tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45108494550812693002024-02-07T14:15:59.604+00:00Non-Stop ReadsQuality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.comBlogger716125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-51666397707168887472015-02-06T11:00:00.000+00:002015-02-06T11:00:01.811+00:00#Excerpt from ANNA'S SECRET by Margaret Westlie @MargaretWestlie #AmReading #Historical #Murder <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-4510849455081269300.post-17175877750472522362015-02-05T10:00:00.000+00:002015-03-28T04:54:36.519+00:00#Gender Harmony by Charlotte L. Piotrowski - GLIMPSES OF HEAVEN ON EARTH - #Women #NonFiction<b>From the chapter on gender harmony, by co-author Charlotte L. Piotrowski:</b><br />
<br />
“In
heaven on earth, women will have the same access to education as men,
and the same job opportunities. They will enjoy the same right to voice
their opinions. They will not be fearful of the violence most often
perpetrated against women, such as: rape (including gang rape), acid
throwing, honor killing, and domestic violence (which is perpetrated
much more frequently against women). These evil gender-based acts will
not occur in a heaven on earth. Men must, and will, view women as their
equals.”<br />
<b><br />From the chapter on gender harmony, by co-author Charlotte L. Piotrowski:</b><br />
<br />
“Getting
to the point where men and women live in harmony will take time and
commitment. Gender apartheid, which is the practice of discriminating
against women economically and socially through the use of physical or
legal force, is most associated with Islamic cultures in the Middle East
and Northern Africa. However, it occurs worldwide and has been found
to exist in the context of all of the major religions of the world.
This may range from women’s struggles to gain leadership roles in
certain religions to the requirement of women to cover themselves
(veiling), when men have no such mandate. Removing these obstacles is
necessary. Where men and women are treated fairly, harmony can exist.”<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/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>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-91631137731487973142015-01-20T07:00:00.000+00:002015-01-21T08:53:59.168+00:00Victoria Bernadine Shares an #Excerpt from A LIFE LESS ORDINARY @VicBernadine #ChickLit #Women <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manny
laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for sleep. She
plucked restlessly at the blanket and wished she could relax. Tomorrow
was Steph’s first staff meeting. Today she’d reacquainted herself with
everyone in the office then spent the rest of the day with Manny being
briefed on the details of the work of the branch and any current issues
she’d need to resolve within the next few days. That meant Manny’s own
work had been delayed, and tomorrow it would be delayed again–and Manny
would have to leave early in order to meet Rebecca and Daisy at the
lounge for drinks before heading to the club.</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
took a deep breath and slowly let it out. It wouldn’t be too bad, she
staunchly told herself. Steph was young, energetic, and had a shrewd
intelligence almost obscured by the cleavage-revealing shirts, short
skirts and a figure that could stop traffic–and probably did. Manny
wondered if Craig truly understood what he’d gotten himself in for by
promoting Steph rather than Manny.</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>Cleavage and legs.</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;">She mentally rolled her eyes at Harvey’s dry, cynical tones.</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>Maybe–but that’s not really fair to him, is it? He’s not a bad guy.</i></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>But he is just a guy.</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>She
does bring a new perspective–a new way of thinking about things. She’s
not a bad choice–and I can’t argue with Craig’s idea that shaking things
up could make things better.</i></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>And where does that leave you?</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>No worse off than I was before.</i></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>And no better.</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>If you’re not going to be helpful…</i></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;">Harvey
glanced down at his suddenly ruffled shirt opened to the middle of his
muscled chest and skin-tight breeches. He glanced back at her with a
ruefully amused smile.</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>Watched the Ice Pirates again, did you?</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>Oh, shut up–it’s a classic no matter what anybody else thinks!</i></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’m
just sayin’–if I was real and regularly wore pants this tight, I’m not
sure I’d be of any use to you. If you know what I mean.</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;">Manny
groaned and shook her head, and Harvey blinked out of existence. She
wondered when she’d managed to lose control of a figment of her
imagination–one she’d eventually felt compelled to name after an
invisible rabbit.</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 groaned again, rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. It was going to be another long day tomorrow.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Complete with dancing.</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="outer_postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<div id="postBodyPS">
<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="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="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="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="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="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="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>
</div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-54919024147899581442015-01-17T08:30:00.000+00:002015-04-30T21:46:22.990+01:00#Excerpt from LUCIFER & THE INDIGO KIDS by @Lord_Ra_Krishna #Poetry #NonFiction #Relationships <b><span style="font-size: large;">Hannah </span></b><br />
<br />
Butterflies and Blunts<br />
Surfboarding in outer space <br />
<br />
Amber and crystals <br />
on my fingers<br />
Beautiful tattoos on my face...<br />
<br />
Inspiration...<br />
Interracial...<br />
Cocaine nights <br />
And track shoe days...<br />
<br />
Inspired me to live my music...<br />
I won't forget the way we slept<br />
<br />
Like two snakes on Hermes Scepter<br />
Entangled in a warm embrace...<br />
<br />
The name... the same...<br />
Backwards or forwards...<br />
H-A-N-N-A and H<br />
<br />
Yellow diamonds on a butterfly ring<br />
Her name is tattooed on my neck<br />
<br />
Now we're married / then divorced<br />
In strawberry fields is where we met...<br />
<br />
Krishna... Buddha... Jesus... Loki... <br />
Achilles.... Alexander and me<br />
Interracial... and taboo...<br />
I won't forget the way we slept<br />
<br />
Was it love? Or just a fling?<br />
Do you still have that butterfly ring<br />
<br />
I think I took it back from you...<br />
You hurt my feelings in the club...<br />
<br />
Like somebody else I know?<br />
And we are kinda married still<br />
<br />
A god no monster can defeat...<br />
But love is my Achilles heel <br />
<br />
1000 leagues beneath the ocean<br />
Further than the deepest depths...<br />
<br />
Like 2 snakes on Hermes Scepter<br />
I won't forget the way we slept<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFLimR6zOzi5Un5AK7v8EoFAdBDxerShRma6DIBVd9zbYSewa9FPrXKpKyEoy9jcKp3q672xwFVczMfDe0-lK8dPzFhtiJHqOLa_V1N7aPR9E699iKc6JFGvTkirVYMjWM2rCvhy7kh1Zr/s1600/10543606_799244456762857_1951121046706555738_n.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFLimR6zOzi5Un5AK7v8EoFAdBDxerShRma6DIBVd9zbYSewa9FPrXKpKyEoy9jcKp3q672xwFVczMfDe0-lK8dPzFhtiJHqOLa_V1N7aPR9E699iKc6JFGvTkirVYMjWM2rCvhy7kh1Zr/s1600/10543606_799244456762857_1951121046706555738_n.png" height="320" width="225" /></a></div>
<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>
<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-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre - Poetry, Philosophy</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-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><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-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>
<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-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-4510849455081269300.post-22020303638782926282014-12-24T08:00:00.000+00:002014-12-25T18:54:09.348+00:00WHAT FREEDOM SMELLS LIKE #Excerpt by Amy Lewis @AmyLewisAuthor #Marriage #Women #Memoir <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;">They
have a special room on the ICU for people like me, so you don’t bother
the other patients and visitors. Isolating the freshly widowed makes
sense; I wouldn’t want to be around me either at that moment in time.
You wouldn’t even know the room exists unless you need it. About a
hundred square feet, a love seat sat on one side and two chairs on the
other. There were two corner tables one holding a phone and on the other
a small digital clock. The room had no magazines or TV as this wasn’t a
waiting room. It was a mourning room, a breakdown room, a scream out to
heaven because clearly God didn’t hear your prayers room. It was a
break the news to the others room. It was a room for everything that
everyone else didn’t want to witness – a parents losing child room, a
children loosing parents room and in my case, it was a widow’s room.</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
sat down onto the loveseat and tried to breathe. In and out. Innnn and
Outttt. Innnn and Outttt. My head had a constant low level buzzing
preventing me from holding a thought. Dad sat down next to me and held
my hand tightly.</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;">“Sweetheart” he whispered, “we need to make some calls.”</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;">Calls. Calls. Calls. The word calls starting buzzing along with the noise in my head.</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;">“Do it for me. Please. I just wanna sit here.”</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;">He
started by phoning Barbara. I had the awareness of him talking to her,
but I don’t remember hearing the words. He hung up the phone. Decisions
needed to be made. A young nurse walked into the room shutting the door
behind her. I had never seen her before. She sat down next to me and put
her arm around me.</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;">“You know honey, in my experience with these things, it’s important for you to go in and see the body.”</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 hair on my arm stood up as I heard her say<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>the body</i>. He was no longer a<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>he.</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>He was now just<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>the body</i>.</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 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/2014/08/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>
<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;">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
apart.</span></span></div>
<div id="postBodyPS">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Passionate
and protective, Truth also proved violent and abusive. 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><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<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 />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<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 />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<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 humor.</span></span></div>
</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;">Buy 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 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>Genre – Memoir</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>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-4510849455081269300.post-33974032066558596592014-12-24T07:00:00.000+00:002014-12-25T18:49:04.886+00:00JOHN SMITH : #Microsoft Wars (#Excerpt) by Roland Hughes #AmReading #Fiction #Dystopian <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SK: Can we talk about the Microsoft Wars now?</span></span></b></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JS:
Orwell was right. Everyone was forced to read his book and yet, it
still happened. In reality, that is all anybody needs to know.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SK: Orwell?</span></span></b></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JS:
<sighs> Back in 1949, an author by the name of George Orwell
published a novel titled 1984. It was a look into the future and
basically created the concept in society of Big Brother. This Big
Brother was a government, any government really, which would watch over
you like a child. Your life would be monitored and controlled 24 hours
per day. The dictionary would not grow in size, but shrink, as words
and thoughts were continually restricted. Anyone who possessed a
thought against the government, system or the way things were being run
would be turned in by friends/family/neighbors as a thought criminal.</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
by one, various ministries were set up to control every aspect of life,
all for the betterment of society, and most had some plausible excuse
bringing them into existence. There would be monitors installed
everywhere, so you were continually watched and controlled. It was one
of the best- selling and most widely talked-about books of all time.
Many movies were created showing various flavors of the book.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SK: Well, if everybody knew about it, then it surely didn’t happen.</span></span></b></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JS:
Not in 1984, no. The final vehicle for control wasn’t chosen until
the early 1990s and it took a while to roll out globally. Sometime
during 2010, the governments around the world achieved 95 percent of
what they wanted. The vast majority of citizens carried with them a
24-hour monitoring device, which could be accessed remotely and would,
via GPS, give a complete picture of their travels. Each one had a
unique ID. Best of all, the devices were marketed in such a way as to
make people think they were nothing unless they had one and kept it with
them at all times.</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
it became apparent that some portions of society simply couldn’t afford
the devices—yes, each citizen paid for their own, and gladly…they even
paid to customize them—most governments came up with some kind of
ministry or program to ensure each and every person falling into the
“cannot afford” category was issued one under some plausible story as
“medical need” or “neighborhood watch.” This removed the
poor-person-rejection-of-charity problem. Nobody felt insulted to
receive the devices, since the devices allowed them to communicate with
anyone at any time, as long as they knew the other person’s unique ID.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SK:
Do you honestly expect me to believe that everybody stood in line to
get a unique ID for the government to monitor them 24 hours per day,
seven days per week?</span></span></b></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JS:
No. They didn’t see it like that. They stood in line to get the latest
and greatest cellphone with video camera, GPS, speaker phone, Internet
access, and every other buzz phrase marketing could think of. If you
don’t know what any of that is, it doesn’t matter. All you need to know
is the more applications, called apps, it had, the more people wanted
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;">Each
phone had to have a phone number, which was globally unique so anyone
in the world could call anybody else in the world, no matter where they
were at the time. It was that “anywhere, anytime” communications
capability that was a major selling point. A system of assigning phone
numbers to allow for international calling had been in place for many
years due to the older land line system, so it was simply leveraged.</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
proudly carried and used their government monitoring device. There
were even crime shows on television showing how law enforcement agencies
could track a cellphone as long as it was turned on. What they didn’t
tell you was that the phone would periodically report in even when
turned off, and if certain instructions were waiting, it would turn
itself back on, silently, so full monitoring could continue without the
owner being aware.</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
only thing that could truly stop monitoring was to remove the battery,
then turn the cellphone on to drain the hidden reserve. When you did
that, however, the phone was of no use.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">SK:
So let me get this straight—you’re saying that there was a
communications network that could monitor every person in the country?</span></span></b></i></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">JS:
No. Before the middle of 2011, thanks to some production cost
reductions, it was every person on the planet living in any civilized
country and even many third world countries. A basic cellphone could be
manufactured and sold for under $20 retail, which put the actual
production cost at about $6. Those countries too poor or with terrain
too rough used the satellite phones, which cost a bit more, but
leveraged cellphone components to reduce costs. Both networks were
monitored by government agencies, even though commercial companies were
providing the services to the cellphone owners. Even children in third
world countries who didn’t have food to eat or a bank account in their
name had a phone so they could be tracked.</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-4510849455081269300.post-43652463739515612902014-12-13T08:00:00.000+00:002015-03-01T04:54:28.756+00:00Mike Hartner on The Eternity #Series - An Epic Saga of Good vs. Evil @MHartnerAuthor #HistFic #AmReading <i><b>What Inspired Me to Write This Book</b></i><br />
<br />
This book is the second in a series of books called The Eternity Series.<br />
<br />
The Eternity Series has several inspirations.<br />
<br />
The
first inspiration is to show that each life, each person, is different.
