Are we so dangerous?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I doubt they came here on purpose. Uncharted planets are always assaulted,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
forced himself to think. Few people could withstand Clavender’s
presence for long without being enthralled. Crater Town people thought
of her as some kind of spirit or goddess in communion with the weather
and the wormhole. She appeared young. For all he knew she was immortal.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
touched him, gripping him with both hands. His pulse raced with
something more powerful than lust or love. Clavender’s touch was like
morphine, caffeine, and a childhood memory of spring pressed into a
shiver.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am not so young,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
blushed, which should have been impossible for a genocidal maniac. “I
worry about you. Crater Town needs you,” Kin said, shifting
uncomfortably.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She smiled dreamily and took his hand. Sensation diffused throughout his body, filling him with peace.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I wish to see the sky. Walk with me,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There’s a Fleet trooper in your yard chasing the hopper birds.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
turned her face up to him, still smiling like a satisfied lover but
also with slyness in her eyes. She led him through a narrow tunnel that
forced him to stoop as he walked. Moments later they emerged on the
opposite side of the dune, then climbed a goat trail to a place where
they watched the frustrated guard below.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Servomotors
whirred as the trooper jumped left and right, grabbing at the local
birds. Beyond that spectacle, the town spread out to the sea. Cleanup
had begun with military precision. Crater Town thrived with activity.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clavender looked at the sky. “She wants to come home.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
looked at the wormhole and thought the space anomaly seemed masculine
rather than feminine, as though it wanted to devour Crashdown. “You
understand what that is?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
understand,” Clavender said. “You do not. Perhaps it is correct to call
it a wormhole, but it did not come to this planet. It came from this
planet. There is only one.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin shook his head. “There are more than a thousand charted wormholes. I’ve been through a hundred of them.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There is only one,” she said, still gripping his hand firmly and nestling her small body close to his.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
shivered, not because her warm skin electrified his imagination, but
because the thought of a single wormhole intruding into every corner of
the universe terrified him. He pointed to it. “Look at the colors—red
and orange and purple after the lightning flashes. Other wormholes are
blue and silver, or green like your eyes.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Or like the reflection of the sea,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
suddenly imagined every wormhole looking down at Crashdown and soaking
up color from the ocean. The thought unnerved him, because it felt
right. Was he standing in the center of the universe? If he were, who
was this young woman next to him who changed the color of the waves and
the thrashing of the sea with her moods?</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<h1 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
CHAPTER THREE</span></span></h1>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">KIN
took a knee—a soldier’s pose that came naturally. Clavender stood with
one hand on his shoulder. They watched the trooper and the town as a sea
breeze spoke softly.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I am glad these soldiers are from your Fleet,” Clavender said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You might not be if you were in my position,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She bent and looked into his eyes.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
waited until she smiled. Knowing she wouldn’t ask the question, he
answered. “Fleet Command gave me a mission to kill every last Reaper on
Hellsbreach.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She touched his face. “But you could not do it.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin looked away, surprised at his shame. She didn’t seem to judge him. She squatted, wrapping her arms and her wings around him.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We are not different. I hide from my people so that I do not lead them to war and ruin,” Clavender said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I thought you were the last of your people. I mean, everyone assumed,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Clavender laughed. “Have you not seen the migrations toward the wormhole?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
thought those were birds. There must be thousands,” Kin said. He
recalled the swarms of flying creatures passing far above Crater Town.
The mysterious migrations were considered good luck by everyone on
Crashdown.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not
birds, but foolish young men trying to prove themselves. They will
never reach it. It is too high and does not open as easily as a door,”
Clavender said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You should go inside. The Fleet has a bad record with aliens,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“An odd thing, coming from aliens,” Clavender said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin laughed.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I will stay outside. Do not worry. I have hidden from my people for a long time. I can hide from yours,” she said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin nodded. They stood, holding hands for what seemed like a pleasant lifetime.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
breeze shifted, bringing the smell of burned buildings mixed with the
salty air. It stung Kin’s eyes. Wind wouldn’t disperse the odors until
the smoldering huts cooled. Clavender probably didn’t appreciate the
odors of destroyed machines, but they painted a picture for Kin,
bringing back memories. He looked down on the Fleet trooper who gave up
on the idea of capturing the hopper birds and stood like a statue. Kin
listened for the quiet sound of gears in the assault armor.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He
descended the front of the dune. The trooper turned to face him. Kin
was glad the trooper was alert, even though they were destined to be
adversaries. Fears of interrogation and torture seemed distant, because
Clavender touched him. He laughed inwardly. He hadn’t been checking on
her, he’d been seeking comfort. The Fleet would learn his identity and
he would run, fight, or die. It was simple and unavoidable.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
Roland was a common name and he had taken many steps to hide who he
was—a new identification number and plate in his arm, the meticulous and
expensive removal of tattoos, and an assignment on a terra-forming
mission that should’ve taken him to the very rim of Earth Fleet
controlled space. But he couldn’t avoid scrutiny forever.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
false identity plate in his arm would not withstand a close, forensic
examination. Someone would remember him. Orlan certainly knew him and
this trooper that was so interested in him probably did as well. The
question was why the trooper didn’t sound the alarm.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin still didn’t understand how he was able to board the <i>Goliath</i> in
the first place. They had checked his finger prints and photograph—a
moment he had dreaded but found unavoidable. Nothing. The security
screener ran his picture and prints without finding a thing. Either the
captain of the <i>Goliath</i> had known who he was and didn’t care, or
the system was too big for its own good. Fleet intelligence officers,
however, wouldn’t be fooled.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
trooper was shamming ignorance for reasons unfathomable to Kin. He
hadn’t imagined the moment this person recognized him, but couldn’t
figure why the trooper suddenly pretended ignorance.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Let’s go to the meeting hall,” Kin said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trooper nodded, walking next to him.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
looked for Orlan, but couldn’t find him. The sergeant was uncommonly
large, and since assault armor added a foot to a man or woman’s height,
Orlan was seven and a half feet tall when wearing his full kit. Without
armor, Orlan was thick chested, hairy, and had a face that looked as
though it had once been handsome, but had been stepped on too many
times. His eyes were watery and sickly, almost clear. Kin never trusted
Orlan’s eyes, even before the man betrayed him. If Orlan recognized
him—and he would—he wouldn’t hesitate to kill Kin.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This isn’t the most direct path to the meeting hall,” the trooper said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Did your computer tell you that?” Kin asked.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“The computer is correct. Don’t you know your town?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
shrugged. “I know this place like the back of my hand. I also know that
if I walk down Main Street, people will see me and want to talk. It’ll
take three days to get to the meeting hall.” Kin was impressed with his
own bullshit. He picked his course to avoid Orlan, who would be shaking
down Crater Town citizens like the thug he was.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hellsbreach
memories, ever present, rose to the surface. He took a deep breath,
held it, then exhaled slowly. The urge to close his eyes was strong,
almost as strong as the desire to return to his bed and sleep the day
away. He never yielded to the post-traumatic stress and the melancholy
that came with it.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anxiety
could give way to manic euphoria, much as it had when he realized he
survived the first Reaper attack, but he didn’t know whether other
veterans felt the same. He embraced the supercharged good feelings as
often as he could, aware that he had probably lost his mind more than
once. He scanned his environment and remained ready for anything, though
the cinematic big screen in his head played continually.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
heard his younger voice screaming at his platoon as Reapers charged
across sand and rocks. Sergeant Kin Roland, Class IV Weapons Master and
unit commander, gathered his men and retreated behind a smoking row of
Colossal Class Battle Tanks. The Fleet’s war machines leveled two cities
before the Reaper ambush annihilated them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin glanced at the unit motto stenciled on the side of an armor panel. Unstoppable HOE.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Unstoppable Hell on Earth. Tanker humor.</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“First and Third squads, choose your targets. Fire at will.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>How do animals without heavy weapons destroy a CCBT column?</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Burns
tattooed broken hatches. Metal rods jutted from multiple barrels of
each tank. Segmented wheel treads stretched across the ground—dead
metallic snakes—sad, lost, and betrayed.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Second and Fourth squads, hold right and left flanks.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hundreds
of deadly humanoids charged Kin’s unit, armed with fists of lightning
that they could throw a hundred meters and swords wreathed in fire. He
had never seen Reapers like this. They reminded him of shock troops,
aggressive and well-armed. Their leader carried a whip that cut burning
arcs in the air, splashing acid in all directions. Weapons were a new
development for Reapers but their fearsome ingenuity unnerved Kin.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Reapers roared, voices full of clicks and scraping sounds.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Double perimeter,” he ordered.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
best troopers moved to fire large caliber rifles and plasma guns, using
the damaged tanks as cover. Some climbed on the twisted metal turrets
for better advantage. They opened fire. Scores of enemies went down. Few
stayed down.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Fall back,” Kin ordered.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
outer line of soldiers ran for cover while the second team opened fire
to protect them as they hustled toward new positions. Kin’s unit was
being pushed back as far as they could go without fleeing into the
desert. No cover or concealment existed beyond the Tanks. The Reapers
would drive them beyond any source of water or refuge. One step into the
sandy waste was a death sentence.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">His
unit fired weapons, but started edging back. They were good soldiers,
but every one of them had seen how the Reapers fought. They didn’t kill
in battle. That came afterward, when there was time for torture. The
beasts liked to eat living meat.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Stand fast! Hold your ground!” he yelled, when his men looked like they were about to break. “Hand to hand. Weapons up.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin
led the way with a sharp bayonet. He fired, charging into the wave of
Reapers, never pausing to reload. The fight was close, bloody work, and
he received more injuries through his armor than he could count. The
rifle was torn from his hands. Without hesitation, he drew his sword—a
weapon his superiors didn’t approve of—and thrust it through the mouth
of a Reaper.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One
of the psychotic beasts fell away from his attack after losing its
hands. Another lost its head. The third refused to die even though the
sword ran through its body. When he couldn’t free the blade, he
abandoned it, hacking with the axe he pulled from the back of his armor.
He didn’t see his unit through the enemies surrounding him, but had
little time to search for them with Reapers slashing with claws and
flaming weapons.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Just keep killing. Take care of business. Regroup later</i>. But Kin knew there would be no time to regroup. <i>Too many. I’m sorry, Becca, there are too many</i>.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Mental
images tormented him. He couldn’t understand the visions he saw, but
felt each thought as a physical pressure in his brain. When he could no
longer lift the axe or remain standing, he fell to his knees. Reapers
pounced on him. He suddenly understood why he couldn’t see his unit.
They had fled—every one of them.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/enemyOfMan.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Lost Hero</span></span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Changed
by captivity and torture, hunted by the Reapers of Hellsbreach and
wanted by Earth Fleet, Kin Roland hides on a lost planet near an
unstable wormhole.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When a distant space battle propels a
ravaged Earth Fleet Armada through the same wormhole, a Reaper follows,
hunting for the man who burned his home world. Kin fights to save a
mysterious native of Crashdown from the Reaper and learns there are
worse things in the galaxy than the nightmare hunting him. The end is
coming and he is about to pay for a sin that will change the galaxy
forever. </span></span></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Books</span></span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Enemy
of Man: Book One in the Chronicles of Kin Roland was written for fans
of military science fiction and science fiction adventure. Readers who
enjoyed Starship Troopers or Space Marines will appreciate this genre
variation. Powered armor only gets a soldier so far. Battlefield
experience, guts, and loyal friends make Armageddon fun. </span></span></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
Movies</span></span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If
you love movies like Aliens, Predator, The Chronicles of Riddick, or
Serenity, then you might find the heroes and creatures in Enemy of Man
dangerous, determined, and ready to risk it all. It’s all about action
and suspense, with a dash of romance—or perhaps flash romance. </span></span></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
From the Author</span></span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Thanks for your interest in my novel, Enemy of Man. I hope you chose to read the book and enjoy every page. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you have already read Enemy of Man, how was it? Reviews are appreciated! </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have a great day and be safe.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Enemy-Man-Chronicles-Kin-Roland-ebook/dp/B00DAIQO9A?tag=booaremag-20" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Science Fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scott-Moon/e/B0082VIWL8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Scott Moon on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/scottmoonwriter" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/Scottmoonwriter" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-68573546425819322432014-11-26T10:30:00.000-04:002014-12-09T09:56:54.176-04:00John E. Wade II Introduces the Different Writers from "Glimpses of Heaven on Earth" #AmReading #SelfHelp<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">For those looking for some inspiration during these troubling times, look no further than<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Glimpses of Heaven on Earth</i>.
The four co-authors and I have scoured the globe for eloquent
quotations about issues regarding such diverse topics as peace to gender
harmony. Following a dozen or so quotes on these topics is a brief
essay by one of the co-authors. Many involve the theme of education, and
how we can all improve our lives through education—and by helping to</span></span></span> provide for the education of others, especially those in developing countries and places of conflict.<br />
<br />
One of my personal favorite essay is by Charlotte Piotrowski, on the <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">topic
of freedom. She touches on the obvious freedoms that most American’s and
others enjoy, such as speech, but goes on to talk about the importance
for everyone to enjoy the freedom of association (including marriage—a
strong argument for allowing same-gender marriage). Charlotte quotes
Dwight D. Eisenhower as saying, “To be true to one’s own freedom is, in
essence, to honor and respect the freedom of others.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">One
aspect of this book that is especially interesting is that the five
co-authors write from very different perspectives. I previously
published,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>How to Achieve a Heaven on Earth</i>, and invited four of that book’s essay contributors to join me in writing for<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Glimpses of Heaven on Earth</i>,
which made for a very interesting read. I am a fairly conservative
retired CPA and now write and invest full-time. You can learn more about
me at my main website:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.JohnEWadeII.com" href="http://www.johnewadeii.com/"><span class="s3">www.JohnEWadeII.com</span></a>.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Charlotte,
who is also from New Orleans, left a ten-year career in litigation to
pursue a freelance career in writing, editing, and website/social media
content. She works closely with me on all of my literary, media, and
creative projects. Daniel Agatino is a practicing attorney in New
Jersey, and also teaches law and communications courses on the college
and graduate level. Additionally, he offers radio and television
commentary on current events, especially as they relate to the law.