We all have our crosses to bear, and how we overcome them determines
who we are as a person. Whether we blame everyone else and fester in
the crap that we are given by fate, or overcome the challenges and have a
good life is up to us.<br />
<br />
The second inspiration is to
show that nobody’s life is perfect. Everyone has challenges. And
appearances are not always what they seem.<br />
<br />
More than
that though, The Eternity Series is an epic saga of good vs evil, of
man’s desire to survive and thrive, and of what we can be if we come
together.<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/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>
<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 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;">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>
<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;">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-4510849455081269300.post-73432740499174702132014-12-12T09:00:00.000+00:002015-03-28T04:33:58.420+00:00DARK CHEMISTRY #Excerpt by Kirsten Mortensen @KirstenWriter #AmReading #Suspense #Romance <i>This excerpt, from chapter 4 of Dark Chemistry, introduces
Donavon Todde, the man who destined to fall in love with the novel’s
protagonist, Haley Dubose. He actually encounters her in this scene,
although he doesn’t know who she is—the woman who’s about to assume
control over the company where he works; the woman who is now his boss.
Instead, as you’ll see, Donavon is wrapped up in a personal struggle
that consumes him with emotional pain and humiliation. When we meet him,
here, he’s flying home from a fruitless trip to Las Vegas . . .</i><br />
<br />
Donavon set his iPhone on the bar.<br />
<br />
What kind of a loser—<br />
<br />
Damn
it, damn bartender walked by again without looking over. What was that,
the third time? Because bartenders in airport bars don’t make eye
contact. Of course they don’t. They don’t believe they’ll ever see you
again. For them it’s just a shift, just get through the shift, they’ll
never see anyone in here again, if they get good tips they get good
tips, if they don’t, so what? It’s a job, hourly, benefits. It’s not
about relationships, like in a real bar ...<br />
<br />
Donavon waited, watching, for the guy to come back over to his end of the bar. Good, he’d turned, he was heading this way ...<br />
<br />
What kind of a loser does it take to—<br />
<br />
“Another Sam Adams, when you get a minute.”<br />
<br />
The bartender nodded at Donavon, but without smiling. It was a “yeah, I heard you” nod.<br />
<br />
Donavon checked his phone again.<br />
<br />
No messages.<br />
<br />
“Is this seat taken?”<br />
<br />
“No.”
Donavon smiled at the woman who had spoken to him, sizing her up.
Shoulder-length hair, no discernable gray, but a little crinkling around
her eyes as she smiled back at him. Forties, he’d say. Mid-forties.<br />
<br />
The
bartender returned with his beer. “Menu?” he said into the air between
them, and the woman said yes and asked him what sort of white wine he
had, and ordered a Pinot Grigio.<br />
<br />
“Lucky you got him,” said Donavon. “He’s a busy guy.”<br />
<br />
“Eh, he can take all the time he likes—my flight’s been delayed until at least 7:30, apparently.”<br />
<br />
“Yeah? Where you headed?”<br />
<br />
“Rochester, New York. You?”<br />
<br />
“Syracuse.”<br />
Of
course. They were in Concourse G, the spot where the little planes land
and take off, the planes headed to the little airports.<br />
<br />
Too bad she wasn’t flying to Syracuse. He could use a distraction ...<br />
<br />
The
woman was checking her phone now, sending a text message, but then when
she got her wine she put her phone away and turned slightly toward him.
Good—she was a friendly one. “Syracuse, eh?” she said. “So what do you
do?”<br />
<br />
“Sales.”<br />
<br />
“Oh yeah? What company?” Smiling at him.<br />
<br />
“RMB.”
He felt himself relax as he spoke. “We’re a small chemical
manufacturing plant nobody’s ever heard of, that makes stuff that other
companies—companies you have heard of—put into their products.”<br />
<br />
“What kind of products?”<br />
<br />
“Cosmetics mostly—shampoo, lip balm, that sort of thing.”<br />
<br />
“So is RMB based here in Chicago?” She sipped her wine, and he noticed her left hand.<br />
<br />
No wedding ring.<br />
<br />
Maybe he should date someone older. Maybe an older woman would be easier, less drama ...<br />
<br />
“Nope,”
he said. “It’s south of Syracuse. But as you know, if you fly to
Rochester a lot, there aren’t any direct flights. I spend half my life
in O’Hare. Is Rochester home for you?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. So where are you coming from, this trip?”<br />
<br />
“Vegas,” he said without thinking, and then wished he’d lied.<br />
<br />
“That’s a fun town. So did you win, or lose?”<br />
<br />
“Broke even, more or less,” he said. “Or anyway,” he struck a jovial note, “that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.”<br />
<br />
She
smiled again, then flagged the bartender and ordered a chopped salad
with chicken, and Donavon asked for his check, then watched out of the
corner of his eye as the woman fumbled through her purse, took out a
little bottle of Purell, opened it, and rubbed it into her hands.<br />
<br />
“How about you?” Donavon asked as she recapped the bottle and dropped it back into her purse. “What do you do?”<br />
<br />
“I’m a writer.”<br />
<br />
“No kidding. That’s interesting. What do you write? Books? Or ...”<br />
<br />
“A
little bit of everything. Stories, novels. But I pay the bills with
corporate contract work. Marketing brochures, that kind of thing.”<br />
<br />
A man’s voice came on over the terminal intercom and the woman paused, listening.<br />
<br />
“Syracuse,” she said. “Is that you?”<br />
<br />
Donavon nodded and pushed his stool back. “Yeah.”<br />
<br />
“Well, have a nice flight.”<br />
<br />
“I’m Don, by the way,” he said and held out his hand.<br />
<br />
“Christine,” she said.<br />
<br />
Her hand felt small and clean from the Purell.<br />
<br />
He slung his duffel bag strap over his shoulder. “Good luck on your flight.”<br />
<br />
“Bye.”<br />
<br />
Old
enough to be his mother, almost. But maybe that’s what he
needed—someone older, someone who had dealt with all her baggage, who
would be grateful for the attentions of a young stud. And she was
well-preserved. Trim, probably worked out. Pilates, probably, or
spinning ...<br />
<br />
So that’s it, Donnyboy?<br />
<br />
That’s how you’re going to cope? By hitting on anything that moves?<br />
<br />
He shook his head, trying to shake off the thought.<br />
<br />
You get dumped, so you hate yourself, and then you cope by becoming a person you’ll hate even more?<br />
<br />
He reached his gate and stepped into the plume of people waiting to board.<br />
<br />
He pulled his boarding pass out of his back pocket.<br />
<br />
There
was a blond just off to the side, a little ahead of him. Her back to
him. She was wearing those tight blue jean jeggings that show off every
curve, black leather boots up over her calves—he let his eyes move up
and down, lingering.<br />
<br />
Yeah, now that—that was a morsel. Had to be at least an 8 or 9 ...<br />
<br />
He
shifted forward to get a glimpse of her face, her profile. Fine, like a
porcelain doll. Easily a 9. Stupid, no doubt, but that was all the
better. Yeah, this was exactly what the doctor had ordered. He should
move in, now ... it would be easy. Let her know he had a job, strike the
right balance between suave and aloof, flirtatious and superior ...<br />
<br />
An
older couple stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the blond,
interrupting his thoughts, and his mind flashed back again to Vegas.<br />
<br />
How many times had he made that trip?<br />
<br />
And why?<br />
<br />
What
kind of a loser does it take to keep flying back out there? You know
you’re not going to just run into her. And even if you did—then what?
It’s done. She chose.<br />
<br />
They’re probably fucking married by now.<br />
<br />
What kind of loser does it take to keep chasing after a woman who is long fucking gone?<br />
<br />
Donavon
handed his boarding pass to the agent and waited as he scanned it. No
beep. The agent scanned it again, and again, and finally the scanner
beeped and Donavon took the ticket back and started up the jetway.<br />
<br />
Goddamn it, they’d better have beverage service on this flight.<br />
<br />
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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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<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" id="postBodyPS" style="text-align: center;">
<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 />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>But now her father is dead.</b></span></span><br />
<br />
<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 />
<br />
<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 />
<br />
<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">
<br /></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-4510849455081269300.post-81825733025928850692014-12-02T11:00:00.000+00:002014-12-04T12:02:01.643+00:00John W. Mefford on Listening to His Inner Voice and Leaving the IT Industry @JWMefford #Mystery #Suspense<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
look in the mirror, and what do I see? Extra lines, less hair, a little
more weight, depending on my current level of fitness. Time stands
still for no one. And, if you’re open to growing, learning, that’s a
good thing. A very good thing.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">By
looking at that reflection—literally and figuratively—I’ve seen more
changes than I can possibly count over the years. With more salt than
pepper in my goatee, my facial hair shows some tread on my tires. Muscle
strains, joint pain, squinting to read small print, all come with
living a full life year after year for almost five decades. And don’t
get me going about my torn rotator cuff. But it certainly beats the
alternative.</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
never been one to hide my age, starting when I was a young kid, and
looking even younger. I always had a stubborn, driven core that pushed
me to work hard, even if the task or nature of the job was unappealing,
or even if it made me want to puke. In my teenage years I built banana
splits and flipped burgers, then mowed yards in triple-digit
temperatures. Once I made it out of college, I worked long hours trying
to scoop my rival reporter at the cross-town newspaper—my first paying
gig in the writing world. But my drive and competitiveness hit an
advanced level once I hit the grind of corporate 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;">Information
Technology was the field, the very hot field that sucked me in like an
F5 tornado. It’s a remarkable industry, with an amazing array of
talented, visionary people, especially in the early days, before anyone
had used the term start-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;">From
day one, I never quite felt comfortable working in IT, and most of the
time truly felt out of place. Technology has never been a keen interest
of mine. I had a few talents that helped me along the way…I’m pretty
good with numbers and motivating people to get stuff done, even if I
didn’t truly understand the nuts and bolts of what the hell we were
trying to accomplish. It didn’t matter. I was told to break through the
brick wall, and I did anything to reach the goal. I was about the best
grinder around. Many were smarter, but few worked as hard. I never let
my brain relax, because I couldn’t afford to.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And
then I woke up. It wasn’t an overnight epiphany. I had internal
struggles for years, my true voice softly telling me to find a job or
business that suited me. It took a good ten years for me to take action,
to recognize that little voice as my true self.</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 friend who knew what he wanted to do when he was fourteen years
old, maybe younger. He dreamed of working as a nuclear physicist. I’m
not kidding. He was—is—brilliant. He wanted it so badly he could taste
it. He talked about it all the time, studied everything about that
world, and mapped his path toward his destiny.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Outside
of dreaming to play for any number of sports teams, while growing up I
could never figure out what I was destined to do with my life. Working
as a reporter allowed me to work a muscle that I’d never used. The job
itself was bit confining, but it ignited a creative spark in me that
stayed alive like the Olympic flame. Then came the IT gig.</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 meant to be…to provide life experiences that have taught me
plenty, that I can share with others, my family, and, yes, write about
in the most unbridled, embellished way possible. It’s empowering to
finally admit the truth about who I am, how I want to contribute to the
world, to evoke emotion from readers of my work. Is it a mid-life
crisis? That’s not how I see it. I don’t want to buy a red sports car, I
love my wife more than ever, and I have great fulfillment by watching
three kids grow up and figure out 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;">Instead,
I’ve experienced a mid-life enlightenment. I might be in my late
forties, but it’s better to admit who you are and what you’re passionate
about before there’s no life left 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;">My
only advice to my kids and anyone else of any age? Listen to your true
self. Find your passion and then don’t hide it. Work like hell to be
better at it, and be proud of who you are and how you impact the world.</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
funny how things work out in life. My friend? Well, the government shut
down funding for the super-collider, and after investing seven years of
college and low-paying internships in cold-weather cities, his dreams
of making a living as a nuclear physicist were flushed down the toilet.
Now, though, he’s one of those visionary, brilliant people in the IT
industry. He’s damn good at it, and I think he enjoys most of it. Bravo
for 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;">As
for me, I’m a writer. I think I’m pretty damn good at it, and I’ll work
my ass off to get better. That’s my passion. I hope you find yours.</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/FatalGreed.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;">Behind
the façade of every corporate takeover executives pull levers this way
and that, squeezing the last profitable nickel out of the deal. But no
one knows the true intent of every so-called merger. </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;">No one knows the secret bonds that exist. </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;">An Indian technology giant swallows
up another private company that has deep roots in North Texas. For one
unassuming man the thought of layoffs, of losing his own job to a bunch
of arrogant assholes feels like a kick to the jewels. </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;">Until the day Michael’s life changes forever. </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;">Perverse alliances. An affair of the
heart. A grisly murder. A spiraling string of events thrusts Michael
into a life-or-death fight to save a tortured soul and hunt down a
brutal killer…one who lurks closer than he ever imagined. </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;">Greed knows no boundaries.</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/FATAL-GREED-Greed-John-Mefford-ebook/dp/B00KP3TUQW/ref=la_B0062PGVP0_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1402330476&sr=1-1" 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 – Suspense, Thriller</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/John-W.-Mefford/e/B00KPIA8AE/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 John W. Mefford on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/JohnWMeffordAuthor" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/jwmefford" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</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;"><b>Website <a class="in-cell-link" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.johnwmefford.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy2_KrtKBwV_do8k5j4dKlWUQF6WR9A" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://www.johnwmefford.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-15405459267071563792014-12-02T08:00:00.000+00:002015-03-05T09:37:07.382+00:00Prologue from HUSH by Kimberly Shursen @KimberlyShursen #Goodreads #AmReading #Thriller <div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>-Prologue-</b></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>June 21, 1997</b><b> </b></span></i></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;">Thirteen-year-old
Ben Grable stared out the window of his father’s car. He wished he
could close his eyes and be somewhere—anywhere else—just not on the way
to the nursing home.He hated today.</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;">Every
Sunday, his father dragged him to visit his grandmother. Two years ago,
the woman who had laughed at all of his jokes, baked him chocolate chip
cookies, and played Chutes and Ladders with him growing up was given a
death sentence. It wasn’t fair to his Nana or the people who watched her
die an inch at a time.</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;">“Come on, son,” his father said when he parked his car in the lot. “Put on that smile your Nana loves to see.”</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
one-story, all-brick building sat on an acreage surrounded by pine
trees. The scene was serene, but the moment Ben stepped inside, the
smell of urine and decay was overwhelming.</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;">Old
people with crinkled faces and withered hands who had shrunk to a
portion of their original height sat in chairs lined against the wall
saying nothing.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Nothing.</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The
years had sucked the life and voices out of them. Nursing assistants
offered cookies and a smile along with a pat on the patients’
decomposing backs and told them it was a beautiful day. What did they
care if the sun was shining or a tornado was about to sweep them away?
Every moment of each day was the same. Pain. Loneliness. Humiliation.
And fading memories of who they once were.</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;">“Nana?”
Ben said, and walked to the elderly woman sitting in a wheel chair that
faced the window. Even before he reached her, he noticed the spastic
movements of her hands and head were worse. He bent down next to her in
the room the size of his closet, a crucifix hanging on one wall.</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;">Her
tired, puffy eyes stared at him, and Ben’s heart sank when he realized
she didn’t recognize him. He could have been Batman or a poodle, and she
wouldn’t have known the difference.</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;">After a few minutes of trying to understand what she was saying, Ben turned to his father. “I’ll be back in a minute.”</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;">His father gave him an understanding nod.</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;">He’d
wandered down the hallway, blinking back tears of anger and pain. Angry
that his grandmother was never going to get better and the pain of
knowing he’d already lost her.</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;">On
the other side of the nursing home, he spotted another set of double
doors. Staring inside, the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.</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;">Babies,
children, and young adults filled the long, narrow hallway; some lay
flat on their backs on bare mattresses, their heads rolling back and
forth in slow-motion succession. Others traipsed the floor mindlessly
with unblinking, glazed eyes, their backs hunched over. Heads too large
for their bodies—slanted eyes, some missing limbs, a couple with wide,
open gashes in their upper lips.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Where did these monsters come from, and why were they here?</i></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;">Nurses
changed diapers, or knelt beside mats and held baby bottles for
children who looked as old, or older, than Ben. Long, guttural moans and
helpless cries filtered through the doors, the smell of feces was
disgusting.</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;">He jumped when he felt something touch his shoulder.</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;">“Sad, isn’t it?” a young nurse said.</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;">“What’s wrong with them?” Ben asked, tasting his own sour bile.</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;">She shrugged her shoulders. “Different things. Most were born this way, and their parents just couldn’t take care of them.”</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 are they here? In a nursing home?”</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;">“Part
of the building is for a nursing home and”—she nodded to the other side
the window—“this part is controlled by the state. There are so many
nursing homes for old people and not enough institutions for people like
this that a few months ago we started taking in the overflow.”</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;">“Will they ever get better? Go home?”</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 nurse shook her head. “I’m afraid not. This is the only life they’ll ever know.”</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;">When
he looked back through the windowed door, he gasped and jumped back. On
the other side of the window, only inches away from his face, a pair of
eyes pleaded with Ben for help.</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;">“It’s okay. They won’t hurt you,” the nurse told him.</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;">Ben
shook his head back and forth slowly, tears welling in his eyes. He
turned and raced through the halls toward the front door of the
building. The face on the other side of the door burned into his
memory—the bulging, watery eyes, the slobbering drool running down the
glass, the hopeless and far-away look of misfortune and doom.</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;">Heart
racing, his temples throbbing, he was going to vomit. Breathless when
he reached his father’s car, he found it locked. Panicked, he pulled at
the handle over and over. “Open, please, open!” he sobbed
uncontrollably.</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;">He
turned, leaned back against the door, and slowly sank to the concrete.
If his friends saw him, they’d call him a sissy-boy. It didn’t matter.
Those things, those sad, awful looking creatures weren’t human. His
parents had always told him that all of God’s children were created
equally. But it wasn’t true.</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;">He
brought his knees up to his chest and covered his tear-streaked face
with his hands, trying hard to get the images out of his mind.</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;">It just wasn’t true.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></span></span>
<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/2014/08/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">
<br />
<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
beliefs.</b></span></span></div>
<div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b> </b>EDITORIAL
REVIEW: "Suspenseful and well-researched, this action-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>
<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;"><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/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>
<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> 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-4510849455081269300.post-53982537143254153642014-11-28T10:00:00.000+00:002015-02-06T10:02:10.423+00:00#Excerpt from "The Girl Who Came Back to Life" by Craig Staufenberg @YouMakeArtDumb #MGLit <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="text-align: left;">
Sophie
woke at the table the next day before the sun rose and let habit and
obligation drag her from her seat and pull her to the bakery. Setting
her body in front of the floured marble table and searching her chest,
she found a hole where her heart used to beat, and when she dove into
this abyss she felt something close to cold, but far from feeling
itself.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
That morning her dough would barely budge when
she touched it and the loaves she handled wouldn’t rise an inch and the
bread she placed in the oven left their fires cold and flat and dead no
matter how long they spent among the flames.<br />
<br />
The baker
saw this and responded to her as if she were a stubborn slab of dough.
She pressed patiently and consistently and with constant motion, asking
Sophie this and that, pushing and pulling at her, all without mentioning
her failures, without forcing a point, yet unrelenting and unwilling to
toss her to the side.<br />
<br />
Yet despite this care, by the
end of the morning, Sophie’s failures at the simple, mundane tasks built
up and tore through her. Her frustration broke as she pulled a final
frozen lump from the fired oven and a small tear arrived in her eye as
she held the uncooked dough in front of her chest.<br />
<br />
The
baker stepped over to her and took the dough from Sophie and placed it
on the table with a thud. She admonished Sophie, without any hint of
anger or malice, “Cry if you need to, but don’t cry into the bread.”<br />
<br />
Sophie
stood there, that single tear still caught within her eye, her arms and
hands still held up in front of her. The baker took each of Sophie’s
raised, empty arms, one at a time, and placed them down at her sides.
She took one of her own weathered hands and guided Sophie to the table
and pulled up a stool and motioned to Sophie to sit. Sophie set her
elbows down on the floured marble table and leaned across its surface.<br />
<br />
The
tear finally fell from her eye and dropped down onto the table,
creating a little wet crater in the flour that lay sifted across the top
of the marble table. The baker reached out a thumb and smudged the
crater across and smiled to herself, then went to the front of the shop
and picked up a small olive loaf from the day-old bin. She held it in
one of her hands and opened the oven door with the other and let a whiff
of the blasting hot air spill out and wash over Sophie. The baker
commanded her, “Take out some butter, if you would.”<br />
<br />
The
baker reached her hand into the oven and held the loaf above the flames
for a moment as Sophie walked to the side counter and pulled out the
pan of thick yellow butter that sat there. She brought it to the table
and returned to her seat.<br />
<br />
The baker left the oven door
open, warming the room. She pulled up another stool and sat next to her
and placed the now-steaming loaf down. The woman tore off a chunk and
slathered it with the rich butter, which melted on contact and found its
way into the bread’s hidden corners. She handed the bread to Sophie,
then she tore off and buttered a second hunk for herself.<br />
<br />
Sophie
took a bite of the bread, and that bite sank into her. The half-stale
loaf crunched in her mouth and the butter pressed through her body as
surely as it soaked through the bread.<br />
<br />
As they ate for a
moment in silence, the baker continued to pull off pieces of the bread
and butter them, handing one to Sophie first then taking one for
herself. She ate in silence as the dry heat of the oven filled the back
of the shop, until Sophie broke the quiet and spoke first. She
apologized for her shoddy work.<br />
<br />
The baker nodded her response. “It’s alright. I had a lot of bad days too when my parents died.”<br />
<br />
Sophie looked over at the sturdy woman with surprised eyes and asked when the woman’s parents had passed.<br />
<br />
The
baker replied with a soft smile, “Some time ago. I was a little older
than you but I was baking by that point… and for a long time my bread
wouldn’t rise either.”<br />
<br />
The baker deepened her smile as
she lifted her hunk of bread into the air and inspected it for a moment,
then took a bite and continued as she swallowed, “Clearly it was a
temporary problem.”<br />
<br />
Sophie couldn’t stop herself from laughing. She asked the woman what fixed her troubles.<br />
<br />
The
baker thought for a moment. “Time.” She placed her elbow on the table
and scratched at her cheek. “As the days passed I found myself again.”
She paused, her finger rested against her cheek. “But my bread wasn’t
this good again until I went north and Sent them.”<br />
<br />
Sophie looked over and was about to speak but the baker stood up and cut her off firmly. “Come. We need to open the shop.”<br />
<br />
The
baker gathered the few loaves she managed to salvage from Sophie’s
empty heart and sighed out loud, “Here’s hoping for a slow day…”<br />
<br />
She
smiled then pushed her to clean the oven, as she always did, and from
there the afternoon proceeded as it always had. Sophie took on her
chosen chores, straightening the shop, cleaning, organizing and
restoring order as the baker took her seat at the counter where her
customers purchased their bread. When her grandmother arrived, Sophie
avoided her gaze. Aside from a lingering moment when the baker stepped
to the desk and spoke for a moment longer than usual to the old woman,
the day proceeded as it always had, right until the sun began to set and
the baker asked Sophie and her grandmother to come to the counter to
receive their day’s wages.<br />
<br />
The old woman placed her
payment in her purse, and as she stood for a moment to wait for her
granddaughter to receive hers, the baker told the wrinkled woman, “I
need to speak with Sophie for a minute longer, you don’t need to wait
for her.”<br />
<br />
The old woman nodded and said goodbye and
left through the shop’s swinging doors as the baker asked Sophie to
stand there for a moment. She held still and watched as the woman came
out from behind her counter and walked through the shop, examining the
little touches Sophie added to it throughout the afternoon. The baker
inspected the organized loaves and gave a small approving nod, then
examined the swept floor and made a minor appreciative grunt, then noted
the neatly stacked bags of flour with a lingering look, before she
returned to the counter and opened her drawer and began to count out
Sophie’s wages. As she did, the woman spoke to herself, loud enough for
Sophie to hear, “Let’s see…”<br />
<br />
The baker set down
Sophie’s usual wages. Sophie thanked her and reached for the bills lying
there. The baker stopped her hand and spoke, without looking up, “The
shop looks better than ever lately.”<br />
<br />
She turned her eyes to Sophie. “You’ve been working a little later than necessary for some time now.”<br />
<br />
Sophie
looked at her feet, embarrassed, as the baker pulled some paper and a
pencil from beneath the counter and set them down and continued, “I used
to hire someone to tidy up the shop as you’ve been doing. I can’t quite
remember what I used to pay them.”<br />
<br />
The baker marked a
few calculations onto the paper and reached into the cash drawer and
placed a few extra bills on top of Sophie’s normal wages and looked down
at her paper.<br />
<br />
“That doesn’t seem right. You’ve been
working late every single day for some time now… Let me check the math
again. Oh, I shouldn’t have let your grandmother off, she’s better with
the numbers than I am.”<br />
<br />
The baker made a few more marks
on the paper, performing some simple math, adding up the days and
Sophie’s extra wages, reaching into the drawer and pulling out more
money and placing it on the counter, before checking her math again and
pulling out more and adding it to the growing pile, speaking loudly and
absent-mindedly the whole time.<br />
<br />
“This afternoon your grandmother told me she plans on heading north soon, and that she’ll be gone for some time.”<br />
<br />
The
baker looked casually at Sophie. “It’s to be expected, of course. She
never said so but she adored that man.” The baker looked back down.