Michael Nagler is the founder of the Metta Center for Nonviolence in
California, and has given lectures and workshops around the world about
nonviolent solutions. In fact, we recently returned from such a trip to
India. Martin Rutte, who currently resides in Canada, was a co-author of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and founded the Heaven on Earth Project. In addition to writing, Martin is a motivational speaker.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">The
fact that the contributors come such diverse backgrounds means that
this book should truly appeal to everyone. There is no religious or
political agenda, even with the reference to heaven. In fact, there is
an entire chapter on the topic of spiritual harmony, by Michael, who
writes about how we are all as one, spiritually. Therefore, we should
respect other’s choices of religion (or lack thereof). My essay on
democracies does not advocate for a particular political party, but
simply for the right of all people across the globe to have a say in
their government.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p3" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">This
book would be excellent for use in a book club, church book group, or
for any other group that is interested in discussing meaningful topics.
And, although some of the subject matter can be quite deep, the book is
simply written and a very pleasant read.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Glimpses-of-Heaven-on-Earth.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Glimpses-of-Heaven-on-Earth.jpg"><img alt="Glimpses of Heaven on Earth" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-42087" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Glimpses-of-Heaven-on-Earth.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Glimpses-of-Heaven-on-Earth.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Editor
and author John E. Wade II has compiled a spiritual guide of invaluable
insight for finding peace and meaning in life while making the world a
better place for all. Along with co-authors Charlotte Livingston
Piotrowski, Daniel Agatino, Michael Nagler, and Martin Rutte, this
collection of enlightening essays and inspirational quotes from renowned
thinkers and leade</span></span>rs throughout history provides the intellectual tools needed to live a more harmonious life.<br />
<br />
Buy <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/GLIMPSES-HEAVEN-EARTH-Quotations-Insightful-ebook/dp/B00LOYGN3O/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1405439205" href="http://www.amazon.com/GLIMPSES-HEAVEN-EARTH-Quotations-Insightful-ebook/dp/B00LOYGN3O/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1405439205" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Inspirational</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – G</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=John%20E.%20Wade%20II&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank" href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=John%20E.%20Wade%20II&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;">Connect</b> with John E. Wade II on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/jwadeii?ref_type=bookmark" href="https://www.facebook.com/jwadeii?ref_type=bookmark" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></span></div>
<br />Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-10457923397045999912014-11-21T09:00:00.000-04:002014-12-05T10:09:05.574-04:00#Excerpt from LUCIFER & THE INDIGO KIDS by @Lord_Ra_Krishna #Philosophy #Goodreads #Poetry<i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>In My Cell</b></span></i><br />
<br />
Sitting in my cell / meditating, half dreaming... <br />
See a picture on the wall / black girl in bikini<br />
<br />
And we’re both looking happy / we embrace and we smile <br />
<br />
As I got my eyes closed smoking on a black and mild...<br />
<br />
Better yet / a cigarette<br />
I wish I had one now<br />
<br />
Meditate a little harder...<br />
Then I crack another smile...<br />
<br />
Cause I'm back on the beach<br />
Sun shining on my face…<br />
<br />
Ask me what did I learn?<br />
Most of all / appreciate<br />
<br />
Every moment... every second...<br />
Every thought... every breath...<br />
<br />
While they’re killing all the prophets / I'm the last one left...<br />
<br />
With a wrist full of beads <br />
And a neck full of crystals...<br />
<br />
And the city that I'm from busting Shots with their pistols…<br />
<br />
But I'm sitting in my cell / and my soul's in outer space<br />
<br />
As I astral project / sun kissing on my face…<br />
<br />
Now I'm back on the beach<br />
With my son and my daughter<br />
<br />
And my son thinks’ he's God <br />
So he’s walking on the water…<br />
<br />
And my daughter thinks’ she God<br />
Cause that's what daddy told her...<br />
<br />
And they both think that they could save the world when they get older....<br />
<br />
As I'm sitting in my cell, <br />
My body's there but I'm not in it<br />
<br />
Tell my babies "Not to worry" <br />
I'll be home in a minute <br />
<br />
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<br />
"This
“new age” book of poetry reflects the diverse views and philosophies of
it’s author Ra Krishna EL. It’s an intimate, humorous and thought
provoking group of poems intended to evoke strong emotion. To quote the
German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche, this style of poetry can be
called “Zukunfts poesie“ which translates into “Poetry of the future”,
where truly original ideas are presented thru poetry. Also known as post
Nietzschean poetry.<br />
<br />
It’s subjects include society, pop
culture, love, religious dogma, God and the new age of Aquarius. This
book was written and published during the false incarceration of its
author in Chicago’s notorious Cook County Jail, the largest jail in the
country."<br />
<br />
Bu<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">y Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Lucifer-indigo-kids-Last-Prophet-ebook/dp/B00L3VL7E8/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406567843&sr=1-1&keywords=lucifer+and+the+indigo+kids" href="http://www.amazon.com/Lucifer-indigo-kids-Last-Prophet-ebook/dp/B00L3VL7E8/ref=sr_1_1_title_1_kin?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1406567843&sr=1-1&keywords=lucifer+and+the+indigo+kids" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Poetry, Philosophy</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Lord%20Ra%20Krishna%20EL&search-alias=books&sort=relevancerank" href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Lord%20Ra%20Krishna%20EL&search-alias=books&sort=relevancerank" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;">Connect</b> with Lord Ra Krishna EL on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lord-Ra-Krishna-El/729737850380185?ref=hl" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Lord-Ra-Krishna-El/729737850380185?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/Lord_Ra_Krishna" href="https://twitter.com/Lord_Ra_Krishna" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-26298523471975748872014-11-08T10:00:00.000-04:002014-12-08T12:22:09.663-04:00Mike Hartner on Dodging His Characters & Facing Them @MHartnerAuthor #AmWriting #HistFic #Romance<b>Inside the Mind of An Author</b><br />
<br />
In the Darkness
brought on by a closed room and narrow stairs, I slowly ascend to the
top and push the attic floorboard to the side. This stairwell,
conveniently hidden in a second floor wall, has been very dusty and full
of cobwebs. I’m really not sure what to expect when I go into the
attic. I have, however, heard strange noises.<br />
<br />
Climbing
up into the attic, into the mind of this author, I look around. The
walls are cluttered with post it notes, and most of them had small
symbols and some writing. There were papers that had fallen to the
floor, and the whole area looked like an old bomb shelter.<br />
<br />
I’m
immediately dodging the many different children who are running around.
The voices that each one uses to taunt the others are all different.<br />
<br />
I stop one of them. His name is James.<br />
<br />
“Are there any others around?”<br />
<br />
“Oh, there are plenty.”<br />
<br />
“Where are they?”<br />
<br />
“Sitting in a corner of the filing room in the back. They’re waiting for their opportunity to come join the fun.”<br />
<br />
“What are they waiting for?”<br />
<br />
“Why,
everyone knows that they’re waiting to be heard. Not all of us
characters can be heard at the same time. Sometimes, he listens to
three or four of us for a short time, and sometimes he listens to one of
us for a long time. But, we’re all here. Waiting for our chance to
be heard.”<br />
<br />
“So why are you three out here running around?”<br />
<br />
“We’ve
already been heard. He’s concentrating on us right now, and it’s our
chance to play and rest while he figures out what he wants us to do
next.”<br />
<br />
“How many are in the back room?”<br />
<br />
“The
last I checked, the room was crammed, and the waiting list was endless.
Lots of voices like us want to be heard. We want to tell our
stories.”<br />
<br />
James escaped from my vision and went back to running around.<br />
<br />
When
I saw them return, I also saw them carrying long sticks, using them as
play swords. I beat a hasty retreat from the mind of this author.<br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13.3333339691162px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/IJames.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/IJames.jpg"><img alt="IJames" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41780" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/IJames.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/IJames.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">James Crofter was ripped from his family at age 11. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />Within a year the prince was a pauper in a foreign land. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />Is nature stronger than nurture? And even if it is, can James find the happiness he so richly desires? </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/I-James-Eternity-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00MQHIG0Q/ref=la_B009VJQBEA_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409891856&sr=1-5" href="http://www.amazon.com/I-James-Eternity-Book-2-ebook/dp/B00MQHIG0Q/ref=la_B009VJQBEA_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1409891856&sr=1-5" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Historical Fiction, Romance</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Mike-Hartner/e/B009VJQBEA/" href="http://www.amazon.com/Mike-Hartner/e/B009VJQBEA/" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Mike Hartner on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mike-Hartner-Author/368690356556759" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mike-Hartner-Author/368690356556759" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/MHartnerAuthor" href="https://twitter.com/MHartnerAuthor" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-28444268383893763522014-10-31T09:00:00.000-03:002014-10-31T09:00:13.222-03:00What Book Do You Want to Read, Ask Kirsten Mortensen @KirstenWriter #AmReading #Romance #Suspense <div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>In the Mood: What Book Do You Want to Read Right Now?</b></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By Kirsten Mortensen</span></span></i></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, how I envy people who know exactly what kind of book they like to read!</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because if you asked me what books I like, I’m not sure how I’d answer.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
problem is, my “taste” changes from day to day—even hour to
hour—depending on all kinds of factors. The mood I’m in. What books I’ve
been discussing lately with my friends. How my day went, even!</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because
I’m a writer, I read some books out of curiosity. Although I enjoyed
science fiction when I was in high school, for example, I didn’t touch
it at all for many years. Now I’ve met some sci-fi fans and I’ve become
curious about the genre. I’m reading a sci-fi book now by the novelist
Sarah Hoyt, and I’ve picked up some classic sci-fi titles for my TBR
pile. I love how it’s expanded my reading world!</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another
type of book I enjoy is classic literature, but I have to be in just
the right frame of mind to tackle it. So often, classics are denser and
longer than genre or “poplit” books. I think of it like the difference
between stopping at taco stand and booking a reservation at a 5-star
restaurant. Both meals can be fun and satisfying, but one demands a bit
more of a commitment. The next classic I plan to read: Count of Monte
Cristo by Alexander Dumas.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sometimes
all I want is to escape. You know that feeling? I want to read
something that just takes me away from day-to-day life—something that
gives me a rest from the hassles of paying the bills, getting over a
head cold, or whatever other little problems are bothering me at the
time. For this, the prescription is a fast-paced, plot-driven book. When
Elmore Leonard passed away, for example, I bought a couple of his
novels, and wow, I enjoyed them. Fun, fast-paced, and often
laugh-out-loud humorous. Perfect escapist books!</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
related feeling I have, sometimes, is the desire to become aware of the
reality of the non-physical or spiritual dimensions of life. I satisfy
this by reading non-fiction books on spiritual topics or first-person
accounts of spiritual experiences. I recently read a book by Mason
Winfield on supernatural phenomenon in Upstate New York, and I loved how
it made me slow down and think about the impressions the past leaves on
the present.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I find reading non-fiction to be very settling, so I gravitate toward books about history as a way to feel calm.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So how about you? Do you look for different kinds of books depending on your mood?</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/darkChemistry.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/darkChemistry.jpg"><img alt="darkChemistry" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41412" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/darkChemistry.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/darkChemistry.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<h1>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A woman's worst nightmare</span></span></h1>
<h2 data-mce-style="color: #cc6600;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Drugged by something...that makes her think she's fallen in love.</span></span></h2>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All Haley Dubose has ever known is beaches and malls, clubs and cocktail dresses.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>But now her father is dead.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And if she wants to inherit her father's fortune, she has to leave sunny Southern California<br />for a backwater little town near Syracuse, New York. She has to run RMB, the multimillion dollar<br />chemical company her father founded. And she has to run it well.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Keep
RMB on track, and she'll be rich. Grow it, and she'll be even richer.