“Though now I’ll have to find someone else to take care of the books for
me.”<br />
<br />
She placed more money on the counter. “As I said, I’m not very good at math.”<br />
<br />
She
returned to her paper, then scanned the neatly ordered shop, then added
even more money to Sophie’s thick pile. The woman looked back down and
spoke some more to herself.<br />
<br />
“I’ll have to find someone to help me with the oven and the store too, while you are traveling with her.”<br />
<br />
Sophie’s
heart returned to her chest for a moment, before rising and getting
caught in her throat as she looked at the thick stack of money on the
counter.<br />
<br />
The baker rolled her eyes up at Sophie with
lightly arched eyebrows. “Though only temporary help, of course… as
you’ll resume working here when you return…”<br />
<br />
Sophie nodded yes, yes, yes. The baker sat back in her chair and pushed the money towards her.<br />
<br />
“And
I’m sure if my math was wrong and I’ve overpaid you now, then you’ll
work the remainder off when you return.” Sophie pressed her heart down
her throat and back into her chest and released a soft, “Of course.”</div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13.333333969116211px; 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>
<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>
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<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>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Middle Grade</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/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>
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<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>
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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://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-4510849455081269300.post-68096127821971825562014-11-28T09:00:00.000+00:002015-02-27T18:13:55.351+00:00#Excerpt from PEGASUS by Marilyn Holdsworth @M_Holdsworth #WomensFic #Goodreads #Contemporary<b>Pegasus by Marilyn Holdsworth </b><br />
<br />
SATURDAY WAS A WARM, sunny day, just as Win had predicted,
and the drive out of Los Angeles was a welcome change from the heavy
work schedule Hannah had been demanding of herself for the last few
days. Sitting next to Win, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans with her hair
pulled back and fastened with a barrette at the nape of her neck,
Hannah looked young and vulnerable. The miles sped by, and they chatted
easily together, but Win made no further mention of what was so
important for her to see at the ranch.<br />
<br />
“I’m looking forward to riding today. I haven’t been on a horse for ages. Hope I haven’t forgotten how,” she worried.<br />
<br />
“Like riding a bicycle,” he laughed. “Once you learn, you never forget. You’ll do fine.”<br />
<br />
Win
turned the sleek, midnight-blue Jaguar into a long, narrow drive
flanked by split-rail fencing. On either side, rolling green pastures
spread as far as she could see. An arched gateway marked the entrance to
the ranch. Mounted at the top of the crescent was an imposing round
emblem emblazoned with a large metal sculpture of Pegasus at its center.<br />
<br />
“Pegasus, the winged horse,” she exclaimed. “What a wonderful name for a horse ranch. Do all your horses fly?”<br />
<br />
He
smiled. “I’m sure when my dad was so into racing, he wished they could.
But it was my grandfather who founded the ranch and named it Pegasus.
He named it after the Greek mythological horse in hopes of pleasing my
grandmother. She was a very scholarly lady of Greek heritage, very
interested in the arts, especially the Greek classics. Grandfather spent
his entire lifetime trying to please her, but I’m afraid to no avail.
I’m told she detested the West and the ranch, preferring Eastern city
life and its more sophisticated offerings. They separated shortly after
my father was born. She kept her Eastern townhouse, attending operas and
grand parties while he built his empire out here.”<br />
“Sad she
couldn’t have enjoyed it with him,” Hannah said. “It’s so wonderfully
tranquil here, a truly rare and beautiful setting with the mountains in
the background and the rolling green hillsides. Didn’t she ever see the
horses race? Not even when the ranch’s prize winners were entered in all
the country’s grandest races?”<br />
<br />
“No, she never did. And
it was a great sorrow to my grandfather. But, oddly enough, he never
divorced her. He always hoped she’d change her mind, come back to him,
and learn to love the land as he did. My father was raised by Mary
Little Deer’s mother here at the ranch. He was an only child, of course,
and the lifestyle Grandmother lived in the East was not meant for a
boisterous little boy. So he grew up at Pegasus and loved the ranch
until his dying day. Now it’s mine, and I must say, I share his deep
love for the place.”<br />
<br />
They had pulled up to a sprawling
Spanish hacienda with a red tiled roof and thick adobe-brick walls.
Built around a central courtyard, the house had the look of an early
California mission.<br />
<br />
“It’s really the picture of the Old West, Win. I can see why you love it here,” she said as he helped her out of the car.<br />
<br />
The
house’s thick walls and Mexican tile flooring made it cool and
inviting. He ushered her through wide carved doors adorned by large
bronze knockers shaped like horse heads. As they stood together in the
dimly lit hall, Hannah blinked to adjust her eyes. From a stained-glass
window at the end, a prism of light slanted across the floor,
illuminating a majestic bronze sculpture of Pegasus standing like a
sentinel in the massive entry. She stared at the beautiful sculpture.
“It looks like it would take flight at any moment, leave its marble
pedestal for the heavens.”<br />
<br />
“My grandfather had it made in Europe,” Win explained as she continued to study the art piece.<br />
<br />
“Another
futile attempt to win back Athena’s heart, I suppose. The artist who
did the piece has become quite famous. Perhaps you know of him—P. J.
Mene. He did some smaller renditions of the same subject for him. One is
in the garden, but I’m not sure where the others are now.”<br />
<br />
Hannah
walked closer to the exquisitely detailed bronze statue, gently
touching its flowing mane and extended wings. “He certainly captured the
spirit of the horse.”<br />
<br />
“I thought you might like it.”<br />
<br />
“And is this what you wanted so much for me to see?”<br />
<br />
“No,
it isn’t,” he said, smiling mysteriously. “You’ll have to wait for
that,” he teased. “Now let’s see if Mary Little Deer left us a snack in
the library.” He led her through wide double-oak doors into a large
high-ceilinged room with open carved beams. At the far end was a massive
stone fireplace surrounded by walls lined with bookshelves.<br />
<br />
“What a lovely room, and such a collection of fine books,” Hannah said, scanning the leather-bound volumes.<br />
<br />
“Another
of Grandfather’s attempts to please Athena. All the classics are there,
with a very special collection of Greek literature and ancient
mythology. I’m afraid the architecture he chose when he built the ranch
and its name do seem a bit incongruous, but when you know the history of
the place, it fits together after all. I’m rattling on about the past
too much,” Win said, suddenly glancing across the room. “Sure hope
you’re hungry, Mary Little Deer’s done her usual I see. Light snack just
isn’t in her vocabulary. Unless she hears the legs groan the table
isn’t set, “ he laughed. A tray of assorted sandwiches , a large fruit
bowl and a plate of freshly baked cookies with a pot of coffee stood
waiting on a long, low knotty-pine table in front of a deep saddle-brown
leather sofa.<br />
<br />
“It all looks delicious, “ Hannah said. “And actually I’m starved.”<br />
<br />
When
lunch was finished and cleared away by the silently efficient Mary
Little Deer, they went in search of the stables. Once again, Winston
Caughfield III was right; it was like riding a bicycle. Hannah settled
easily into the saddle on a bay mare. Riding next to her, astride his
favorite horse, Alabaster, Win guided them around the barns, past the
corrals and the training track, and toward the gently rolling hills.
They rode for more than an hour, enjoying the sunny afternoon and clear,
fresh air. The bay mare responded eagerly when Hannah nudged her into a
canter. Although spirited, the horse was smooth-gaited and perfectly
trained, and Alabaster pranced, tossing his head to show off for them
both. Win rode with the grace and skill of an accomplished rider. It was
obvious how much he loved the horse as he reached over to pat his
arched neck when they pulled up after galloping across an open meadow.<br />
<br />
He
called to Hannah as she reined in beside him. “Over there,” he said,
pointing to the ridge. “Just over that crest is where we’re going.” He
urged Alabaster into a trot, beckoning for her to follow. At the top of
the rise, they pulled the horses up, and Hannah gazed down into a small
valley. Several corrals dotted the landscape, each with its own
enclosure and hay bin. A feed storage shed stood close by, and a barn
was under construction at the far end.<br />
<br />
Hannah looked
questioningly at Win, but he said nothing, just guided his horse down
the slope; she fell in behind him. Hannah’s mare picked her way down the
hillside and came up next to Alabaster at the base of the hill. “Well,
this is it,” he said, spreading his arm wide to indicate the corrals and
structures.<br />
<br />
Hannah looked at him blankly. The corrals were empty, and there seemed to be no one around.<br />
<br />
“Come
on,” Win said. “I want to show you something.” They dismounted, tied
the horses, and walked toward the newly erected barn. He swung the door
wide for her to enter.<br />
<br />
“Almost finished. Some work inside and some paint outside left to do,” he said with satisfaction.<br />
<br />
“This week will do it, and then we’ll be ready for occupancy. Don’t you think?” He turned to a very puzzled Hannah.<br />
<br />
“Yes,
it does seem to be almost finished,” she responded. “Are you planning
on moving some of your horses here from outlying pastures or the main
barn?”<br />
<br />
“No,” he said. “I’m not. This is where I thought we could put your adoptees.” His eyes were twinkling with delight now.<br />
<br />
“My adoptees?”<br />
<br />
“I
read those articles you gave me last month,” he said soberly. “And I
know how you feel about what’s happening to the American wild horses,
the mustangs. You told me yourself about wanting to do a series of
stories on the Adopt-a-Horse Program sponsored by the Bureau of Land
Management and all the problems plaguing the plan. I thought if you had
some space to save a few yourself, it might ease the pain I know you
feel for those animals. And we do have room here at the ranch to take in
a few.” He looked at her hopefully, wanting so much to please her and
let her know he understood how seriously she took this cause.<br />
<br />
“Win,
I can’t let you do this for me,” she said. “Even if I wanted to, it’s
not right. And besides, I could never afford it. At best, I might scrape
up the money for the initial adoption fees.”<br />
<br />
“Who says
it isn’t right?” he broke in quickly. “We can make it strictly a
business deal. You can rent the space at a price you can afford, and
I’ll give you the feed to start you off. Simple as that. Now it’s
settled. How soon do you want to see about the adoption? I’ll even throw
in a little assistance in the training program if you’ll settle for one
old trainer, me. We’ll turn them into trail mounts and find homes for
them. When you begin to turn a profit, you can start buying the feed,
stock, and all that. I know there must be good homes to be found for
well-schooled riding horses.”<br />
<br />
She hugged him. “Oh, Win, it’s perfect.”<br />
<br />
“One
stipulation,” he cautioned her sternly. “You do your articles on saving
the horses, but leave all the corruption, especially Vincent Rossi, out
of it. He’s major trouble.”<br />
<br />
Her brow furrowed, “Well, if he’s involved in any way, that will be hard to do. But I’ll try. I give you my word on that.”<br />
<br />
“Good.
Then let’s get down to business. As I understand it, all you need is a
$125.00 adoption fee and a horse trailer to haul the animal. Do you have
any idea where to go to get these horses? Are they rounded up out in
Montana, Wyoming, or where?”<br />
<br />
“I’ve gotten some information, Win, but I’ll get more next week. I think a lot are in Nevada. I’ll find out.”<br />
<br />
“Good.
I’ll wait to hear from you about it in a few days,” he said. “Now we
better get back to the ranch and to the city. I have an early-morning
deposition to prepare for if I’m going to continue to have any law
practice.”<br />
<br />
All the way back to the ranch house, she
chattered excitedly about the mustangs, the Adopt-a-Horse Program, and
their plans. Win smiled happily at her, knowing the project was sure to
bring her closer to him. The idea had come to him almost immediately
after she had shown him the tiny newspaper clipping about the BLM’s
horse adoption program. Her passion and love for her work involving the
humane treatment of animals really did impress him. She was dedicated
and tireless in her efforts to expose animal abuse and exploitation. He
was really looking forward to helping her, but mostly, he had to admit,
he just wanted to be important in her life. He’d known that much after
their first date.<br />
They had met so unexpectedly. She was seated
with friends in the box next to his on the opening day of the Penbrook
Park Races. Quite by accident, they were introduced by his friend Neil
Jacobs, whose thoroughbreds were running that day. She immediately
impressed him with her quiet, unassuming manner. Neil had spoken of her
articles and told him she was sure to be a candidate for the Pulitzer
Prize one day.<br />
<br />
Long ago, after losing his first wife to
cancer, Win had resigned himself to a solitary life. But looking at
Hannah’s young, eager face today, he felt how much he wanted her near
him. At forty-five, Winston Caughfield III was a handsome, distinguished
man, and he was very aware that he was fifteen years her senior. But
when they were together, the age difference seemed of no importance to
either of them. In many ways, she seemed mature far beyond her years,
perhaps because of her total commitment to her work and the tragedy of
her young husband’s death. She seldom spoke of her loss; only once had
she mentioned that ill-fated Chicago flight. She was very courageous. He
looked over at her now, long stands of hair loosened from the barrette
streaming in the wind as she rode. He never would have suspected that
there was such strength in that delicate figure riding beside him, but
more than once he had seen her face her adversaries with determination.