But mess it up, and her inheritance will shrink away before she gets a
chance to spend a dime.</span></span><br />
<h2 data-mce-style="color: #cc6600;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Donavon Todde is her true love. But is it too late?</span></span></h2>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He's RMB's head of sales – and the more Donavon sees of Haley, the more he's smitten.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sure,
she comes across at first as naïve and superficial. But Donavon knew
Haley's father. He can see the man's better qualities stirring to life
in her eyes. And Donavon senses something else: Haley's father left her a
legacy more important than money. He left her the chance to discover
her true self.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Donavon has demons of his own.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> </b><br />He's
reeling from a heartbreak that's taking far too long to heal. But he's
captivated by this blond Californian, and not only because of her
beauty.<i> It's chemistry.</i> They're right for each other. But has
Donavon waited too long to woo this woman of his dreams? Because to his
horror, his beautiful Haley falls under another spell.<i> Gerad's spell.</i></span></span><br />
<h2 data-mce-style="color: #cc6600;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A web of evil.</span></span></h2>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gerad
Picket was second-in-command at RMB when Haley's father was alive. And
with Haley on the scene, he's in charge of her training. But there are
things about RMB that Gerad doesn't want Haley to know.</span></span><br />
<h2 data-mce-style="color: #cc6600;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And he must control her. Any way he can.</span></span></h2>
<h1>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Romantic suspense for your Kindle</span></span></h1>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Will Haley realize that her feelings are not her TRUE feelings?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Does Donavon have the strength left to fight for the woman he loves?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Will the two of them uncover Gerad's plot to use RMB pheromones to enslave the world?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And even if they do – can they stop it?</span></span><br />
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Chemistry-Kirsten-Mortensen-ebook/dp/B00KEYP3QI/" href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Chemistry-Kirsten-Mortensen-ebook/dp/B00KEYP3QI/" target="_blank">Amazon</a> &<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/422146" href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/422146" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Romantic suspense</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Kirsten-Mortensen/e/B001JP7X50/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Kirsten-Mortensen/e/B001JP7X50/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Kirsten Mortensen through<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsten-Mortensen-Writer/195344590544496?ref=hl" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsten-Mortensen-Writer/195344590544496?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>& <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/Kirstenwriter" href="https://twitter.com/Kirstenwriter" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://kirstenmortensen.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29OlqrTvuWJGs0Xbb3RDK_7VviC8A" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://kirstenmortensen.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29OlqrTvuWJGs0Xbb3RDK_7VviC8A" target="_blank">http://kirstenmortensen.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-40168066637894110422014-10-31T08:30:00.000-03:002015-01-05T09:08:42.480-04:00THE BEAUTIFUL AMERICAN #Excerpt by Marilyn Holdsworth @M_Holdsworth #AmReading #Historical<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>ELIZABETH VISITS MADAME LA FAYETTE IN PRISON…</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>THE BEAUTIFUL AMERICAN, by Marilyn Holdsworth</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh,
no,” she wailed the moment the door opened revealing the two guards.
“The guillotine,” she cried. “It is to be today. Dear God,
dear God, have pity on my soul.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh
my dear, my dear,” Elizabeth Monroe soothed, pushing past the two
guards and rushing to Madame LaFayette’s side. She stooped down, took
the trembling woman’s hands in hers, and knelt down beside her. “No,
no; it is nothing like that. I am Elizabeth Monroe. My
husband, James, is the United States minister to France and a longtime
friend of your husband. They fought together in our revolution,” she
explained. “I have come to visit you, assure you how very concerned for
you my husband is. We are going to do all we can to help you.” She
placed her arms around the sobbing, frightened woman’s shoulders,
continuing her reassuring words in soft, flowing French.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
stood watching from the doorway as Mistress Monroe calmed and comforted
Adrienne LaFayette. Disregarding the filthy surroundings, Mistress
Monroe continued to crouch down before the distraught woman, holding her
hands as she spoke. When at last she rose, she drew Madame LaFayette to
her feet and embraced her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Merci
beaucoup, thank you for coming,” Adrienne LaFayette whispered, wiping
her eyes. “I was sure they had come to take me to the guillotine. I was
so very frightened. My family is all gone. I thought for sure they had
come for me too,” she said, fighting back the tears.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of
course you did, my dear, but have courage. Be assured that James will
do all he can for you,” Mistress Elizabeth promised, patting her gently
on the shoulder before joining me at the door. “We must go now, Jasmine,
get back to the Folie as soon as possible. We must tell James of this
poor woman’s deplorable state.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
glided gracefully back down the long dingy, hall, past the guards to
the prison door, where Michael was waiting to escort us safely back to
the carriage.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You can read more about The Beautiful American, by Marilyn Holdsworth at: <a href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/the-beautiful-american/" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://marilynholdsworth.com/the-beautiful-american/</a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/15/97/44078a95157c0ad8986cb6.L._V393916356_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/15/97/44078a95157c0ad8986cb6.L._V393916356_.jpg" /></a></span></span> </div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As a novelist, I draw on many real life experiences to<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">provide
background for my books. After completing studies in Literature and
History at Occidental College, I became a staff writer on a travel
magazine, and throughout my career I have traveled extensively all over
the world. </span><span data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Because
I love horses, I owned and trained them. I support horse rescue and
wild mustang preservation. Based on my experience with horses and my
research on abuse issues, I wrote Pegasus.</span></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As
a descendant of James Monroe, I did extensive research at the James
Monroe Museum in Virginia about him and his wife Elizabeth Kortright
Monroe. I also visited their home, Ashlawn/Highland in Albemarle County.
This resulted in my novel, The Beautiful American. </span><span data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="background-color: white; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Making Wishes, was based partly on my experiences as creator, owner and operator of a greeting card company.</span></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #222222;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Making-Wishes.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Making-Wishes.jpg"><img alt="Making Wishes" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-23817" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Making-Wishes.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Making-Wishes.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Elloree
Prince is an attractive, creative young woman who marries a wealthy
businessman, Tom Randall. After courting his bride with unrelenting
determination, Tom moves her into old-moneyed Oak View, where
generations of Randalls have lived for years. Outwardly, Elloree appears
to settle into raising their two sons within Oak View's stifling social
structure, but inwardly, she yearns for her artistic work. </span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An
unexpected phone call from Mark Williams, her former employer, offers
her the career opportunity of a lifetime, and she must make a choice.
She is torn between her devotion to her sons and her love for her work.
Her decision to return to Wishes, Inc. brings dramatic life changes to
her and the people she loves.</span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Making-Wishes-Marilyn-Holdsworth/dp/1481707523/ref=sr_1_3_title_2_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369262924&sr=1-3&keywords=Marilyn.+Holdsworth" href="http://www.amazon.com/Making-Wishes-Marilyn-Holdsworth/dp/1481707523/ref=sr_1_3_title_2_pap?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369262924&sr=1-3&keywords=Marilyn.+Holdsworth" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Women's fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/beautifulAmerican.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/beautifulAmerican.jpg"><img alt="beautifulAmerican" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40292" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/beautifulAmerican.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/beautifulAmerican.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="color: #000000; text-align: center;" id="outer_postBodyPS" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div id="postBodyPS">
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">"Abby
Long is thrilled when she offers the winning bid for an antique desk at
an auction. With its intricately inlaid woods and elegant style, the
desk is perfect for Abby; it is the gift she promised herself to finally
celebrate her thriving antique business. She has no idea that the
antique desk holds a secret that will lead her on a fascinating,
life-changing journey back in time.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
Abby discovers a hidden diary stuffed inside a secret compartment in
the desk, she can hardly wait to read the spidery, faded script. As she
carefully turns the tattered pages, she reads the captivating story of
two remarkable women from opposite backgrounds who somehow manage to
form an unforgettable bond against the backdrop of a fledgling America
struggling to find its place in the world. Elizabeth Kortright Monroe,
the wife of James Monroe, and Jasmine, a young slave girl, develop an
extraordinary relationship as they are united by pivotal historic
events, political intrigues, and personal tragedies.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> From
a bucolic Virginia plantation to the bloodied, starving streets of
post-revolutionary Paris, this powerful tale follows the lives of two
courageous women from the past as they quietly influence—and inspire—a
woman of today’s world."</span></span></div>
</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-American-Marilyn-Holdsworth-ebook/dp/B0080D41BI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-4&qid=1402430694" href="http://www.amazon.com/Beautiful-American-Marilyn-Holdsworth-ebook/dp/B0080D41BI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-4&qid=1402430694" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Historical fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – G</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/pegasus.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/pegasus.jpg"><img alt="pegasus" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40293" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/pegasus.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/pegasus.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Widowed
at thirty, Hannah Bradley is a successful journalist focusing on animal
abuse issues. An accidental meeting introduces her to lawyer, Winston
Caughfield III. Drawn to Hannah’s gentle beauty and fierce commitment to
her work, Win joins her in a fight to save wild mustangs from
slaughter. Together they rescue a badly injured horse with a mysterious
background. Hannah’s search to discover the animal’s true identity leads
them into a web of black marketeering and international intrigue. </span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Action
packed with crisp colorful dialogue the story propels the reader to a
race against time conclusion. Marilyn Holdsworth delivers a gripping
tale of mystery, adventure and romance guaranteed to hold the interest
and capture the heart. She brings true-life characters together with
real-life issues to create a fast-paced irresistible story.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Pegasus-Marilyn-Holdsworth-ebook/dp/B004S2LVYA/ref=la_B006LTHMZK_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405682556&sr=1-2" href="http://www.amazon.com/Pegasus-Marilyn-Holdsworth-ebook/dp/B004S2LVYA/ref=la_B006LTHMZK_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405682556&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Contemporary fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Marilyn-Holdsworth/e/B006LTHMZK/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Marilyn-Holdsworth/e/B006LTHMZK/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Marilyn Holdsworth on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/marilyn.holdsworth.7" href="https://www.facebook.com/marilyn.holdsworth.7" target="_blank">Facebook</a> &amp; <a data-mce-href="http://twitter.com/m_holdsworth" href="http://twitter.com/m_holdsworth" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><b>Website </b> </b><a data-mce-href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/" href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/" target="_blank">http://marilynholdsworth.com/</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Blog</b> <a data-mce-href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/blog/" href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/blog/" target="_blank">http://marilynholdsworth.com/blog/</a></span></span></div>
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Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-68393486063735375762014-10-14T07:30:00.000-03:002014-10-14T10:03:16.613-03:00A LIFE LESS ORDINARY #Excerpt by Victoria Bernadine @VicBernadine #ChickLit #AmReading #BookClub<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Craig
preceded Manny into his office then stood behind his desk and watched
as she closed the door and sat down at the table. He frowned at her.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“It’s not like you to not pay attention in a meeting,” he said.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manny sighed and shrugged. “Sorry, Craig.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“This isn’t about losing out on that promotion, is it?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Not intentionally, but now that you mention it–”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’ve already explained it to you. We had no concerns that you could have done the job.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“That’s a relief, especially since I’ve <i>been</i> doing it.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Craig
gave her a warning look at her slightly sarcastic tone and continued,
“We want to go in a new direction. We decided we needed somebody fresh,
not burdened by the years of history and ‘how things used to be’. We
needed somebody–”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Young?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Craig’s lips tightened. “New ideas, Manny. Somebody with new ideas, to take your area from the status quo to high achievement.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Our status quo <i>is</i> high achievement.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Higher, then.” Craig paused and stared hard at her. “Are you going to be able to work with Steph?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Of course. I’m nothing if not professional and dedicated to my job.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Craig nodded, his eyes boring into hers. “And I appreciate that. I’d hate to think you’re not a team player.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manny
flushed but held his gaze for several beats. Craig seemed satisfied by
what he saw and nodded to indicate the conversation was over. Manny
walked to the door, then paused and turned back to him.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Craig? Do I have any chance at all of moving up in this company? I mean, I’ve been here for fifteen years–”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“There’s
always a chance, Manny. You’ll just have to wait and see what comes
up.” He gave her a thin smile, then sat and turned his attention to his
computer.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manny left thoughtfully; she knew a brush-off when she heard it.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/ALifeLessOrdinary.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">For
the last fifteen years, Rose “Manny” Mankowski has been a very good
girl. She turned her back on her youthful fancies and focused on her
career. But now, at the age of 45, she’s questioning her choices and
feeling more and more disconnected from her own life. When she’s passed
over for promotion and her much younger new boss implies Manny’s life
will never change, something snaps. In the blink of an eye, she’s quit
her job, sold her house and cashed in her pension, and she’s leaving
town on a six month road trip.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
placing a personal ad for a travelling companion, she’s joined in her
mid-life crisis by Zeke Powell, the cynical, satirical, most-read – and
most controversial – blogger for the e-magazine, What Women Want. Zeke’s
true goal is to expose Manny’s journey as a pitiful and desperate
attempt to reclaim her lost youth – and increase his readership at the
same time. Leaving it all behind for six months is just an added bonus.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now,
armed with a bagful of destinations, a fistful of maps, and an
out-spoken imaginary friend named Harvey, Manny’s on a quest to
rediscover herself – and taking Zeke along for the ride.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AMJBOSQ" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a> & <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/299257" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – ChickLit, Contemporary Fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Victoria-Bernadine/e/B00AN2VS5G/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Victoria Bernadine on <a href="https://twitter.com/VicBernadine" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Blog <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://victoriabernadine.wordpress.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2_NZu0iup6n2vJwBd--NRvslbSPnw" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">victoriabernadine.wordpress.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-8556993847966182882014-10-11T07:30:00.000-03:002014-10-11T09:41:21.709-03:00Does Not Play Well With Others - CASKETS FROM COSTCO #Excerpt by Kelly Wilson @LiveCheap #Memoir <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s4"><span class="Apple-converted-space"></span></span><span class="s2"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;"><i>Does Not Play Well With Others</i></b></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span><div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I’ve always had really good friends. Except one.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">It wasn’t until the Christmas season of 2006, after I had been in counseling for a good five months, that I formally met my new friend: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I have attempted for years to make fun of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which is a dangerous game. It’s similar to poking fun at the largest, scariest bully at your school and assuming you won’t get beat up.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">For me, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is like a good friend – I refer to “PTSD” as a “she.” I’m not sexist; this is just how I see her in my mind’s eye. A necessary girlfriend, but with chronic PMS. A temperamental – and even volatile – friend who does not play well with others and whom I dearly love.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">It’s a strange relationship.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I would like her to have a different name. The acronym “PTSD” is labor-intensive to say. People love their acronyms, especially in education – the RTI data for ELL is required for the IEP, which is then used during SST. When I taught elementary school, I used to collect acronyms and put them on Bingo Boards, one to a square, then mark off each one as it was said in a staff meeting. Five in a row was a BINGO, awarded with a cold, frosty beer (after work, of course).</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">A pastor at a church I once attended loved acronyms so much that one appeared in every sermon. Taking his lead, I proposed the new Young Marrieds Group be called “CULT” – Couples Under Leadership Training. Nobody went for it.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">PTSD doesn’t do her justice in a descriptive way either, like when women say that their “Aunt Flo” has come to visit – if you’re female, you know<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>exactly</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>what this means. PTSD has been called a lot of names, like Battle Shock, Combat Exhaustion, Shell Shock, and Battle Fatigue. But these don’t quite describe the kind of friend I’m talking about – one who will tell you that in fact your butt<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>does</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>look fat in those jeans, or that the hair on your upper lip has grown in a little too thick.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Maybe a name based on actual symptoms would work. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder survivors experience a variety of the following:</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">the memory or memories of a traumatic event (seems obvious, I know)</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">this event involved intense fear and the feeling of helplessness</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">intrusive recollections of the event, or elements associated with the event</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">distressing dreams, flashbacks and hallucinations</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">triggers (sights, smells, sounds, calendar dates or seasons of the year) that bring on psychological and/or physical distress</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">But how does all this information translate into real life?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">For me, it’s mostly about triggers. I can’t go into a maternity ward without severe stress since both of my children and I almost died while staying in one. Certain smells or tones of voice will send me over the edge, along with feeling out of control, and there are many others.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">My triggers occur during the holiday season more than any other time of the year. In December 2006, my husband and I found ourselves on a rare date night, free of our two young boys, ages four and one at the time. We decided to spend it doing one of the activities we loved best – wandering.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">We arrived at Fred Meyer and browsed the fake display trees covered with dazzling colored lights and ornaments for sale. We held up ones we thought were particularly funny or tacky, like the Santa doing the hula while wearing sun glasses.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Ugh,” I said. “Santa.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Why don’t you like Santa?” Jeff asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I shrugged. We had this conversation every year. I had never been able to explain it, just like I could never explain getting sick every Christmas.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">We wandered separately for awhile through the rows of shiny dishes and sparkling decorations. Jeff and I met up again, surrounded by fuzzy stockings and satiny tree skirts.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Hey, look at this!” he said, turning around to face me.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Jeff’s face was covered by a mask of white felt beard, eyebrows, and a Santa hat. His eyes peered out anonymously.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Oh,” I said. My stomach churned. I felt like I was falling, unable to breathe, reeling in murky water, drowning.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“What? What is it?”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“My dad,” I said.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Your dad?” Jeff removed the mask. His expression was a combination of confusion and concern. After all, I had not seen my biological father in over ten years.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“He used to dress up as Santa for Christmas.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Oh.” Jeff frowned. He watched me for a moment.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="s2">“Let’s go home.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I wiped sweat from my forehead as we shuffled toward the car. I felt feverish, clammy, and panicked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">The next day, I explained what had happened to Hannah.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="s2">She nodded with understanding. “That’s very familiar.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Really?”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">"Oh, yeah. You had a trigger. You’re dealing with a condition called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Oh.” I felt relieved. My panic from the night before had a name. “Wait. What does that mean?”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">"Well,” Hannah said, “it means that you had – and will continue to have - an intense emotional reaction about past trauma.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Oh. But past trauma is<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>past</i>, right?” “Not necessarily.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“And that’s the best name they can give this terrible experience?” I asked.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">“Apparently.”</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">So, yeah, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder needs a new name, one that adequately describes her. One of my suggestions is:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Previous Overwhelming Trauma, Smothering Memories Overpowering Knowledge, Emotional Rollercoaster = POTSMOKER</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">That’s better. Easy to remember and simple to say. But it does discriminate against actual pot smokers, because smoking pot doesn’t necessarily mean you suffer from PTSD. Back to the drawing board.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">What about other forms of figurative language to help explain PTSD symptoms through comparison in the form of a simile or metaphor?</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Scared Shitless Disorder (does this mean that when a trigger occurs, one actually poops one’s pants right then? Or does it refer to constipation as a result of the trigger?)</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Panic Attack – I know this is an actual disorder, and I believe it’s very aptly named. The idea that the panic is attacking you –<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>brilliant</i>!</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Deer in the Headlights Disorder – not a great acronym, but it’s pretty descriptive.</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Maybe describing it in a song would help. As a mother of young children, I understand the importance of song lyrics when helping kids learn and process information. Why couldn’t there be a song that PTSD survivors could sing to help explain the disorder?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Memory</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>from the musical<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Cats</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>seems like the most appropriate:</span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>Memory</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>Terrifies in the moonlight</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I can smile at the old days</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I was non-triggered then</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I remember the times of overwhelming fear</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>For me, the memories live again</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>Midnight</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I have many distressful dreams</i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>Reliving the trauma</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I awake in a sweat</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>In the flashbacks</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>I’m right back in the thick of the shit</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><i>Sometimes I just want to forget</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">That’s a good idea, but the song is a bit morose. Clear, but depressing.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">I thought about inserting a couple of vowels in between the P, T, S and D – maybe PiTSaD – but it simply sounds like a melancholy armpit. That doesn’t really serve as an explanation of the disorder in any way.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Maybe there are events or conditions that won’t be mocked. Maybe they’re too serious, like the scariest bully in school. Plus, I think PTSD would prefer I suffer through saying each consonant over and over. And even as unrelenting as she can be, I’m grateful to her friendship.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p7" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2">Without her, I wouldn’t be able to heal.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p5" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="s2"><b>About the Author</b>: Kelly Wilson is a comedian and the author of<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.wilsonwrites.com/caskets-from-costco/" href="http://www.wilsonwrites.com/caskets-from-costco/"><span class="s6"><i>Caskets From Costco</i></span></a>, a funny book about grief that is now available in print and ebook formats from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and iTunes. Read more and connect with Kelly at<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.wilsonwrites.com" href="http://www.wilsonwrites.com/"><span class="s6">www.wilsonwrites.com</span></a>.</span></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13.3333339691162px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Caskets-From-Costco.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Caskets-From-Costco.jpg"><img alt="Caskets From Costco" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-42171" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Caskets-From-Costco.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Caskets-From-Costco.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
For
twenty years, Kelly Wilson thought that she had been marching through
the stages of grief in a straight line. She had been following the
formula, crossing each processed grief experience off her list.<br />
<br />
Except
that Kelly was totally deluded. And she didn’t discover that until Jim,
her beloved father-in-law, died. She found herself drying off from her
shower the morning after his death, really hoping that he couldn’t see
her naked. Or, if he could, that he was averting his eyes.<br />
<br />
From
that moment, Kelly's path through grief resembled a roller coaster,
spiraling and twisting and turning, circling back around. Echoes of past
trauma, including childhood abuse and cheating death, would no longer
be ignored. She somehow needed to get from the beginning to the end of
this grief adventure, and she doesn't have a good sense of direction.<br />
<br />
But what is always present during a journey through grief, regardless of the path chosen?<br />
<br />
Hope.<br />
<br />
Caskets
From Costco is a funny book about grief that demonstrates the certainty
of hope and healing in an uncertain and painful world.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Caskets-Costco-Kelly-Wilson-ebook/dp/B00J3G7FF0/" href="http://www.amazon.com/Caskets-Costco-Kelly-Wilson-ebook/dp/B00J3G7FF0/">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Genre - Memoir, Humor</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Kelly-Wilson/e/B0030ZX24S/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Kelly-Wilson/e/B0030ZX24S/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;">Connect</b> with Kelly Wilson on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/WilsonWrites" href="https://www.facebook.com/WilsonWrites" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/LiveCheap" href="https://twitter.com/LiveCheap" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-64465300006436558702014-10-10T08:30:00.000-03:002014-12-19T04:42:22.747-04:00@MargaretWestlie on the Narrative of "Anna's Secret" Opening Like a Flower #HistFic #AmWriting #MysteryI have been steeped in the stories about my ancestors
since my birth. They may have even seeped into me through the walls of
the womb. Anna’s Secret is a story I’ve heard many times from various
people. The latest version was from my Uncle Harold. He said that one
of our own people was suspected of the crime of murdering Anne Beaton
with a turnip hoe. It was said that she was no better than she should
be and was doing a little marital wandering with someone in the
community. For a long time the smithy was suspected. He was in custody
for a period but was finally exonerated and left Prince Edward Island
for good. Ultimately the authorities decided that the crime was
perpetrated by a woman and was in fact, a crime of passion. This last
was pronounced with great relish. They never found the person
responsible. It seems that Anne had greatly riled a wronged wife, and
probably several.<br />
<br />
The story caught my imagination and I
began to wonder: what if she wasn’t who they thought she was? What if
the reason for her murder was entirely different? What if the murderer
was discovered? Who would it be? Her husband? The wronged woman? The
man she was said to be involved with? There was a lot to play with
here. In a technical sense, how close to reality could I be without
offending descendents? Not too close, I decided. Anyway, it’s more fun
to write what pops into my mind and see how it plays out.<br />
<br />
As
I wrote, the narrative opened like a flower as I examined the
individuals who I decided were involved. Who were they? What
relationship did they hold to Anna and to her family and to each other?
How did Old Annie figure into it? After all she was a daft old woman
who had to be transported to gatherings in a wheelbarrow because she
couldn’t be left alone. Most of the time she didn’t know anyone and
lived in her mind very far in the past with people she knew in her
youth. What did she have to do with Anna’s murder? After all, she and
Anna had been life-long friends.<br />
<br />
And what did it do to
the community? Their sense of safety was shattered and people took to
locking their doors, some even in the daytime. This was in a community
that never locked its doors even in my grandmother’s time. I remember
this from my childhood. The only time the door was locked was if they
were going to be away for an extended period because, what if someone
needed something and they weren’t home to give it to them? I remember
my own mother telling me a story about an old man who peddled goods and
trinkets door-to-door. He was a little simple as they say here. They
woke up one morning and discovered him asleep on the lounge with a
blazing fire in the stove. After the murder, people were afraid to walk
out alone at night.<br />
<br />
As the story progressed it took
awhile for me to realize who the real perpetrator was and the denouement
was almost as much a surprise to me as it will be to you.<br />
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/annasSecret.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna
Gillis, the midwife and neighbour in Mattie’s Story, has been found
killed. The close-knit community is deeply shaken by this eruption of
violence, and neighbours come together to help one another and to
discover the perpetrator. But the answer lies Anna’s secret, long
guarded by Old Annie, the last of the original Selkirk Settlers, and the
protagonist of An Irregular Marriage. Join the community! Read Anna’s
Secret and other novels by Margaret A. Westlie.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IEEXUMO" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a> & <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/418795" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Fiction, mystery, historical</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – G</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Margaret-Westlie/e/B00HZRKK10" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Margaret Westlie on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/margaretwestlienovelist" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/MargaretWestlie" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.margaretwestlie.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29ilE1Iu2yMnk-3FJ1ZhE-qq3C3Qg" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.margaretwestlie.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-57527554106702924172014-10-08T12:00:00.000-03:002014-10-08T12:00:00.432-03:00Richard Parry on Characters Wanting to do the Right Thing @TactualRain #AmReading #AmWriting #Fantasy<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">You
ever seen one of those villains in a movie that cackles with glee,
rubbing their hands together at the downfall of the heroes? Just being a
bit of a dick?</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
thing is, people are dicks all the time, but only super rarely do they
wake up in the morning and say to themselves, “You know, it’s Tuesday:
I’m going to be a dick today.”</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If
we start from there, it gives us our first hint on how to make our
characters more real. Start with them being human, and having human
drivers. People are “evil” or “good” because they want to achieve a set
of outcomes that we perceive — through our own lens of morality — to be
good or evil. Hitler? Giant dick, right, I know. But he didn’t wake
up wanting to be a dick: he wanted to change the world and put Germany
at the top.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When
I write my stories, I start with the people. I need a motley cast of
people, good and evil and the run in between, to tell the story with.
They’re the stars of the show, and they need to have motivations for
getting up in the morning. Those motivations need to be real.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I try and start with my characters wanting to do the right thing, whatever that might mean for them. In <i>Night’s Favour</i>,
Val’s idea of the right thing is no more or less advanced than putting
one foot in front of the other, going through the motions. He drinks
himself to sleep, lives on cheap take-out, and has just one friend.
Elsie’s view of the right thing is to save her daughter’s life, and in
the process change the world with a revolutionary new medicine. Which
one of them is good, and which one is evil?</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The consequences of their actions and how we interpret them makes them <i>believable</i>.