Some secret source of energy seemed to well up and spill out of her.
He’d known when she started her investigation into this horse thing that
she would be relentless. He looked forward to sharing in it, but at the
same time he felt a foreboding sense of fear for her. Above all, he
wanted to protect her and keep her near him.<br />
<br />
<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>
<span style="color: black;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="49398"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="END"></a><br /></span>
<br />
<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/2013/09/Making-Wishes.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;">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. 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 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/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" 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 - Women’s 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 – 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;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/beautifulAmerican.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div id="outer_postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<div id="postBodyPS">
<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><br />
<br />
<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><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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>
<div 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/Beautiful-American-Marilyn-Holdsworth-ebook/dp/B0080D41BI/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=1-4&qid=1402430694" 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 - Historical 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 – G</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;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/pegasus.jpg" /></span></span></div>
<div id="outer_postBodyPS" style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;">
<div id="postBodyPS">
<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. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hannah’s search to discover the animal’s true identity leads
them into a web of black marketeering and international intrigue.
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 style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a 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" 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 – Contemporary 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 – PG</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/Marilyn-Holdsworth/e/B006LTHMZK/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 Marilyn Holdsworth on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/marilyn.holdsworth.7" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="http://twitter.com/m_holdsworth" 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><b>Website </b> </b><a href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://marilynholdsworth.com/</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</b> <a href="http://marilynholdsworth.com/blog/" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://marilynholdsworth.com/blog/</a></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-17134846742416290702014-11-28T07:30:00.000+00:002014-12-04T13:51:14.213+00:00#Excerpt from DARK CHEMISTRY by Kirsten Mortensen @KirstenWriter #AmReading #Suspense #Romance <i>This
excerpt is from Chapter 3 of the book. Haley Dubose—a spoiled, shallow
rich girl from Southern California—has reacted exactly as you’d expect
to the news that, in order to inherit her late father’s estate, she has
to move across country and run his company for two years. She threw a
temper tantrum and stayed out too late, drinking with her friends.<br /><br />Now
it’s the next day and she’s in the airport, getting ready to board the
flight to Amesbury, New York, that will change her life forever…</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>***************** </i></div>
<br />
Haley’s head hurt.<br />
<br />
She stood in front of the counter by Gate 7, waiting for the airline attendant to get off the phone.<br />
<br />
“May I help you?”<br />
<br />
Haley pushed her boarding pass across the counter like a note to a bank teller. “I’d like to upgrade to first class,” she said.<br />
<br />
The attendant shook her head. “I’m sorry. We’ve got a full flight. There are no first class seats available.”<br />
<br />
“I
have miles,” Haley said, but faintly. She wasn’t exactly sure if she’d
be able to use Sheila’s miles on a ticket paid for by Marla, the person
at her father’s company who’d actually bought it.<br />
<br />
The attendant,
in any case, didn’t seem to hear. “I’m sorry,” she said again, and then
picked up her microphone. “Okay folks, we’re now ready to begin
boarding. First class. Anyone serving in the military. People with small
children or who need special assistance—you may now board.”<br />
<br />
Haley looked down at her ticket. 23F.<br />
<br />
The printing pulsed slightly in the fluorescent light. Pulsed like her headache.<br />
<br />
And she gave up.<br />
<br />
At least it was a window seat ...<br />
<br />
She
pulled her rollerboard over to the rows of gray chairs near the gate,
and squeezed herself into an empty one between two other fliers to wait
for her turn to board.<br />
<br />
² ² ² ² ²<br />
<br />
The plane rose, tipped.
Haley watched the red tiled roofs north of downtown shrink and then the
plane tipped again and circled counterclockwise out over the bay. The
water looked like rippled glass from this height. Still climbing,
circling now back over land—over the mountains, the tawny desert
mountains that flank San Diego to the east ...<br />
<br />
She shut her eyes.<br />
<br />
With
her eyes closed she lost any sense that the plane was moving forward.
There was only the jiggling turbulence and the roar of the engines
humming through her body ... but that was people talking, too? How could
their voices be so clear with the engines that loud, she could hear
every word they said ... a woman telling someone about her son joining
the Navy ... a father promising a child that he’d get the iPad when the
seatbelt sign turned off ... now the jiggling and the vibration of the
engine made it feel like they were moving backwards ...<br />
<br />
I can’t believe my father did this to me.<br />
<br />
What had that lawyer told her?<br />
<br />
That
Richard Molnare’s entire estate was tied up in the company he’d
founded. And in two years—provided Haley met the terms of the will—she’d
be able to sell RMB, get her money, and go home.<br />
<br />
“So what you’re saying is, at that point I get my 70 million dollars,” Haley had said.<br />
<br />
But
the lawyer had waved her hand back and forth, a gesture signaling not
so fast. “Not exactly. RMB generates 70 million in annual revenue.
That’s not the same as the value of the estate. You understand the
difference, right?”<br />
<br />
And Haley had pretended that oh, sure, she’d understood the difference all along.<br />
<br />
And
the lawyer had gone on for a bit about how the company had been doing
well for quite a few years in a row. Something about how it was part of a
growth industry, and that a lot of other companies like it were buying
each other up, which meant that when Haley’s two years was up, chances
were good that RMB would be easy to sell.<br />
<br />
“Of course,” the lawyer
had continued—the lawyer had talked on and on for hours, it seemed
like—“what you take out will depend, in part, on how well the company
performs when you’re running it. If you can keep it on its current path,
it should be worth more, in two years, than it is today. Several
million dollars more, perhaps.”<br />
<br />
Whatever.<br />
<br />
Haley opened her eyes and leaned forward.<br />
<br />
A thick manila envelope protruded from the tote she’d pushed under the seat in front of her.<br />
<br />
Everything
she needed was in that envelope, according to the lawyer. Including a
Ziploc bag with a key inside—the key to her father’s house.<br />
<br />
She
turned and peered out of the window. The ground was gone, everything was
gone, they were inside a cloud—the cloud so thick, so uniformly white
that it didn’t seem like they were moving at all—they were suspended,
motionless except for that slight jiggling, they weren’t moving forwards
they weren’t moving backwards they were motionless ...<br />
<br />
She
pulled down the plastic shade and closed her eyes again, the sensation
growing again that she wasn’t moving anywhere ... she was suspended in
the air somewhere, suspended in a box ... in a box over which she had no
control, and what choice did she have but to sit here, to let herself
be jiggled and vibrated and hopefully go to sleep ...<br />
<br />
The
“seatbelt sign is on” bell-tone dinged and the pilot came on the
intercom to tell them the flight time to O’Hare would be four hours and
they’d be out of the turbulence soon and to enjoy the flight.<br />
<br />
What was it that Oliver said to me?<br />
<br />
She couldn’t remember it—not the words—only that he’d been ugly to her.<br />
<br />
The asshole.<br />
<br />
Her head hurt.<br />
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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> &amp;<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>&amp; <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-4510849455081269300.post-83633507577775812832014-10-16T10:00:00.000+01:002014-10-16T19:14:37.576+01:005 Strangers, a Craigslist Ad & the Making of a Book by Erin Sands @TheDunesBook #AmWriting #NonFiction<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>5 Strangers and a Craigslist Ad</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I
never intended to write a book. In fact, I was too busy crying and
asking, “Why God? Why?” to actually make time to be an author. Although I
have always been a pretty good writer, the personal crisis and
emotional melt down I was having at the moment took precedence. Have you
ever heard of the saying, “<i>Pain is often the birthplace of a revolution</i>”? No? Well, I wrote that. It is one of my inspired quotes and it is exactly how my book, The Dunes, was born.</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
initially wrote The Dunes because I was journaling. I decided to turn
the challenges that I was experiencing into an allegory. I never
intended for anyone else to read it. It was purely a creative form of
self-therapy. In fact, years later when God put it on my heart to expand
The Dunes and make it into a book with journal questions, testimonies
and challenges…I had no idea if what I wrote would actually resonate
with readers. I did know, however, that I was willing to put it to the
test. I put an ad on Craigslist asking for strangers to read my book,
answer the journal questions and do the challenges while allowing me to
chronicle their journey on film.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/U9LRSz" href="http://bit.ly/U9LRSz">http://bit.ly/U9LRSz</a></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;">The
five strangers who answered my ad are the bravest people I know. Not
because they answered my ad but because they had each come to a place in
their lives where they wanted something more and were willing to
release the things that had been holding them back in order to get it.
To say we were a motley crew is an understatement. The ages and
backgrounds ran the gamut. A sincere heart for change was the consistent
thread. Over seven weeks, these five strangers searched their hearts,
released their fears, forgave past hurts and stretched themselves in
ways that were uncomfortable. Yes, there were some days with tears; but
the joy, the growth and the freedom that they all now experience, made
it well worth it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://bit.ly/1hxaOC1" href="http://bit.ly/1hxaOC1">http://bit.ly/1hxaOC1</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">During
my journey with those readers there were moments when I wanted to quit.
Following five strangers lives over seven weeks and trusting them to
not only read my book but to authentically put their best foot forward
in conquering their own demons was a bit nerve wracking. It forced me to
examine my own issues of trust and vulnerability. As they were going
through their “Dunes” journey, The Dunes was growing its author yet
again in a whole new way.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In
the end, when I saw how deeply The Dunes affected each of the readers
and how profoundly their lives had changed as a result, I knew that I
had to get it published. I used the footage of their experiences as my
book trailer but more than that I use the truth of each of their
transformations to remind me of the time five strangers and an author
dared to believe.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><a data-mce-href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/dunesfinalSB.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/dunesfinalSB.jpg"><img alt="5DmkII_2226" class="aligncenter wp-image-40866" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/5DmkII_2226-198x300.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/5DmkII_2226-198x300.jpg" height="193" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="127" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Born
in Cincinnati, Ohio and raised in the Bay Area of Northern California,
Erin grew up with an innate love for dance, theatre and the written
word. A graduate of Loyola Marymount University, Erin began her career
in the arts as an actress and choreographer. After booking several
notable roles in television and film, Erin began to use her gift of
writing in blogs featuring political and social commentary, as well as
developing content for theatrical use.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Although<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Dunes</i>,
is a divine departure from Erin’s previous writings it is by far her
most cherished work to date. “I wrote The Dunes initially as self
therapy because I needed to release some painful experiences and
disappointments from my past. I had this thirst to walk in the complete
fullness of life with joy as my constant companion. I had no idea what
effect it would have on other people. But when I saw people read it and
be released from fears that had held them back for years…when I saw
people forgive and be able to walk in the freedom forgiveness
brings…when I saw people commit and serve and how those things opened up
new opportunities in their life, I was just humbled. Humbled by the
awesome power of God and humbled that I had been allowed to go along for
the ride”.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When asked<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>why</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>she
writes, Erin pauses and reflects on the truth of her heart. “I write
because although I am only now beginning to truly love the process, I
have always loved the outcome. Like a composer, words become my notes. I
string them together in song eliciting the response of my reader,
grafting a picture of my soul. Where besides the written word can you
effect change so utterly and so succinctly? What besides the written
word can pierce the universal collective mind? Everything begins with a
thought, but it isn’t until that thought is articulated in written word
and those words passed down can life changing movement happen. It must
be written, it must be expressed on tablet, and when it is, we all
become greater, whether the writing be genius or fatuity, it has evoked
thought and debate. Why wouldn’t I want to be apart of that phenomenon?