Val’s just an ordinary guy who gets the chance to be less ordinary, to
change it all. If you were him, what would you do? Elsie’s needs for
her daughter trump all others. If you had a daughter who was dying, is
there anything you wouldn’t do for her?</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Good
and evil is subjective, but it’s the motivations that make people in
stories real. They become our heroes and villains, our saints and
sinners, because of how we see them. We relate to them because, on some
level… Well, we understand where they’re coming from.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/NightFavour.jpg" /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 1.5em;">Valentine’s
an ordinary guy with ordinary problems. His boss is an asshole. He’s an
alcoholic. And he’s getting that middle age spread just a bit too
early. One night — the one night he can’t remember — changes everything.
What happened at the popular downtown bar, The Elephant Blues? Why is
Biomne, the largest pharmaceutical company in the world, so interested
in him — and the virus he carries? How is he getting stronger, faster,
and more fit? And what’s the connection between Valentine and the
criminally insane Russian, Volk?</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00EBNA0MU/ref=cm_sw_su_dp?tag=booaremag-20" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Action, Thriller, Urban Fantasy</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – R16</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Richard-Parry/e/B00EBQJTI8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Richard Parry on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/therealrichardparry" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/TactualRain" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.rage.net.nz&usd=2&usg=ALhdy298b5_o0TqkCRTGBjb5UB4LozGGHQ" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.rage.net.nz</a></b></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-62813860120571981492014-10-07T09:30:00.000-03:002015-01-18T02:57:02.526-04:00Craig Staufenberg on Approaching Your Book Cover without Doubt @YouMakeArtDumb #MG #SelfPub <div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Why Book Covers are So Important</b></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s
marketing, of course, but I don’t want to get too hung up in that. For
me, my book cover was so important because it gave me a way to like my
book again.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
general, I like what I write because I write things that I’d like to
read. But the process of soliciting feedback, editing, and otherwise
sitting with your book in an analytical way can drive away a good chunk
of that affection. Especially when you’re about a year deep into the
project and you aren’t feeling quite the same rush you did when you
blazed through the first draft. And after you’ve been grappling with how
seriously to take the 1 out of 40 beta readers who ended up hating your
book and tearing it apart. I faced this scenario with my book, and I
was having a very, very hard time liking my book right when I was
finishing it up and getting ready to publish it.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But
working with a good friend of mine to design the book’s cover pulled me
out of this funk. The process and the final cover design helped me
like, and then even love, my book again.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Why?
Because instead of worrying about the text, I got to sit back and work
with her to create a piece of art that was beautiful in its own right,
but which also tapped into the book’s overall theme and tone.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What’s
more, I got to bring someone else in to help work on the book with me.
So I wasn’t just sitting by myself worrying about whether everyone was
going to hate what I wrote. Instead, my friend and I just chatted on the
phone, sent a lot of emails with pictures of book covers we liked, and
talked about art. And then we talked about what we liked about the book,
and why it resonated with the two of us. And suddenly I had this great
avenue for thinking about, and appreciating, the book, while remembering
why it meant so much to me in the first place.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even
better, I was able to give my friend a great opportunity—she got to
design her first book cover from scratch. She’d worked on many book
covers before mine, but she didn’t get to take full ownership of a cover
design before. So no matter how I felt about the book, I knew that
putting it out there would at least help my friend take a step forward
in her career.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And
ultimately, the whole process gave me something to love about the book
that didn’t come from me. It’s always hard to feel totally positive
about something that you made with your own two hands. Even if you like
it, and even when you fall in love with it again, you still look at it
and see the seams. And hear everything negative anyone has ever said
about it. And think about all the worries, and concerns, and anxieties
that went into it. But I can look at this cover that my friend designed
and love it unconditionally. And that means there’s at least something
about this book that I can approach without doubt.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/The-Girl-Who-Came-Back-to-Life.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/The-Girl-Who-Came-Back-to-Life.jpg"><img alt="The Girl Who Came Back to Life" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40597" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/The-Girl-Who-Came-Back-to-Life.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/The-Girl-Who-Came-Back-to-Life.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
you die, your spirit wakes in the north, in the City of the Dead.
There, you wander the cold until one of your living loved ones finds
you, says "Goodbye," and Sends you to the next world. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" /><br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />After
her parents die, 12-year-old Sophie refuses to release their spirits.
Instead, she resolves to travel to the City of the Dead to bring her
mother and father’s spirits back home with her. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" /><br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />Taking
the long pilgrimage north with her gruff & distant grandmother—by
train, by foot, by boat; over ruined mountains and plains and
oceans—Sophie struggles to return what death stole from her. Yet the
journey offers her many hard, unexpected lessons—what to hold on to,
when to let go, and who she must truly bring back to life.</span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Who-Came-Back-Life-ebook/dp/B00JQRR0JM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402517344&sr=8-1&keywords=craig+staufenberg" href="http://www.amazon.com/Girl-Who-Came-Back-Life-ebook/dp/B00JQRR0JM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1402517344&sr=8-1&keywords=craig+staufenberg" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Middle Grade</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Craig-Staufenberg/e/B00J4CHMX8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Craig-Staufenberg/e/B00J4CHMX8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>with Craig Staufenberg through<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/YouMakeArtDumb?ref=hl" href="https://www.facebook.com/YouMakeArtDumb?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/YouMakeArtDumb" href="https://twitter.com/YouMakeArtDumb" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" data-mce-style="color: #000000;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://craigstaufenberg.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-DrQ3iDj9YlxIz66ffrjCdBEDC8Q" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://craigstaufenberg.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-DrQ3iDj9YlxIz66ffrjCdBEDC8Q" target="_blank">http://craigstaufenberg.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-49295429791563481142014-09-23T10:30:00.000-03:002014-09-23T10:30:00.753-03:00Kari Nichols on Outlining & General Sense of Direction @TheKariNichols #WriteTip #AmWriting #Fantasy<b>How to Write by the Seat of Your Pants: Outline or No?</b><br />
<br />
I’m
an outline person. I like to start each book by writing a very general
outline of events. That way, I know where I’m starting, what direction
I’m heading in, and where I plan on ending. Now, that’s not to say that
the outline is set in stone. I often change large pieces of the outline
because I realize that a character makes more sense within the realm of
his or her experiences if I head in a completely different direction
than I had planned out. But that’s the great part of an outline.<br />
<br />
It’s
not a concrete pathway for the story. It simply provides a general sense
of direction to get from the beginning of the journey to the finish
line. I know there are people who refuse to write outlines for their
stories because they feel it limits the depths of their imagination
while they’re writing. But the important thing to remember if you use an
outline is this: there are a hundred different paths you can take and
decisions you can make in life to get from point A to point B.<br />
<br />
Why would
writing a story be any different? The outline helps me to have
direction … but that’s it. If you use an outline, don’t be afraid to
stray if you come up with a crazy twist or a fun side story that can
connect if you change the original plan. The goal is to the write the
best version of the story possible. For me, beginning with an outline
helps me attain that goal.<br />
<br />
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/rogue.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/rogue.jpg"><img alt="rogue" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41803" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/rogue.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/rogue.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
“We stand united, Family of Immortals. Plagued by life. Cursed by the hand of God …” <br />
<br />
Rogue
was born into an immortal family whose wealth is marked by a trail of
blood. But when he meets the unnervingly familiar assistant of his next
target, an unexpected rush of emotions begins to unravel his carefully
laid plans. <br />
<br />
Lissie lives a mundane life filled with
work … and little else. She hasn’t taken a risk since she moved to New
York City after college—seven years ago. But when the mysterious Matthew
McCloud walks through the door of her office, she finds herself diving
head-first into a whirlwind romance she never saw coming.<br />
<br />
Bu<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">y Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Rogue-The-Plagued-Trilogy-Book-ebook/dp/B00MRO73PM" href="http://www.amazon.com/Rogue-The-Plagued-Trilogy-Book-ebook/dp/B00MRO73PM">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Urban Fantasy, Contemporary Romance, Historical Romance</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Kari-Nichols/e/B00MSDYFFS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Kari-Nichols/e/B00MSDYFFS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;">Connect</b> with Kari Nichols on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/TheKariNichols" href="https://www.facebook.com/TheKariNichols" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/thekarinichols" href="https://twitter.com/thekarinichols" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold ! important;">Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://karinichols.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy28HIGv7lmiQgoz5heNUjD3hpL5yEA" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://karinichols.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy28HIGv7lmiQgoz5heNUjD3hpL5yEA" target="_blank">http://karinichols.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13.3333339691162px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-57299669991063941172014-09-05T15:00:00.000-03:002014-10-23T12:29:02.204-03:00Roland Hughes Shares His Thoughts on the Publishing Industry #AmWriting #AmReading #SelfPub <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
has been a popular interview question for the past few decades. It is
one of those goto questions interviewers use to pad the time/space. In
theory it allows a writer to spout off about what is wrong with the
industry, but a traditionally published author who isn’t looking to be
out in the cold any time soon can rarely afford such a venting. While
it may be filler on for the interview, it has been a question which has
created heated debate within the ever shrinking walls of traditional
publishers. One needs a frame of reference to understand any answer
though.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Long
before my great grandfather was even a gleam in the eye traditional
publishers used to invest in a new author. An author was nurtured and
promoted. The publisher built a franchise around the author. These
people were few and they were cherished. A publisher endeavored to
produce a product high enough in quality for it to still sell many
years/decades after the author was no longer. Basically they wanted
that product to still be in demand up until the day the last copyright
extension ran out.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our
current industry has basically Walmartized publishing. Gone are the
days of mega advances and mass marketing campaigns. Your own personal
press agent isn’t going to happen unless you either outsell Stephen King
or hire them yourself. There was a great article in <i>the Writer</i> magazine
talking about public relations people. One traditionally published
author found out the publicist assigned to their work promoted 40
different titles each week. Given a standard work week of 40 hours you
can guess just how much publicity each title got. That advance? Well,
if you get one don’t expect to quit your day job and write full time.
In fact, you will need your day job to help fund your own marketing
efforts so bank that vacation time if your company will let you cash it
out instead of forcing you to take it.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now
we are at a tipping point. The pervasiveness of businesses allowing
writers to upload work and make it available in numerous electronic
markets has pulled writers with resources out of the slush piles
publishers receive daily. It has also changed the stigma. When I first
started writing computer books it was considered a mortal sin to
self-publish. The industry rule is that no publisher would touch you if
they found you put out even one title without using a dignified
publishing house. Not any more. There are various tracking services
tracking actual reported sales numbers, not free downloads but the ones
which actually sold and the retail price range. Now we have numerous
stories of publishing houses pursuing indie authors who sell above X
units over a given time frame. Some jump, but more and more do not. In
fact, a growing number of authors who “made it” working for a
traditional house are jumping ship to self-publish and get a larger
share of the money.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
tipping point is quite fragile. A butterfly flapping its wings on a
continent far away will determine which way the industry goes and that
determination isn’t far off. The pervasiveness of the downloadable book
services is also the problem with them. I have yet to find one which
has any requirement a work have had professional editing, let alone
multiple rounds of professional editing. I am seeing a growing number
of people who purchased reading devices post rants about how they are
not going to download anything (free or otherwise) which doesn’t come
from a known publishing house because they are sick and tired of wasting
their time on titles rampant with spelling/grammar/plot
line/insert-error-type-here errors.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So. <i>If</i> one
or more of these pervasive services wakes up and smells the iced tea
brewing (coffee is nasty!) they will wipe the slush from their servers
and institute professional editing requirements. Paying for
professional editing will remove most of the free and 99 cent titles
from their stores. One simply cannot spend thousands of dollars on
professional editing and give the work away. Once a vendor takes their
cut of the 99 cent fee an author has to have a run away hit to break
even. Simple economics ensure there won’t be much on the virtual
shelves which suffers from poor editing.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then
we will see if people come to the realization an industry cannot
survive giving it all away for free. If they do, traditional publishing
houses will cease to exist or will be down to just a handful who now
specialize in taking wildly successful electronic titles to print
markets.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What
is more likely is that people will be too addicted to “free” stuff to
pay a fair price. They will continue to suck down low quality free
stuff until they overdose on it and leave the reading world forever.
When that happens we will see a dramatic shrinking in the size of the
eBook market. The physical print market will then either stabilize or
begin growing in size because that will be the last place people can
toss a stone and hit a quality product.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/johnSmith.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“John
Smith: Last Known Survivor of the Microsoft Wars” is one big interview.
It is a transcript of a dialogue between “John Smith” (who, as the
title of the book implies is the last known survivor of the Microsoft
wars) and the interviewer for a prominent news organization.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/John-Smith-Known-Survivor-Microsoft/dp/193973200X/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a> & <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/john-smith-roland-hughes/1102176003?ean=9781939732002" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">B&N</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Dystopian Fiction</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1?ie=UTF8&field-author=Roland+Hughes&search-alias=books&text=Roland+Hughes&sort=relevancerank" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://johnsmith-book.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-70oxuHXvWgcvombsi9GJmpfL5eA" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://johnsmith-book.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-62328866414426353062014-09-03T07:30:00.000-03:002014-09-19T02:19:36.882-03:00Storytelling Redefined with HJ Lawson @hjlawson1 #AmWriting #AmReading #YA <div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Storytelling Redefined</i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I listened to a Joanne Penn podcast on<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.thecretivepenn.com" href="http://www.thecretivepenn.com/">www.thecretivepenn.com</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>about
Wattpad, a new social platform for readers. Wattpad has 24 million
users, the majority are readers, with only 10% authors. Average session
length is 30 mins, and 85% read via mobile devices.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It
is a very popular site for teenagers, fan fiction is hugely popular,
search One Direction on the site and you will see hundreds of stories.