Why wouldn’t I want to share my story, give my testimony…add my paradigm
to the mix? Whether it is a novel, a poem, an essay or an article, it
is humanity visited. An insight into a new or sometimes shared truth.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><b>In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b>And with that I live my life”.</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/dunesfinalSB.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/dunesfinalSB.jpg"><br /></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/Dune.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Dune.jpg"><img alt="Dune" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-40719" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Dune.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Dune.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">If there was a journey that could masterfully change your life in seven revelations...would you take it? <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" /><br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />In
life, sometimes the kernels of wisdom and the richness of revelation
can be found in the most innocent of stories; and so it is with The
Dunes. Join one man and one woman in an exquisitely simple yet
remarkably profound journey as you discover with them that the mountain
you must climb in order to live the abundant life of your dreams is
located squarely within your heart. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" /><br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />Illuminated
in seven revelations; The Dunes carries the reader on a journey to not
only examine the obstacles that are holding them back in life but to
conquer and over come them as well. With each revelation The Dunes
intimately calls on the reader as the journey companion to face a
challenge…a dare if you will that requires an uncompromising commitment
to change. In the family of faith-based self help books, The Dunes
stands alone, simultaneously taking the reader from fiction to life and
back again, equipped with a tailor made journal for the readers inner
most secrets and reflections. The Dunes is part allegory, part testimony
and part journal, but the best part is the healing it offers your
heart. When you’re ready to step out of your comfort zone and step into
the miracle of your life…The Dunes awaits. <br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" /><br data-mce-style="color: #000000;" />CAUTION:
Readers of this book are subject to significant changes for the better.
Side effects may include frequent smiling and enjoying life in every
season.</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;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Buy Now @ <a data-mce-href="http://www.amazon.com/Dunes-Release-Fears-Restore-Renew-ebook/dp/B00KO43L2Q/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1403131233" href="http://www.amazon.com/Dunes-Release-Fears-Restore-Renew-ebook/dp/B00KO43L2Q/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=8-1&qid=1403131233" target="_blank">Amazon</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;"><i>Genre – Non-fiction</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>Rating – G</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/Erin-Sands/e/B00M5ZWIM6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" href="http://www.amazon.com/Erin-Sands/e/B00M5ZWIM6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_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 Erin Sands on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/thedunesbook" href="https://www.facebook.com/thedunesbook" target="_blank">Facebook</a> &<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="http://www.twitter.com/thedunesbook" href="http://www.twitter.com/thedunesbook" 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.thedunesbook.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29-Z7bqviUDISeSGG7sYWToCfcGIg" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.thedunesbook.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29-Z7bqviUDISeSGG7sYWToCfcGIg" target="_blank">www.thedunesbook.com</a></b></span></span></div>
Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-61709867019681150722014-10-16T07:30:00.000+01:002015-01-15T18:05:08.899+00:00Saga of the Nine: #Area38 by Mikey D. B. @mikeydbii #AmReading #SagaoftheNine #Dystopian<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The
rusty metal box is as tempting as it is frightening and the taunting
dilemma puts Joe and Jackson on the edge of their seats. Tentatively,
Jackson flips the latches and carefully unpicks the lock. Rust
particles tumble to the table top to yield a euphoric mystery. It was
buried for a reason--a reason good enough to kill for. Books will at
the very least put them on stage with Christopher; it’s conspiracy
against The Government. Audio is labeled as disturbing the peace,
therefore you’ll be on stage. Pictures disturb the mind, and ideas the
heart. The two friends are all too aware that the box most likely
contains something that will eventually lead to their demise.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Should we?” Jackson’s hands rest on either side of the lid hoping Joe says “no” but secretly wanting him to say “hell yeah!”.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Hesitantly Joe masks his anticipation. “Yeah. Why not?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That’s
not confirmation filled with enthusiasm, but Jackson pries the rusty
box open without delving into the endless reasons as to why or why not.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“A book!” Joe instantly shouts, the memories flooding back to him.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All
fear is gone. Joe yanks it out and begins flapping dust in every
direction as he flips through the delicate paper pages. Jackson counts
it and every artifact carefully to create a mental inventory: a black
fat book, three dark blue books, an ancient audio device, a series of
discs and a chain necklace.</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;">Immediately
Jackson reaches for the only object that won’t get him killed and
begins to examine the tiny metal links of the necklace. He slips it
over his head and dangles the relic from his neck, watching the ancient
key swing from left to right until his jacket stops the momentum. Next
he reaches for the audio device, surprised technology like this can
still be found.</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;">“Holy
Bible? Odd word, bible.” Wonder why it’s holy, he thinks before
slamming the black book down, creating a wave of dust in the process.
Frantically, he then reaches for one of the discs and asks, “What’s a
CD?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“And
what’s an iPod?” Jackson mumbles to himself, reading the metallic
lettering. He flips the device over and notices a small red button.
Pressing it, the screen illuminates. A small white apple appears for a
short while until a bright menu takes its place.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wow!” Joe proclaims. “It still works!”</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;">“Yeah, I think it has one of those solar, nuclear, forever lasting batteries.”</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;">“Where the hell did yuh hear that?”</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 friend.” Jackson thinks of Conner and the tidbits of random knowledge he’s accumulated from him.</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;">Joe
is about to delve in and interrogate Jackson as to which friend he is
talking about, but becomes distracted by the shimmering of the CD
object. “What do you make of these?” Joe hands him a small stack of
plastic square casings. Inside each casing sits a shiny, compact disc.
Joe picks up one labeled<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>John Mayer<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>and is quick to discover the glare that can be created when angling them just right. Without hesitating he blinds Jackson.</span></span></div>
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<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;">“These things are awesome!” He giggles with joy. He can’t believe he found it, and in all places Grandma Lisa’s old yard.</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;">“Yeah,
super cool.” Jackson places the small stack down and goes back to the
iPod device. He scrolls through the various menus until finding a
series of foreign words. “American Backstory, The USA: a founding?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hey Jackson! This one has yer name on it. Well kind of.” Joe hands him one of the shiny encased discs labeled:<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>The Rouge Family: DIA BBQ USA HQ Oct 14, 2037</i>.
Jackson shivers at reading the words, and as Joe continues to reflect
light throughout the room, Jackson makes one more discovery<i>. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>Picking up a petite tan envelope found in between one of the blue books labeled<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Journal</i>,
he compresses the contents to feel a number of different pieces of
papers. He spins it around to reveal one last spooky sight.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“To
Jackson from Mom and Dad.” He reads it reverently and in seconds, a
rush of adrenalin floods through his veins. “Joe. Put everything back
in the box. Now!” </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/Saga-of-the-Nine.jpg" href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Saga-of-the-Nine.jpg"><img alt="Saga of the Nine" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-41059" data-mce-src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Saga-of-the-Nine.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/Saga-of-the-Nine.jpg" height="200" width="130" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Change
affects everyone and it is no different for Jackson. Living in Area 38
for as long as he can remember, he knows of no better way to exist than
under the tyrannical rule of Christopher Stone, son of Stewart Stone
from The Nine of The United Governmental Areas, aka The UGA. This all
takes a dramatic turn when Jackson finds a red, metal box buried in his
yard, filled with illegal artifacts—journals, a Bible, CDs, etc.—that
are from a man of whom he has no recollection of: Mica Rouge.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> The
year is 2036 and Mica, unlike Jackson, does know of a better way of
life but is torn apart as he sees his country, The United States of
America, crumbling from within by group known as The Political Mafia.
The Mafia has infiltrated levels upon levels of governmental resources
and it is up to Mica and a vigilante group known as The USA Division to
stop them and their dark Utopian vision. To their demise, and at the
country's expense, The Division fails and has no choice but to watch The
Constitution dissolve and transform into The UGA.</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;">In
a final stand, having not given up hope, Mica and what is left of The
Division, give one final fight in Colorado, or better known as Area 38.
However, all is lost as The Division is betrayed by one of their own,
Stewart Stone. Mica is left with no choice but to hide in exile, leaving
what little history he can of himself and the great United States of
America, with his wife, long time friends, and newly born son in hopes
that they will one day finish what he could not.</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;">Jackson,
having found this legacy twenty-seven years later, decides to start the
war that will end The Nine, and he with an outcast group known as The
Raiders, begins his fight with Christopher Stone in Area 38. Filled with
betrayal, unity, despair, hope, hate and love Area 38 follows both Mica
and Jackson in their attempts to restore what they believe to be true
freedom, and where one fails, the other rises to the seemingly
impossible challenge.</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/Saga-Nine-Mikey-D-B-ebook/dp/B00I3I8R9W/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1391036693&sr=1-1&keywords=mikey+d.+b." href="http://www.amazon.com/Saga-Nine-Mikey-D-B-ebook/dp/B00I3I8R9W/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1391036693&sr=1-1&keywords=mikey+d.+b." target="_blank">Amazon</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Dystopian Thriller</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – PG13</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=Mikey%20D.%20B.&search-alias=digital-text&sort=relevancerank" href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=ntt_athr_dp_sr_1?_encoding=UTF8&field-author=Mikey%20D.%20B.&search-alias=digital-text&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 Mikey D. B. on <a data-mce-href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mikey-D-B/193122724228568?ref=hl" href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Mikey-D-B/193122724228568?ref=hl" target="_blank">Facebook</a> &<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><a data-mce-href="https://twitter.com/mikeydbii" href="https://twitter.com/mikeydbii" 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.mikeydb.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29rFXKoKCy5nHRPTeDOI1JD41dROQ" href="https://www.google.com/url?q=http://www.mikeydb.com&usd=2&usg=ALhdy29rFXKoKCy5nHRPTeDOI1JD41dROQ" target="_blank">www.mikeydb.com</a></b></span></span></div>
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Quality Reads UKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03216387289293473067noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-4915354478828141772014-09-23T21:30:00.000+01:002014-09-23T21:35:24.205+01:00The Soul of the World by Joshua Silverman @jg_silverman #Fantasy #SciFi #ReviewShare <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17453855-the-soul-of-the-world" style="float: left; padding-right: 20px;"><img alt="The Soul of the World (Legends of Amun Ra, #2)" border="0" src="https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1377614824m/17453855.jpg" /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17453855-the-soul-of-the-world">The Soul of the World</a> by <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6479929.Joshua_Silverman">Joshua Silverman</a><br />
My rating: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/1062118617">4 of 5 stars</a><br />
<br />
"A black sphere formed before her. She hurled it at the closest man, striking him in the heart. He doubled over, clutching his chest as the black energy spread. His skin prickled. Black veins sprouted up over his heart then spread to his neck, face, and head. The man’s eyeballs rolled up and he collapsed to the floor with a thud." <br />
<br />
A scene so vivid like the above definitely made me look over my shoulder at least once. Joshua Silverman's writing made it exciting to get through each chapter. <br />
<br />
This is definitely an above average story that leaves the reader wanting more. I look forward to exploring the rest of the series. The story although simple is made unique with the author's words and scene setting. <br />
<br />
Both good and bad characters made the story more interesting. They had held my interest and the action was entertaining. Bottom line this was a fantastic read and it is a great series I recommend. <br />
<br />
Disclosure - As a Quality Reads UK Book Club member, I received a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. I received no monetary compensation for my book review. This book review is based on my thoughts, opinion and understanding of the book. This book review does not reflect the opinion of other book club members. <br />
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/list/15115230-elizabeth-locker">View all my reviews</a>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15778386702473025429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-72678830878292813002014-07-03T07:30:00.000+01:002014-09-20T05:19:52.911+01:00@MargaretWestlie on Anne of Green Gables & Maggie Muggins #AmReading #Historical #Fiction <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/01/07/64f99eb37ecd0ac1d18838.L._V361909842_SY470_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://g-ecx.images-amazon.com/images/G/01/ciu/01/07/64f99eb37ecd0ac1d18838.L._V361909842_SY470_.jpg" height="320" width="252" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>What books did you love growing up?</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;">I loved the <i>Anne of Green Gables</i> stories and ultimately read every one several times. I liked J. M. Barrie’s<i> Little Minister</i>, and <i>Maggie Muggins</i>. There were others of this nature. I also liked the Cherry Ames series (nurse) and the Nancy Drew series. My father encouraged reading and education and he always read to me when I was tiny and read poetry to me when I was older.</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>Who is your favourite author?</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;">I don’t know if I have a favourite author. I like stories that have a happy ending with all problems resolved satisfactorily. An author who provides this is one I will likely read again. I am rather taken with the Mitford novels by Jan Karon just now and have read about half of those so far. I don’t like stories that are dark and brooding. I like interpersonal relationship stories.</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>What do you hope your obituary will say about you?</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;">That I was joyful. I don’t know what else to say. Of course, I am many other things like warm and kind but those traits are kind of cliche to say out loud. I’m gentle and mostly non-judgemental although if you look at judgement as discernment that opens up a whole other discussion. I am discerning. I’ve thought off and on that I should write my obituary just for the exercise of it. It seems a little extreme but it could be very revealing. The other side is that what I would write now and what I would write in ten years time could very well be something entirely different.</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>Location and life experiences can really influence writing, tell us where you grew up and where you now live?