It has been described as the <a data-mce-href="http://gigaom.com/2012/06/06/wattpad-raises-17-million-to-become-the-youtube-of-writing/" href="http://gigaom.com/2012/06/06/wattpad-raises-17-million-to-become-the-youtube-of-writing/">YouTube of writing</a> because
of the way it enables authors to share their work with the world.
Wattpad also has a global growth. US, Canada and UK are the largest, the
Philippines stands apart. Wattpad is the #1 app and it is driving the
physical bookselling bestseller lists.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Authors
can upload either the completed or working version of their books for
readers to read. It is not possible to upload a book as one single file;
it has to be done on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Then your followers
get notified the moment a new chapter is shared. The notification
appears on the phone, tablet or computer. Then the best part; followers
make comments and vote for your work.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I interviewed Bruce Elgin, on my website<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.theindiejourney.com" href="http://www.theindiejourney.com/">www.theindiejourney.com</a><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>about
his experience on Wattpad. Bruce’s novel Schism has been read over
117,922 time, has 4521 votes, 1732 comments and was selected for the
Wattpad feature story.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked Bruce -<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Have you found Wattpad a useful platform for your work?</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Bruce
replied: I love Wattpad. I am a total dork for Wattpad. How else can a
writer get fans from every corner of the world? When I started on
Wattpad I was brainstorming ways to get the word out about Schism. I
had some casual fans from Voodootown, but didn’t know who most of them
were. But, on July 18, Schism will be a featured story on Wattpad and
hundreds of thousands of people (who already love to read!) from every
corner of the world are going to check it out. And for everyone that
votes for even one chapter, I will know who that person is and can thank
them personally. Add to that the ability to talk with readers as they
read and we’re looking at a brand new paradigm of reading.</span></span></div>
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<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I asked him if he<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>have you seen an increase in your book sales, from launching it on Wattpad, if yes by what percentages?</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Bruce: Yes! It’s small so far, maybe a 30% increase, but with Schism being featured, I think the bump will get much bigger.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
have posted chapters of my first novel War Kids on Wattpad, and found
that the readers are very supportive and they have given me useful
comments. It is great to have a direct connection with the readers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/photo.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/photo.jpg"><img alt="photo" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-41302" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/photo-228x300.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/photo-228x300.jpg" height="300" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="228" /></a></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hayley
Lawson is the author of War Kids. She has written a young adult
contemporary novel set in Syria; a story about the Syrian Civil war
though the eyes of children.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She
was born in Lancaster, England. Growing up in a single parent household
with five other siblings; was hard, and also character building.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
a young child she found a passion for drawing, and continued this into
adulthood, graduating from the University of Central Lancashire, England
with a BA(Hons) in fashion design.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">At
aged twenty seven, Hayley and her husband packed up their belongings
for a lifelong dream to move to California. Her America dream was
complete with the birth of her daughter. Her love for traveling,
continued after the birth of her daughter traveling around America with
the family, and the best travelled dog.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A
new job positioned opened up New York, and the family decide to
relocate to Long Island, NY, which is where she currently resides.</span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On August 21 she was moved by the images of the Syrian conflict, and embarked on an unlikely journey of writing her first novel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/warkids.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/warkids.jpg"><img alt="warkids" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41184" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/warkids.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/warkids.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>All profits from the book will be going to the save the children charity.</b></span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When
fourteen-year-old Jada wakes up in a hospital, the last thing she
thinks is that her life has completely changed forever. But when the
very real civil war forces her to flee from every open space, she must
use the firearm skills her father taught her to reunite with him and
protect herself. Armed with a single gun and a key to an unknown locker,
Jada crosses Syria on a journey with a group of children called the
Fearless Freedom Fighters. With the leader, Zak, they mount a plan to
rescue their fathers while they try to cope with the merciless murders
of their families. As Jada and Zak lead the group together, love
blossoms, but with soldiers hot on their tail, they need to stay
vigilant in the face of war.</span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Reviews from Wattpad</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Very interesting story, very powerful. I can really feel the emotion...Peter</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This
book really touches my heart because there is so much truth is in this
book. The detail is so brilliantly displayed, its beautifuly written.
There are pretty intense chapters, its good... scrap that its excellent.
Loe the work ...although I am upset. I know this is a fictional story,
but I just can't help but feel extremely bad for all the lost lives
especially the innocent and young ones...Saddy</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A REMARKABLE BOOK, DEMANDS TO BE READ Goodreads review from Joe Eliseon</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/War-Kids-Syrian-Story-1/dp/0692254773/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408353538&sr=1-1&keywords=9780692254776" href="http://www.amazon.com/War-Kids-Syrian-Story-1/dp/0692254773/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1408353538&sr=1-1&keywords=9780692254776">Amazon</a> | <a data-mce-href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/461213" href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/461213" target="_blank">Smashwords</a> | <a data-mce-href="https://www.createspace.com/4895612" href="https://www.createspace.com/4895612" target="_blank">CreateSpace</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Young Adult </i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG-13</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1?ie=UTF8&field-author=H+J+Lawson&search-alias=books&text=H+J+Lawson&sort=relevancerank" href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1?ie=UTF8&field-author=H+J+Lawson&search-alias=books&text=H+J+Lawson&sort=relevancerank" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with H J Lawson on <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/22877720-war-kids" target="_blank">GoodReads</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/hjlawson1" href="https://www.facebook.com/hjlawson1" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/hjlawson1" href="https://twitter.com/hjlawson1" target="_blank">Twitter </a></span></span></div>
<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/34cab4e1151/" id="rc-34cab4e1151" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-2825485985266401662014-08-28T07:30:00.000-03:002014-08-28T19:09:51.470-03:00C.D. Verhoff on Writing and Her Favourite #Author @CDVerhoff #EpicFantasy #AmReading <div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/41/c8/7cf05aa85e630a7f02356f.L._V358202470_SX200_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/41/c8/7cf05aa85e630a7f02356f.L._V358202470_SX200_.jpg" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>1. C. D. Verhoff – why do you use initials instead of your given name?</b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It fits easier on a book cover. Outside of writing, I usually go by<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Deanna,</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>my middle name.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>2. Tell us a bit about your family, Deanna.</b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
grew up in a working class Catholic family from Fort Wayne, Indiana. I
was the fourth of five sisters (no brothers). My mom was a file clerk
and self-taught artist of local renown. My dad worked at a tire plant.
He had a tough exterior. All the neighborhood kids were scared of him
because he yelled a lot, but he was a good father.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As
a child, money was tight, but I never lacked for necessities. I
fantasized about having less sisters and more Christmas presents. Now
that I’m older, I realize that my siblings are best gifts my parents
ever gave me. Even though we live hundreds of miles away from each
other, they are my best friends in the world.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately,
only one of my sisters is open to fantasy and science fiction. It’s
definitely not her first choice though. She hasn’t even watched any of
the Star Wars movies. Can you imagine? My other sisters are into romance
novels. They used to devour Danielle Steel and Nora Roberts paperbacks
like candy. I try to be respectful of their reading tastes, but I’m not
above bugging them to beta read for me.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Enough
about them. Let’s move onto how I met my husband. I’ll start by saying I
wasn’t looking for one. Since grade school, I was determined to stay
single. When asked why, I’d explain that I had never seen a marriage I’d
want to be in. Then I met this one guy. He talked too much, wore his
pants too high, raised chickens for a hobby, had zero housekeeping
skills, went to Mass every Sunday and my resolve flew out the window (I
will testify in court that love isn’t rational). My friends said he
wasn’t my type, but we hit it off. It was a whirlwind romance and a year
later we were married. My husband has only read one book since I’ve
known him...and it wasn’t one of mine. I suppose I wouldn’t want him to
bring an inmate home for me to babysit (he’s a prison guard), so we’ll
call it even. We have a daughter and a son (in that order).</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Moving
onto my favorite subject—my babies. Well, they’re adolescents now, but a
part of me will always think of them that way. Until I became a mother,
I didn’t understand the meaning of unconditional love. It’s fierce,
protective, incredibly painful at times and wonderful. Being a mom is my
calling. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>3. How do you work through self-doubts and fear? </b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m
still working through the self-doubts and fear, so I’m not sure how to
answer this one. My approach might be overly simplistic. I acknowledge
my feelings, but I don’t dwell on them. My internal pep talk goes like
this:</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Don’t worry about stupid shit. Just keep your eyes on the goal and write the damn book.</i><span data-mce-style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.5em;" style="line-height: 1.5em;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>4. What makes you happiest? </b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Spending
time with loved ones, Christmas, warm chocolate chip cookies, a clean
house, alone-time to work on story, French vanilla cappuccino, the sound
of summer rain against the roof, the first snow fall, autumn leaves,
the crackle of a fire in the hearth, cozying with the kids on the couch
to watch a movie, a good book, those rare moments in prayer when I feel
God’s presence, walking through an old cemetery, making a book sale,
getting a good book review, finding a ten dollar bill left in my coat
pocket from last winter, reminiscing about younger days with old
friends, enjoying a good meal that I didn’t have to make myself.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>5. Why do you write? </b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m
addicted. When a scene comes together, it gives me a high. When I’m
forced to stay away from my computer too long, I get jittery until I get
my daily fix of wordage. The compulsion sometimes interferes with my
other responsibilities—housework, social life, and even my health.
Writing is my blue meth, I guess.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>6. What writing are you most proud of?</b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Glory
Alley and the Star Riders. I wrote the skeleton of the book, from
beginning to the end in less than three days. Didn’t eat, didn’t sleep,
it was as if the story poured into me from some other realm. I haven’t
had the same experience with any of my other books.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Glory-Alley-Star-Riders-Series-ebook/dp/B009P6U6YU" href="http://www.amazon.com/Glory-Alley-Star-Riders-Series-ebook/dp/B009P6U6YU">http://www.amazon.com/Glory-Alley-Star-Riders-Series-ebook/dp/B009P6U6YU</a></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>7. Who is your favorite author? </b></span></span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">From
a purely entertainment standpoint, I’d have to say Dean Koontz. I like
the way he portrays ordinary people in heroic ways. With Dean as the
guide, when realistic people get thrust into bizarre situations, it’s
always a fun trip. He frequently contrasts the worst of the human
condition against the best and the latter usually wins out. I like that
kind of optimism.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/PromisedLand.jpg"><img alt="PromisedLand" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-30580" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/PromisedLand.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
last survivors of the human race are riding out nuclear winter in an
underground bunker when disaster strikes. Forced to the surface
centuries ahead of schedule, what they find blows their minds. Who can
explain it? Two social misfits work together to unravel the mystery.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After
living in a posh underground shelter his entire life, Lars Steelsun is
plunged headfirst into a mind-blowing adventure on the surface of the
Earth. As Lars and his displaced bunker mates are led across the
grasslands by Mayor Wakeland, a man of questionable sanity who claims to
talk with God, they discover a primitive world where human beings are
no longer welcome. Even more mystifying is the emergence of new senses
and abilities from within. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Learning
to use them has become a priority, but his biggest challenge comes from
the vivacious Josie Albright. Her lust for glory is going to get them
both into trouble. Sparks fly when her gung ho ways clash with his
cautious personality. Can they overcome their differences to find love
and a homeland for their people?</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>May not be suitable for younger readers. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Contains mild profanity, sexual situations (infrequent), and violence. </i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Promised-Land-Galatia-Novel-Series-ebook/dp/B00FGFYOCY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1390053869&sr=8-1&keywords=Promised+Land%3A+A+Galatia+Novel&tag=booaremag-20" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Epic Fantasy</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/C.-D.-Verhoff/e/B009989JGU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" target="_blank">the author</a>
</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with C. D. Verhoff on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/C-D-Verhoff-Author/106424996172224" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/CDVerhoff">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Blog <a href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://cdverhoff.blogspot.com/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2_01jckNtx2of1yN47b1NhEbPVrzg" target="_blank">http://cdverhoff.blogspot.com/</a></b></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-161149678271739302014-08-21T10:30:00.000-03:002014-10-04T10:43:10.092-03:00The Other Side of the Ice #Excerpt by @TheobaldSprague #Climate #NonFiction #Memoir <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The main purpose of our trip the year before on <i>Akademik Ioff </i>was
to find out the physical feasibility of our intended joint expedition
and to see what the ice conditions were like in the Northwest Passage.
For me, I hoped to gain a good visual sense of what I’d be trying to
capture on film. Within the first few days, I knew I would bring back
never-before-seen footage from The Passage. From Dan and Jim’s
perspective, they grew confident that a Nordhavn boat could take on The
Passage and survive. Each morning, the crew of <i>Akademik Ioff </i>provided
the ship’s passengers with its own newspaper, giving the latest
headlines. Each morning, the three of us would sit and discuss the sorry
case of the world in general and feel all the more secure that our
intended trip through the Northwest Passage was about as timely as we
could hope for.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On
September 15, 2008, with a growing sense of accomplishment and
anticipation, I sat down for breakfast and opened the ship’s daily
newspaper. I stared in abject and total disbelief at the latest
headlines noting that Lehman Brothers was crashing, about to be
financially erased from the face of the earth, and that the collateral
damage was going to be unprecedented.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
collateral damage reached the Far North. As the days continued to roll
by, Jim no longer wanted to discuss the trip. In fact, Jim no longer ate</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">with
Dan and me. When the three of us actually were together, the talk was
of anything but their $300,000 commitment to the trip and perhaps
building a forty-foot boat so they could join in the adventure. By the
time the trip aboard <i>Akademik Ioff </i>had ended, there was no $300,000 commitment. I saw it coming a mile away.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dan
Streech was the type of man who, when he told me of the offer’s
withdrawal, he did it with tears in his eyes. I was completely in Dan’s
corner. I couldn’t in good conscience ask for such a large amount of
money while he was looking at having to lay off longtime trusted
employees, people he truly loved.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But
as much as I appreciated Dan’s position and honesty, I was devastated.
Actually, more than devastated. I was completely and decisively screwed.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/TheOtherSideOfIce.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">A sailor and his family’s harrowing and inspiring story of their attempt to sail the treacherous Northwest Passage.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Sprague
Theobald, an award-winning documentary filmmaker and expert sailor with
over 40,000 offshore miles under his belt, always considered the
Northwest Passage–the sea route connecting the Atlantic to the
Pacific–the ultimate uncharted territory. Since Roald Amundsen completed
the first successful crossing of the fabled Northwest Passage in 1906,
only twenty-four pleasure craft have followed in his wake. Many more
people have gone into space than have traversed the Passage, and a
staggering number have died trying. From his home port of Newport, Rhode
Island, through the Passage and around Alaska to Seattle, it would be
an 8,500-mile trek filled with constant danger from ice, polar bears,
and severe weather.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What
Theobald couldn’t have known was just how life-changing his journey
through the Passage would be. Reuniting his children and stepchildren
after a bad divorce more than fifteen years earlier, the family embarks
with unanswered questions, untold hurts, and unspoken mistrusts hanging
over their heads. Unrelenting cold, hungry polar bears, and a haunting
landscape littered with sobering artifacts from the tragic Franklin
Expedition of 1845, as well as personality clashes that threaten to tear
the crew apart, make The Other Side of the Ice a harrowing story of
survival, adventure, and, ultimately, redemption.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">( <b>TO WATCH THE OFFICIAL HD TEASER FOR “The Other Side of The Ice” [book and documentary] PLEASE GO TO:</b> <i><b>VIMEO.COM/45526226) </b></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Other-Side-Ice-Treacherous-Negotiating-ebook/dp/B008QD8OTC/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1396289433" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Memoir, adventure, family, climate</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Sprague%20Theobald&search-alias=digital-text" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Sprague Theobald on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheOtherSideoftheIce" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/TheobaldSprague" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.spraguetheobald.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2-hqap-1OaYQfgpmkVVaj6tZwQK7A" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">www.spraguetheobald.com</a></b></span></span></div>
</div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-14686504954644166192014-08-21T09:30:00.000-03:002014-09-05T14:39:24.344-03:008 Things About 'The Evolutionary Journey of #Woman' by @EvolutionWoman #NonFiction #Spirituality <div style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>8 Things You Didn’t Know About The Evolutionary Journey of Woman</b></span></span></div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This book tells the story of the beautiful, adventurous Sumerian goddess Inanna.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It debunks Man the Hunter as the primary, prehistoric hero of human evolution.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Evolutionary Journey of
Woman suggests that a number of key social, cultural and technological
factors formed a key tipping point in the Mythic Age that led to
thousand of years of women's oppression.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This books sees the emergence of feminism as evidence of the positive unfolding of consciousness in the world.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It expresses the hope that we
are emerging into a new Integral age that might be able to reintegrate
our lost female and feminine wisdom.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It also debunks the idea of a past matriarchal golden age of human history.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It explains the three waves of feminism as moving from a focus on social rights, to cultural rights, and finally to diversity.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It argues that women need a tradition of spiritual grandmother's to help them fully become who they can be in the world.</span></span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg"><img alt="evolutionaryJourney" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40839" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg"><img alt="evolutionaryJourney" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40839" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/evolutionaryJourney.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
story of human evolution that we've been commonly told is one built on
the shoulders of male heroism, competition and dominance; but, what if
it isn't the whole story? This book tells the lost story of women in
evolution.</span></span></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Evolutionary Journey of Woman: From the Goddess to Integral
Feminism looks towards a future that brings together and
reintegrates women's wisdom traditions through establishing a spiritual
lineage for women that is traced all the way back to ancient Sumer with
the goddess Inanna. Marrying the ancient wisdom traditions with adult
developmental theory, this book charts a pathway towards the full
spectrum of possibilities for women's self-actualisation in the coming
Integral age. The Evolutionary Journey of Woman is academically
rigorous, historical, philosophical and spiritual, but, most
fundamentally, it is a narrative that will change the way you
think about woman as a heroine of history.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Evolutionary-Journey-Woman-Integral-Feminism-ebook/dp/B00HG4FZK8/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-1&qid=1398034135" href="http://www.amazon.com/Evolutionary-Journey-Woman-Integral-Feminism-ebook/dp/B00HG4FZK8/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-1&qid=1398034135" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Non fiction, Women's Spirituality</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Nicholson/e/B005DI7FOS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Sarah-Nicholson/e/B005DI7FOS/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 19px; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Sarah Nicholson on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Evolutionary-Journey-of-Woman-From-the-Goddess-to-Integral-Feminism/625117724238316?ref=hl&ref_type=bookmark" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Evolutionary-Journey-of-Woman-From-the-Goddess-to-Integral-Feminism/625117724238316?ref=hl&ref_type=bookmark" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/evolutionwoman" href="https://twitter.com/evolutionwoman" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" data-mce-href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.sarahnicholson.org&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2_Rx0WxolPwg5vwohD3k2DeJLDg-Q" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.sarahnicholson.org&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2_Rx0WxolPwg5vwohD3k2DeJLDg-Q" target="_blank">www.sarahnicholson.org</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-4250105394955721442014-08-19T07:30:00.000-03:002014-09-12T18:11:06.582-03:00ANNA'S SECRET #Excerpt by @MargaretWestlie #Historical #Fiction #Mystery <div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Someone’s
gone to great pains to leave her comfortable.” Angus stared down at
Anna. He was a church elder, and because of his wisdom, the unspoken
head of the community. The ten minutes since Neil had arrived with his
news had seemed an hour.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Aye,
they have indeed.” Duncan regarded the neatness of Anna’s grey drugget
dress arranged modestly around her ankles, her folded hands lying across
her abdomen. “It’s more than she deserved.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Hush now, Duncan, it’s bad luck to speak ill of the dead.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Yes, Duncan, she might come back and haunt you,” said Hector, his pale blue eyes quite serious.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Och,
Hector, you’re always thinking of ghosts.” Angus shook his grey head.
“The poor thing probably has more to do than come back and haunt the
likes of you.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“She’s likely dancing in the hot place wishing for a bigger fan,” said Duncan.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">A
giggle erupted from Neil who had been hovering at the periphery of the
small group of men. Angus looked hard at Duncan. “No more of that talk
now, in front of children.” He squatted down beside Anna. “Is this the
way you found her, Neil?”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Yes, sir.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“You didn’t touch her?”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“No, sir, only to shake her arm to see if she had just fallen asleep. She was stiff with the cold.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">Angus regarded Anna for another moment. “Help me turn her over, then.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">The
three men knelt and turned her onto her left side. A small swarm of
flies rose from their feast of sticky blood left on the pillow of yellow
straw that had supported her head.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“It must have been someone who cared about her to take such trouble with her remains,” said Hector.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Aye, it’s as if she was being put to bed,” agreed Angus.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“One more time,” said Duncan.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Who’s going to tell Ian?” asked Hector.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“I will,” said Angus. “He’s my own cousin and we’ve known each other since we were schoolboys.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“But we’re his cousins, too,” said Duncan.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Nevertheless, I will tell him. You two will follow with Anna’s remains.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“We need something to carry her on,” said Hector.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“There’s the door to Murdoch’s house that’s fallen in,” said Neil.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Run, then, and be quick about it. Go with him, Hector, he’ll not be able to carry it by himself.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">Hector
and Neil set out across the field where they had worked side by side
with Ian only a few days before. The oats had been thick that summer and
the straw had been plentiful, its shadowy roots home to field mice and
grass snakes and crickets. Murdoch’s house had long stood vacant, its
windows broken and its door fallen off its leather hinges. The roof had
blown off in a winter gale three years ago and now the whole structure
sat at a crazy angle not quite ready to fall into its cellar.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“You’re
lighter than I am,” said Hector. “Go in and get the other end of the
door, but mind where you step, it’s none of it very stable.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">The
floor creaked and moved even under Neil’s slight weight. A few moments
of careful manoeuvring freed the door from its bed of fallen rafters. In
a few minutes Hector and Neil returned to the others.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">Neil
watched as Hector, Duncan and Angus loaded Anna’s remains onto the grey
planks of the door. A smear of blood darkened the wood as they
positioned her head for the journey home.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">Hector shuddered. “Old Annie said this door would be smeared with the blood of the just.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Will you stop it, Hector,” said Duncan. “When did she say that?”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“The winter before Murdoch left for the Boston States.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“That’s years ago, and Annie’s senile.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“Not then she wasn’t. She said it as plain as day. I was there and I heard her.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“And what did Murdoch think of all that?”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA">“There’s some say that’s the reason he left the Island.”</span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="Bodyparagraph" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN-CA"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/06/annasSecret.jpg" /></span></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Anna
Gillis, the midwife and neighbour in Mattie’s Story, has been found
killed. The close-knit community is deeply shaken by this eruption of
violence, and neighbours come together to help one another and to
discover the perpetrator. But the answer lies Anna’s secret, long
guarded by Old Annie, the last of the original Selkirk Settlers, and the
protagonist of An Irregular Marriage. Join the community! Read Anna’s
Secret and other novels by Margaret A. Westlie.</span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IEEXUMO" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a> & <a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/418795" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Fiction, mystery, historical</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – G</i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Margaret-Westlie/e/B00HZRKK10" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> <b>Connect</b> with Margaret Westlie on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/margaretwestlienovelist" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/MargaretWestlie" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.margaretwestlie.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29ilE1Iu2yMnk-3FJ1ZhE-qq3C3Qg" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.margaretwestlie.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-54937372064798870412014-08-15T08:30:00.000-03:002014-08-16T04:01:19.493-03:00RJ Blain Shares Her Favourite #Books - #AmReading #Fantasy <br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b>What books did you love growing up?</b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i>A Wrinkle in Time<b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></i>by Madeline L’Engle,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Blue Sword</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>by Robin McKinley, and all of the Valdemar novels by Mercedes Lackey. These were followed up by Stephen King’s<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Stand</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>and<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Wizard’s First Rule</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>by Terry Goodkind. I skipped a lot of the younger age reading stuff and went for big fat fantasies and horrors pretty quickly.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b>Who is your favorite author?</b></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Mercedes
Lackey. She was the author who inspired me to write. My favorite of her
works is definitely her oldest books, though. Nowadays, my favorites
also include Jim Butcher (Mhmm Harry Dresden and Tavi!) and Brandon
Sanderson.</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b>What book genre of books do you adore?</b></div>
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Traditional
and Epic Fantasy. I really love escaping to fall off worlds full of
magic and wonder, with a healthy side dish of action, adventure, and
excitement. I’m growing a bit more fond of Urban Fantasy as well, though
I tend to favor novels like<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Dresden Files.</i></div>
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<b>What book should everybody read at least once?</b></div>
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<i>Brave New World</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>by
Aldous Huxley. This book made me think, and I really enjoy books that
make me think. I feel this sort of novel has a lot of impact over time.
That said, I think it needs to be read in the mindset of comparing the
reality of our world with the presentation of the government and world
from<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Brave New World</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>to have the most impact.</div>
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<b>Are there any books you really don’t enjoy?</b></div>
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I really have a strong dislike for<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>A Song of Fire and Ice<b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></i>by George R. R. Martin. I never was able to get into it, and I keep getting pressured by people who think I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>should</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>enjoy it when I don’t. I probably wouldn’t dislike it nearly as much if so many people didn’t act like I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>should</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>like it when I don’t.</div>
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It
doesn’t fit my particular tastes. I have nothing against people liking
this series, but I don’t want it shoved in my face when I just don’t
enjoy it.</div>
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<b>What do you hope your obituary will say about you?</b></div>
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Obituaries
are so interesting. If I had to have one written about me though, I’d
hope it’d be written by a fan of my writing. My writing is an integral
part of me, so that’s what I’d like for it to be about. So I guess I’d
like to be survived by my pets (and hopefully my spouse) and my fans –
I’d like my writing to be remembered by people who enjoyed my stories.</div>
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<b>Location and life experiences can really influence writing, tell us where you grew up and where you now live?</b></div>
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I
grew up in the middle of the woods in Maryland. It was about 45 minutes
to get to the nearest actual library, 20-30 minutes to the closest
grocery store, and the morning commute to my high school took 2 hours.
Once I learned to read, there was nothing else to do but play pretend
and read books, so I got lost in my own little world fairly often.</div>
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The next door neighbor and I played abandoned on an island using a picnic table as our island and boat pretty often.</div>
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I
abandoned ship after I turned 18 to move to Canada, as my fiancé (at
the time) had work there, so it made sense for me to immigrate to
Canada.</div>
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<b>Where do you get your inspiration from?</b></div>
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I
don’t really know. I just love telling stories, so I tell stories. If
anything, I’m inspired by the people who enjoy reading the crazy stuff I
come up with. I don’t really get inspired by the usual culprits, such
as sitting in front of a fire with hot cocoa or watching the snow. I
just write. I’ve never been one to try to need inspiration to write.
That requires some outside condition to do it, and that’s a trap I just
don’t want to fall into.</div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/StormWithoutEnd.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/StormWithoutEnd.jpg"><img alt="StormWithoutEnd" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/StormWithoutEnd.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/StormWithoutEnd.jpg" height="200" style="border: 0px; cursor: default;" width="130" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GI7C0QG" href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GI7C0QG" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<div align="center" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i>Genre - Fantasy</i></div>
<div align="center" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i>Rating – PG - 13</i></div>
<div align="center" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<i>More details about <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/RJ-Blain/e/B00EA5VH6M/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/RJ-Blain/e/B00EA5VH6M/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" target="_blank">the author</a> and <a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/2013/12/storm-without-end-requiem-rift-king-rj-blain/" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/2013/12/storm-without-end-requiem-rift-king-rj-blain/">the book</a></i></div>
<div align="center" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em; orphans: auto; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b>Connect</b> with RJ Blain on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/RJ-Blain/121746651191778?ref=hl" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/RJ-Blain/121746651191778?ref=hl">Facebook</a> and <a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/rj_blain" href="https://twitter.com/rj_blain" target="_blank">Twitter</a></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-36219413223041623782014-08-07T11:30:00.000-03:002014-08-08T13:07:24.571-03:00The Sovereign Order of Monte Cristo by Holy Ghost Writer @SultanOfSalem #Excerpt #ActionAfter the much-needed bath, Dantes puts on his dressing gown and lies
down on his old bed, which he finds deeply comforting. He has played
and traveled hard over the past few busy years, and he knows it has worn
on him; there is more silver in his hair than before. He hopes to slow
down soon, for he loves his new home with his family close by and misses
them terribly.<br />
<br />
The sweet, baby faces of his daughters
loom in the darkness of his closed eyes. How blessed he is! He resolves
to enjoy Paris while he is here, though. He wants to go to the opera
while he is in town and also visit a few of his favorite haunts.
Finally, he falls fast asleep, only to awaken to a servant telling him
the meal is nearly ready.<br />
<br />
The servant helps Dantes dress and leads him to the dining room.<br />
<br />
“The
table looks divine,” Dantes says, thinking how nice it is to be out of
his traveling clothes and into something more refined. He looks at the
spread before him—fresh fruit and vegetables, as well as two huge
pheasants with mint jelly. The yeasty smell of homemade bread fills the
air and makes his mouth water.<br />
<br />
“I hope this pleases
you, sir,” Valentine tells him. “I know the food in America is quite
different. Perhaps you have become too accustomed to their fare to
appreciate ours.”<br />
<br />
“Oh, nothing can compare to a good
French meal, although American food has its own charms. When the baby is
old enough to travel, you will all have to visit my estate in Georgia.
It’s a different world, but one I believe you will enjoy,” Dantes tells
them.<br />
<br />
Just then, he hears the creak of a wheelchair. In comes M. Noirtier. Dantes rushes over to him and bids him hello.<br />
<br />
“My
old friend!” he says. “My heart fills with joy to see you—let us enjoy
this magnificent feast as well as one another’s company.”<br />
<br />
The
next morning, Dantes plans to visit more of his old friends, at least
those who still reside in Paris. A carriage awaits him in the hazy light
of dawn, and he is flooded with memories as he drives through the
streets. He wishes Mercedes and Haydee could be at his side, but knows
his daughters are far too young for such travel; it would exhaust them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Holy-Ghost-Writer.jpg"><img alt="Holy Ghost Writer" border="0" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-28589" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Holy-Ghost-Writer.jpg" height="200" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" width="130" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sovereign-Order-Monte-Cristo-Discovered-ebook/dp/B00DSPK4FK/ref=la_B00A6VRLAU_1_12_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383858658&sr=1-12" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Genre – Action, Adventure</i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Rating – PG-15</i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Holy-Ghost-Writer/e/B00A6VRLAU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" target="_blank">the author</a> </i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Connect</b> with Holy Ghost Writer on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Holy-Ghost-Writer/156425124542924" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/SultanOfSalem" target="_blank">Twitter</a></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Website <a href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://holyghostwriterbooks.blogspot.ca/&usd=2&usg=ALhdy280TcBarR1X48UaRlyRAfkIln-CRg" target="_blank">http://holyghostwriterbooks.blogspot.ca/</a></b></div>
<br />O'Connors Opinion!http://www.blogger.com/profile/04899226737898632490noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-82794271048541736302014-08-07T10:30:00.000-03:002014-08-08T11:47:24.040-03:00"The Riddler" - Riddle Of The Diamond Dove (Arkana Mysteries) by N.S. Wikarski #Historical #Fiction<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>The Riddler</b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daniel sighed and looked at the large clock suspended above the librarian’s desk. It was only noon. This day wasn’t going at all as he had hoped. When he arrived that morning at the main branch of the Chicago Public Library, he had been looking forward to his daily visit with David, a reference librarian in the ancient history section. It was the only thing he looked forward to these days. Instead of the handsome young man he had hoped to see, he was met by a scowling grey-haired woman who informed him that David had called in sick. No, it wasn’t serious, just a case of food poisoning and no, she didn’t know when he would be back at work. Probably in a few days.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After receiving that news, Daniel sloped off to a back table and occupied the rest of the morning in brooding. He had spent nearly every day for the past three months in the library—not because he expected to further his research but because he couldn’t bear the oppressive atmosphere of the compound any more than he had to. Three months. He was shocked at how much time he’d managed to waste. He had idled away the entire winter pretending to research the clue that would lead him to the next relic.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He pulled a photo of the object out of his briefcase to study it. A dove with outstretched wings carved entirely out of lapis lazuli. Instead of the row upon row of glyphs which had covered the golden bee, this artifact bore a very simple message: “One dove flies to wake the helmsman. The course he sets reveals his fate.” The bird’s back was encrusted with diamonds in a circular pattern. The middle of the circle consisted of seven emeralds scattered at random. The diamonds at either end of the circle were interrupted by two rubies, one larger than the other.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daniel looked at the picture of the relic for the thousandth time and still had no idea what any of it meant. Of course, he felt far less urgency in solving this riddle than he had about the earlier ones. His time in Spain had convinced him beyond all doubt that the trio of relic hunters whom he believed dead were still very much alive and after the same treasure that he was. However, since he was the one holding the lapis dove and the clue it contained, the trio had no choice but to wait for him to make a move. They would have to follow his lead. He didn’t particularly care if they anticipated his route and stole away with the next relic before he arrived. Daniel had no sympathy for his father’s ambition to collect these artifacts or the ultimate prize—the Sage Stone. Even though he didn’t know the Diviner’s plan for these strange objects, Daniel imagined it didn’t bode well for the rest of the world. Why should he eagerly assist in that?</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daniel felt his loyalties fracture a bit more after each field mission. The more he saw of the Fallen world, the less comfort he found in returning to the ways of the Blessed Nephilim. Of course, his father’s marriage to Hannah had done even more to alienate him than the relic hunt itself. Daniel was glad he had helped her escape. He just wished he knew where she had gone after he brought her to the city. A note, a phone call, anything to tell him she was alright. He gave a bitter inward laugh. That small gesture of reassurance might very well cost her her freedom if Leroy Hunt was stalking her again. No, it was better as it was. He prayed she had found a better life than as the fourteen-year-old bride of a seventy-year-old man. She could scarcely exchange that fate for anything worse.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Daniel glanced toward the librarian’s desk. The woman behind it was staring at him disapprovingly. He ducked his head down and pretended to concentrate on his paperwork. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He didn’t simply mean the pretext of visiting this section of the library just to be near David—his only real friend in the world. He also meant the pretext of telling his father that he was on the verge of solving the latest riddle. He was nowhere near a solution to the problem. At best, he could only continue the charade for another month before he would have to get on a plane and go somewhere in search of the next relic.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">An idea was nagging at the back of his consciousness. He felt he had missed something. Thinking back to the riddle that had preceded this one, there were lines in that clue which he had never understood. Perhaps it all fit together. Perhaps he needed to solve the earlier puzzle in order to understand the current one. At the very least, he might legitimately burn up some additional time in doing so.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. He hated living this way. His mind drifted back to his last conversation with Hannah. He remembered her final words to him before she disappeared. “How bad does it have to get before you finally walk away?” Perhaps that was the greatest riddle of all.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/RiddleofTheDiamondDove.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>THE ARKANA SERIES: Where Alternative History Meets Archaeology Adventure</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Volume Four – Riddle Of The Diamond Dove</b></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>“</i></b><i>From Kindle Nation fave N. S. Wikarski comes the long-awaited fourth book in her fascinating seven-part Arkana archaeology thriller series — with more of the wonderful characters, sly humor, intrigue and mayhem that come together to create the absorbing world of her intricate, fast-paced mysteries.” (Kindle Nation Daily)</i></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Global Treasure Hunt</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Where do you hide an ancient relic that has the power to change the course of history? As Cassie Forsythe and her Arkana team discover, you scatter clues to its whereabouts across the entire planet. Five artifacts buried among the rubble of lost civilizations point to the hiding place of a mythical object known as the Sage Stone. Thus far psychic Cassie, bodyguard Erik, and librarian Griffin have succeeded in recovering two of those artifacts.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Opposing Forces</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cassie and Company find their lives threatened at every turn by agents of a religious cult known as the Blessed Nephilim. The cult’s leader, Abraham Metcalf, wants to exploit the power of the Sage Stone to unleash a catastrophic plague on the world. The quest for the next piece of the puzzle has led both sides to Africa. They must comb an entire continent–their only lead a riddle carved onto a mysterious dove sculpture. Even as the Arkana team struggles to decipher the clue, new dangers hover over their colleagues at home.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Other Dangers</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Metcalf’s child-bride Hannah has taken refuge at the home of the Arkana’s leader Faye while mercenary Leroy Hunt creeps ever nearer to her hiding place. His search for the girl brings him dangerously close to the secret location of the Arkana’s troves–a collection of pre-patriarchal artifacts which confirm an alternative history of the origins of civilization itself. While Hunt closes in on Hannah, Metcalf’s son Daniel dogs the footsteps of the Arkana field team in order to claim the next artifact before they do. Daniel recruits a clever ally along the way who might be more than a match for the opposing side.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Collision Course</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When the forces of the Arkana and the Nephilim converge on a ruined city in a forgotten corner of the dark continent, the shocking outcome is beyond even Cassie’s powers to foresee. The quest for the Sage Stone will veer in an unexpected direction once both sides solve the Riddle Of The Diamond Dove.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H203THC?tag=booaremag-20" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Alternative History Fiction</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/N.-S.-Wikarski/e/B001K8RR5W/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with N. S. Wikarski on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/N-S-Wikarski/111546722263900" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a></span></span></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2216015931660466804.post-47051360240821581312014-07-31T09:30:00.000-03:002014-08-15T17:15:41.579-03:00@MarcADiGiacomo on Why He Wrote IN A SMALL TOWN #AmReading #Thriller #BookClub <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What inspired me to write In A Small Town?</span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I always believed I had a book somewhere within my warped brain. Its one thing to have that feeling about yourself but to actually write that book is a story within itself. How do you motivate one’s self to follow through on a conceptualized idea? For me, I have three small children. Only my oldest will remember the late night/early morning calls from the police department notifying me of the latest crime to occur within our boundaries. He would watch his father leave with bright, wide opened eyes fully believing I would return as soon as I could. Truth be told; it was very difficult to leave him, but I had a job to do, a responsibility to others I was sworn to uphold.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When I retired from the police department after a string of back injuries and surgery, I needed to set a new course for myself. My back injury makes it difficult for me sometimes but it was just another challenge I needed to overcome. What started off as a memoir of a small town cop’s career quickly grew legs and became an organized crime thriller. I had a very unique police career working for such a small town; I wanted to emphasize to others even though I worked for a small town, big crime still happens and needs to be solved.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The encouragement I received from my oldest son was all I needed. His face upon seeing In A Small Town, was a priceless memory I will never forget. He’s only eleven, and will not be reading any of my books for quite some time, but his praise and reassurances have motivated me to write more. So, I write for my kids, and one day, when they read my books, they will know a little piece of their father is alive and well within those pages.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/InASmallTown.jpg" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The shotgun blast catches Detective Matthew Longo by surprise. His world unravels into a nightmare that seemingly won’t end. Murder, rapes, pedophiles, the small town of Hutchville, N.Y. is changing. It is up to him to make a difference.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">While partner Donny Mello is in Italy attending a funeral for a family member who is connected, to say the least, a beautiful F.B.I. agent waits to question him about his family business. Can Matt keep from answering the Agent’s questions? More importantly, can he hide a potentially career-ending secret from his community, his brother, and most especially Agent Cynthia Shyler?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B009R9XDWW" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Thriller</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Marc-A.-Digiacomo/e/B009L8F01G" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Connect</b> with Marc A. DiGiacomo on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/MarcADiGiacomo" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/MarcADiGiacomo" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></span></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0