</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;">I grew up in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, and was educated in the Halifax school system. I took my nursing diploma at the Victoria General Hospital School of nursing, worked in ER there, then on to Dalhousie University in Halifax. After my nursing degree I lived in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia doing Public Health, then on Prince Edward Island doing several nursing jobs. I then lived in Calgary, Alberta, doing in-service education, then on to Waterville, Maine, as a nursing supervisor and night charge nurse. I met my husband in Waterville and we lived there for a year until he took a job in Liberty, Missouri, and we moved to the Kansas City area. I worked for awhile as a night charge nurse at the hospital and then retired in 1988. I started studying music at the college where John was professor because I always wanted to study music. My writing education began there.</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>How did you develop your writing?</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;">I picked up the English courses I needed at the college where my husband was teaching to convert my nursing degree to an English major, then went to University of Missouri at Kansas City for a Masters’ degree in English with a professional writing emphasis. Since then I have taken various workshops in poetry and now have over two hundred poems. I have also been writing and writing, and reading about writing and practising writing. You rarely see me without a pen in hand and my listening ears 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;"><b>Where do you get your inspiration from?</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;">Inspiration comes to me through stories I hear. My uncle, now deceased, was a great story teller. The germ of Anna’s Secret came from the story of Anne Beaton’s Hollow. The murder occurred in Lyndale and the hollow is still called by that name. My grandmother was another source of good stories. She lived to be 106 and died in 1990, just before I started writing. She was bright to the end and people came from far away to learn about their ancestors. They’d ask her about a certain person and she’d think for a moment and then say: “yes, he/she was so -and-so’s child but he/she always went by this nickname.” A lot of stories went with both her and her son.</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>Do you find it hard to share your work?</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;">No. Once it’s written it is no longer really mine, and it is what it is. It doesn’t matter what people think it says about me, I am who I am. People may disagree with what I’ve said for their own reasons that have nothing to do with what I’ve said. Also, I am no longer shy about saying that I’m a writer because that’s what I am, published or not. That insight came to me a few years ago when I was thinking about what makes a writer.</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>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-41853459547490100322014-06-28T07:00:00.000+01:002014-07-15T13:45:27.870+01:00A Life Less Ordinary by Victoria Bernadine @VicBernadine #Excerpt #Contempary #ChickLit <div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Manny glanced up as her assistant energetically bounced in.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Morning, Manny.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Morning, Roxie. How was your evening?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Great–went to that new Robert Downey Jr. movie–<i>rrrooowwwrrrr!</i> Phil wasn’t too impressed with my drooling 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;">Manny laughed. “I’d expect not. I guess I need to go see it then.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah, sure. When was the last time you actually went to a movie in the theatre?”</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 paused, considering the question then shrugged carelessly. “Can’t remember, actually.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Roxie shook her head in exasperated fondness and sat down in front of Manny’s desk. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “So, the new boss starts today?”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yep,” Manny replied absently, reviewing the e-mails in her inbox.</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 going to be okay with this? I mean, 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;">“Of course I’m okay with it. Steph’s a nice person, bright, energetic, competent, levelheaded, full of new ideas. She may have a bit of a learning curve ahead of her, but she’ll do just fine. She may be just what we need around here. Perk us up a bit.”</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yeah, but 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;">Manny took her hands off the keyboard and turned to face Roxie directly. She gave her a reassuring smile and calmly held her gaze.</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 okay with it,” she said. “Really. I didn’t want to be the boss anyway.” She paused then continued. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ll see. A new boss will be fun!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Roxie grimaced cynically and Manny shook her head in mock disapproval.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“We should get to work,” she urged gently.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Roxie nodded and stood. “Yeah, that at least never changes. But Manny…”</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 raised a quizzical eyebrow.</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 should’ve been you.”</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;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/ALifeLessOrdinary.jpg" /></span></span></div>
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<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>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-90887084735044481672014-06-25T10:30:00.000+01:002014-06-26T10:01:04.841+01:00Along The Watchtower by David Litwack @DavidLitwack #Contemporary #Fantasy #AmReading The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. In less than a minute, I found myself in physical therapy. Like the rest of the hospital, the room was green-tile sterile, but someone had made an effort to cheer it up. Porcelain clowns lined the windowsill. Stuffed circus animals—lions and elephants and a family of monkeys—surrounded the rack that held the free weights. And a variety of fresh-cut flowers had been set in mugs in the cup holder for each exercise bicycle and treadmill. Later, I’d learn from Ralph that Becky kept them fresh, paying for them out of her own pocket. He said she’d deny it, but he’d seen her sneak in on more than one Monday morning with an armful.<br />
<br />
<i>Fresh-cut flowers</i>. Mom used to get them every Monday as well, to brighten up the gingerbread house. But after Dad died, she started leaving them too long, not replacing them until they’d decayed so badly they smelled. After Joey died, she stopped buying them altogether. <br />
<br />
The girl I met in the courtyard stood over a rolling aluminum table, organizing things I didn’t much like the look of. She was sufficiently absorbed that she didn’t notice us until Ralph called out. <br />
<br />
“Afternoon, Becky. Brought you some fresh meat.” <br />
<br />
She turned and grinned. “Always love a new victim.” <br />
<br />
“Great. I’ll leave you two alone. Sounds like you need some privacy.” <br />
<br />
After he left, she went back to finishing her preparations, making me wait. Finally, she came over and extended a hand. <br />
<br />
“We already met, but let’s make it official. You’re Lt. Williams, but I can call you Freddie. I’m your worst nightmare, but you can call me Becky.” <br />
<br />
I reached out and shook her hand. She didn’t seem scary. <br />
<br />
“Ralph says you’re the best, that if anybody can bring me back, you can.” <br />
<br />
“Ralph’s wrong. I’m just the guide. You’re going to do most of the work.” <br />
<br />
“But are you the best?” <br />
<br />
“Let’s say I haven’t lost one yet.” <br />
<br />
“So I’ll be back on the basketball court in no time.” <br />
<br />
Her grin vanished. She grabbed a chair, dragged it over and sat next to me. <br />
<br />
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, Freddie, so we need to be straight with each other, right from the outset. My goal is to get you back to as normal a life as possible. If you work hard, I’ll have you out of that wheelchair and on crutches in a month. A month after that, maybe a cane. Beyond that, we’ll see. I make no promises other than to work as hard as you will.” <br />
<br />
She stared at me. I stared back, captivated by my reflection in her gray-green eyes. She blinked first and went back to the rolling table. <br />
<br />
. . . . . . . <br />
<br />
She sat down again and undid the Velcro from my brace. <br />
<br />
I winced. I hadn’t looked at my leg much since my peek the week before. The incision was less angry and the oozing had stopped. But what shocked me were the muscles. Where once I had bulges, now there were hollows. Not the leg of an athlete or soldier. Not the leg of a guy who might someday dunk. The leg of an invalid. Becky’s words rattled around in my brain. Crutches, then a cane. After that, we’ll see. <br />
<br />
“It may not be pretty,” she said, as if she’d read my mind, “but it’s yours. Take a good look. Let it motivate you when you start making progress. And trust me, you <i>will</i> make progress.” <br />
<br />
She squeezed some ointment from a tube onto her hands and rubbed them together. <br />
<br />
“This will feel a little cold.” <br />
<br />
She spread the ointment, swirling her fingertips over what had once been my quad. When she started the e-stim treatment, I felt the muscle spasm and contract involuntarily, a strange but not entirely unpleasant feeling. As she slid the wand around, humming along to its buzz, I noticed her touch more than the current. <br />
<br />
She spoke out of nowhere. “I read the report. Says you have no family.” <br />
<br />
I kept staring at her making figure-eights on my leg. <br />
<br />
“Is that right?” she said. <br />
<br />
I nodded. <br />
<br />
“What happened?” <br />
<br />
“I was born an orphan.” <br />
<br />
She turned off the e-stim and looked up at me. <br />
<br />
“Want to talk about it?” <br />
<br />
“No.” <br />
<br />
“Ralph said you don’t talk much.” <br />
<br />
“I talk when I want to. I don’t want to talk now.” <br />
<br />
“Fine with me.” She resumed the treatment, hummed a few more bars, and then spoke without looking up. “Ralph was right about another thing.” <br />
<br />
“What’s that?” <br />
<br />
“You <i>are</i> a hard case.” <br />
<br />
She was quiet after that, going about her job while I focused on the clowns at the windowsill. Every now and then, I’d sneak a look at her. A beautiful, happy optimist. But she’d never lived my life. <br />
<br />
Crutches and a cane. After that, we’ll see. I was different from her—a realist. I knew what “we’ll see” meant. I’d need more than physical therapy to bring me back. I’d need a miracle.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/AlongtheWatchtower.jpg"><img alt="AlongtheWatchtower" border="0" class="alignnone size-full wp-image-28979" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/AlongtheWatchtower.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;">
Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Along-The-Watchtower-ebook/dp/B00D5CI6U6/ref=la_B008JG79A6_1_2_title_0_main?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383268309&sr=1-2" target="_blank">Amazon</a></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Genre – Contemporary Fiction, Fantasy</i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>Rating – PG</i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/David-Litwack/e/B008JG79A6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" target="_blank">the author</a> and <a href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/2013/12/along-watchtower-david-litwack/">the book</a> </i></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Connect</b> with David Litwack on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/david.litwack.author" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/DavidLitwack" target="_blank">Twitter</a></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<b>Website <a href="http://www.davidlitwack.com/" target="_blank">http://www.davidlitwack.com</a></b></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15778386702473025429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-36995864449978696572014-06-25T09:30:00.000+01:002014-06-26T09:58:49.925+01:00THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ICE - Will the money come? by @TheobaldSprague #Memoir #Family<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 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>
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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;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/TheOtherSideOfIce.jpg" /></span></span></div>
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<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 />
<div align="center" style="margin-bottom: 10px;">
<br />
<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>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-58272468703703425842014-06-25T08:30:00.000+01:002014-06-26T09:58:32.295+01:00Dance For A Dead Princess by Deborah Hawkins @DeborahHawk3 #Mystery #Romance #AmReading<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>PROLOGUE</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mid-April 2010, Paris</span></div>
<br />
In the gray spring rain, he stood in the Place d'Alma staring down at the tunnel where she had vanished from his life on the last night of August 1997. He came here whenever he was in Paris. He counted the pillars until he reached number thirteen, the one that had taken her life. Tears formed behind his eyes, as they always did in this place. But he refused to let them overflow. Instead, he took a long breath of fresh rain mixed with the exhaust of cars speeding through the tunnel.<br />
<br />
When the big black Mercedes entered its skid that horrible night, his last living link to Deborah had been taken from him. Diana and Deborah, West Heath girls, friends forever. Deborah had been dead since 1994, but he had lost her long before she became his wife, three years after he met her at Diana's wedding to the Prince of Wales in 1981. How many nights had he spent talking to Diana about his marriage, about her marriage, about his guilt over Deborah, and about the impossibility of being in love? Too many to count. He ached to tell her now how empty his life had become without either of them.<br />
<br />
He stared down the long, gray tunnel, wondering as always what she had felt as she had slipped away from everyone who loved her. Had she struggled against it, as Deborah had? Or had her torn and broken heart quietly accepted its fate? No, he doubted that. She'd have fought to stay with her boys. Diana hadn't gone into death quietly. That January, she'd had a warning of what was coming. She'd recorded a video tape naming her assassins and had given it to someone in America for safekeeping. But she would never tell him who it was. Too dangerous, she always insisted. If you had it, they'd come after you, too. Leave it alone, Nicholas. The tape is safer out of England.<br />
<br />
His phone abruptly interrupted with a text message from his assistant. He was late for a meeting of the Burnham Trust at the Trust's Paris headquarters, and everyone was waiting. Well, they could wait. All day and all night if he wanted. He was the Eighteenth Duke of Burnham and the second richest man in England after the Duke of Westminster, and he'd be late if he decided to be. He hadn't wanted to be a duke but having been forced into the job, he was going to enjoy every possible perk.<br />
<br />
As soon as the news of Diana's death reached him, he'd vowed to find her tape and make it public. No luck for the last thirteen years, but his latest operative had just come up with a stellar lead at last. It was so stellar that not only was he pretty sure he was going to find the tape, he was also going to have the opportunity to unload the decaying family seat in Kent and exact his well-deserved revenge upon his father, the Seventeenth Duke.<br />
<br />
<div align="center">
<img alt="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/DanceForADeadPrincess.jpg" src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/11/DanceForADeadPrincess.jpg" /></div>
<div align="center">
<br /></div>
<div align="center">
Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dance-For-Dead-Princess-ebook/dp/B00C4HP9I0">Amazon</a> </div>
<div align="center">
<i>Genre – Contemporary Romance, Mystery</i> </div>
<div align="center">
<i>Rating – G</i> </div>
<div align="center">
<i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Deborah-Hawkins/e/B00C9QA0P8/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1">the author</a></i> and <a href="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/2013/11/dance-for-a-dead-princess-by-deborah-hawkins/">the book</a> </div>
<div align="center">
<b>Connect</b> with Deborah Hawkins on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/DanceForADeadPrincess">Facebook</a> </div>
<div align="center">
<b>Website <a href="http://deborahlhawkins.com/">http://deborahlhawkins.com/</a></b></div>
Elisabethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15778386702473025429noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-62440765997212411352014-06-15T09:00:00.000+01:002014-06-26T08:11:49.022+01:00Summoned by Rainy Kaye #Fiction #MustRead #Paranormal<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m standing in a large chamber with an arched ceiling and elaborate metal chandeliers. The walls are painted arabesque designs in shades of teal. Persian rugs, showing age but not wear, hang like tapestries. Etched lamps, tall hookahs with dozens of hoses, lanterns with colored glass, leather floor cushions, and silver trays propped on wooden legs spread across the floor.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Down the length of the room hang sheer fabrics in jewel tones, barely obscuring the stage at the far end. The stage stands about three feet high, draped in thick rugs. On the stage rests a throne of hammered silver. Intricate designs wrap across the legs and base, up the high back, and down the arms. The cushion is red and gold.</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 been in this room more times than I can count. I’m sure the room has been here for a hundred years, even if the mansion has not, and the decor must be ten times as old. The air smells deep and musky with the scent of argan oil.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Dimitri.”</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 settle my gaze on the man sitting on the throne. He is tall and wiry, with fair skin, hooked nose, and thin hair. He seems pleased with himself. Then again, he has no reason not to be.</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 name is Karl Walker, and I have known him my whole 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;">“There’s a new a wish,” he says.</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 nods, and a man standing at his side, but barely noticeable, steps forward and offers me a manila envelope. The man wears a dark blue and tan uniform, one of the six men who make up Karl’s actual personal armed security.</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 take the envelope, because in minutes I won’t have a choice anyway. I want to ask why he needs me again so soon after the last orders, but I know my place; I keep my mouth shut.</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 request you hunt down that man and kill him,” he says</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 close my eyes. At least it’s not another kidnapping.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Dimitri?”</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 hesitate, then I force my eyes open. The smirk on his face never fails to make my heart drop into my stomach. To make me think that for one day, just one time, I would love to be able to tell him no. To deny his request.</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 I can’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;">“Seek and kill that man, Dimitri.” Karl smiles, because his next words guarantee he will get his request. “This . . . I . . . wish.”</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 dull hum fills my head. It’s a subtle noise, but it won’t stay that way forever. The further I am from fulfilling the order—the wish—the more obtrusive the sound will become. And that’s just the beginning.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like it or not, I have to obey his command.</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 right. Karl is my Aladdin and I’m the fuckin’ genie.</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 are a few caveats 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;">I don’t have any magical powers.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wishes are unlimited.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And Karl is an asshole.</span></span></div>
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<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/Capture.jpg" height="200" width="124" /></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Twenty-three year old Dimitri has to do what he is told—literally. Controlled by a paranormal bond, he is forced to use his wits to fulfill unlimited deadly wishes made by multimillionaire Karl Walker.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dimitri has no idea how his family line became trapped in the genie bond. He just knows resisting has never ended well. When he meets Syd—assertive, sexy, intelligent Syd—he becomes determined to make her his own. Except Karl has ensured Dimitri can’t tell anyone about the bond, and Syd isn’t the type to tolerate secrets.</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 Karl starts sending him away on back-to-back wishes. Unable to balance love and lies, Dimitri sets out to uncover Karl’s ultimate plan and put it to an end. But doing so forces him to confront the one wish he never saw coming—the wish that will destroy 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;">Summoned is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.</span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Find out more at <b><a href="http://www.summonedtheseries.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.summonedtheseries.com</a></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>Author Bio</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;">Rainy Kaye is an aspiring overlord. In the mean time, she blogs at <a href=http://www.rainyofthedark.com>RainyoftheDark.com</a> and writes paranormal novels from her lair somewhere in Phoenix, Arizona. When not plotting world domination, she enjoys getting lost around the globe, studying music so she can sing along with symphonic metal bands, and becoming distracted by Twitter (<a href=<a href="http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark</a>>@rainyofthedark</a>).She is represented by Rossano Trentin of TZLA.</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/2014/06/Capture1.jpg" height="94" width="320" /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>GIVEAWAY </b><b><a href="http://www.rainyofthedark.com/summoned-tours-giveaways/" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.rainyofthedark.com/summoned-tours-giveaways/</a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Grab a Sidebar badge for your blog & Support Rainy Kaye’s SUMMONED:</b><a href="http://www.rainyofthedark.com/summoned-images/" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.rainyofthedark.com/summoned-images/</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>More ways to connect with Rainy Kaye </i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Author Twitter:</b> <a href="http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.twitter.com/rainyofthedark</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Author Facebook:</b> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/rainyofthedark" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.facebook.com/rainyofthedark</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Author Blog:</b> <a href="http://www.rainyofthedark.com/" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.rainyofthedark.com</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>GoodReads: </b><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20624580-summoned?ac=1" style="text-decoration: none;">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/20624580-summoned?ac=1</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>BookLikes: </b><a href="http://booklikes.com/book/5476398/summoned-rainy-kaye" style="text-decoration: none;">http://booklikes.com/book/5476398/summoned-rainy-kaye</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Facebook: </b><a href="http://www.facebook.com/summonedtheseries" style="text-decoration: none;">http://www.facebook.com/summonedtheseries</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">********</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>Cover Design:</b> Kris Wagner <a href="https://www.facebook.com/digitalgunman" style="text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/digitalgunman</a></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>Model:</b> Adam Jakubowski <a href="https://www.facebook.com/LadyJakubowsky" style="text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/LadyJakubowsky</a></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>Photographer:</b> Marcin Rychły <a href="https://www.facebook.com/karrdepl" style="text-decoration: none;">https://www.facebook.com/karrdepl</a></span></span></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-69199652800365975772014-06-06T10:30:00.000+01:002014-09-08T21:05:35.918+01:00#Thriller Author @Stone_Rik Shares Practical Writing Advice #AmWriting #WriteTip<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The truth of the matter is a full length manuscript is nothing more than an expanded short story. And a short story is a blown up account of something that interested you over coffee, or in a pub, or a musing on the way to work, a joke, an anecdote, a newspaper article, an idea of what you might have done if you’d won the latest lottery (we’ve all been there). The source is endless. But whatever it is you come up with, it should have a beginning, middle and an ending. Obvious maybe, but having a complete idea of what you want before putting pen to paper is important.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The Story: A writer formulates a tale from a basic idea and helps it grow; no one sees every word, line, or chapter of their text in the preamble of thought. At some point it might take on a life of its own where you feel your hand is merely being guided, but that can’t happen until you’ve made a start. Write your idea down in its simplest form. As I said, it needs a beginning, middle and an ending. Beginning; Tom falls for Mary and she likes him too. But Mary is seeing a boy called Harry. Middle: Harry is a bully and Mary has been afraid to break up with him for as long as she can remember. Tom is no hero but feels compelled to be with Mary. Ending: Tom is forced to stand up to Harry. Things go wrong; Harry gives Tom a good thrashing. But this gives Mary the strength to dump Harry and go off into the sunset with Tom… Not a blockbuster in the making, I’m sure, but you can see where I’m going. Those few short sentences provide a skeleton to put flesh on. Now you have your own idea written down, think about it before going further. It’s better to rearrange the bare bones before you have to start pulling flesh out the way to get at them.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Research: Okay, the words flowed, your ideas were brilliant – but were they accurate? Unless you’re writing something like Sci-fi or fantasy there is a high probability that your narrative will incorporate real events – make sure what you write is correct else the reader will lose belief in your ability: try to use more than one source to verify your work.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Patience equals quality: You finish your tale, great, you’re excited, the world of readers must see it, and they must see it now. Nope! From my own standing, you must complete at least 4 drafts – up to you, but that’s my unwritten rule. Done it, good, but you’re not finished. The work should be edited by a pro, and that even goes for the pro editor who writes; it is too easy to overlook your own mistakes. You’ve got it back from your editor – rewrite. Do not look at it and say they were wrong. They might be, but their interpretation is how they understood your written word, so if they didn’t get what you meant then you probably didn’t make it clear. Accept the criticism, that’s what you paid for.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finished: Not yet, you’ve rewritten the book and you love it. It couldn’t be better. So how come it isn’t finished? Well, it might be, but you’ve just messed about with work that has been professionally edited and the quality might have taken a dip. Pay out to have it copy-edited/proof read. The few extra pennies you spend will be worth it.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Done it all? Great, you’re finished – good luck with the next steps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Birth-of-an-Assassin.jpg" /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birth-of-an-Assassin-ebook/dp/B00DIFVC3S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382547441&sr=8-1&keywords=rik+stone" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/birth-of-an-assassin-rik-stone/1115953870?ean=9781783010998" style="text-decoration: none;">B&N</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-gb/books/birth-of-an-assassin/-ykZ9LomEEqWVVtGlJrG-A" style="text-decoration: none;">Kobo</a> & <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/rik+stone/birth+of+an+assassin+28ebook29/9960214/" style="text-decoration: none;">Waterstones</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rik-Stone/e/B00DP4R3OY/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">the author</a></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Connect</b> with Rik Stone on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rik-Stone/602289653148840" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/stone_rik" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Website <a href="http://rik-stone.simdif.com/" itemprop="url" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://rik-stone.simdif.com</a></b></span></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-11603818959035212542014-05-24T09:30:00.000+01:002014-05-25T14:00:50.737+01:00Enemy of Man (Chronicles of Kin Roland) by Scott Moon @ScottMoonWriter #MustRead #SciFi<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Earth Fleet assaults the lost planet, (Excerpt from Enemy of Man, Chapter One):</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">….He knew she kept them all alive. She was a force of nature. He needed to meet a nice girl, someone like Becca.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Damn</i>.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>That’s a planetary assault force</i>.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Go to a bunker,” Kin said, but she was already running.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin risked a final glance toward the wormhole before descending the tower.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>That’s not a Fleet ship.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He jerked the binoculars up.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>No military emblems. No weapons. And it’s shaped like a blockade runner.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Kin forced his gaze toward the ships and troops already on the ground.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The squad leader pointed at Laura and gave an order. <i>Get back. This is Fleet business.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>What the fuck just happen?</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Don’t ask me. You’re the squad leader. Take charge.</i></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<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></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Identify yourself,” Kin said, under his breath.</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/2014/04/enemyOfMan.jpg" /></span></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; font-size: 30px; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Lost Hero</span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<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><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<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></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; font-size: 30px; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Books</span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<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></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; font-size: 30px; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
Movies</span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<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></div>
<h2 style="background-color: white; font-size: 30px; line-height: 40px; margin: 10px 0px; text-align: center; text-rendering: optimizelegibility;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
From the Author</span></h2>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<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><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you have already read Enemy of Man, how was it? Reviews are appreciated! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Have a great day and be safe.</span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<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></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Genre – Science Fiction</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<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></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<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></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4510849455081269300.post-30347207887983958522014-05-02T11:00:00.000+01:002014-05-13T21:13:30.827+01:00@Stone_Rik Shares His Inspiration for Birth of an Assassin #AmWriting #AmReading #Crime<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>What inspired me to write my book?</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lots of people feel the need to write almost as soon as they learn to put words together. I went to school with girls who kept diaries and diligently made entries on a daily basis. Not me, I was like the other boys. If there was a ball to play with, we’d play football. If there was no ball, we’d find an old tin, maybe in a dustbin, and play kick the tin. In the late 50’s, early 60’s, where I came from that was what life was for a young lad – and I loved it.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I don’t remember the exact age, let’s say fifteen for the sake of argument, but I picked up a book I think was my uncle’s and began reading it. The novel was called The Carpetbaggers and was written by Harold Robbins. The first chapters, when the protagonist’s parents were murdered, absolutely enthralled me. I couldn’t put it down. Unfortunately, not enjoying the greatest of concentration at that time, I found the book too long, too slow, and soon got bored. However, when another novel by the same author showed up in the house, The Adventurers, I thought I’d give it a go. Once again the first chapters had me living the pages, but, yet again, as I delved further into the book my interest waned.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, you might think, no signs of a budding writer here. But no, those first chapters in The Adventurers were about an author who’d made it to the top of his trade. He lay next to his private swimming pool in the garden of his grand house musing over what the point of his life was now he’d done it all. Without realising it at the time, that man by the pool had been so believably drawn by Robbins that he weaved himself through my skin. Over the years he held on to a compartment of my mind. I wanted what he’d had. You might think I mean his wealth and position. That would be nice, but no, my reasoning was that the stories of that fictitious writer were adored by all who read them. He had a worldwide following and his works were renowned. I think what I felt was that age old sin… envy.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This figment of some writer’s imagination grabbed a space in my mind from where he occasionally popped up to make sure I hadn’t forgotten him. I was fifty when I retired and I had no intention of donning a new harness belonging to someone else. At the same time I’m not one to sit around contemplating life and I’d been an avid reader for many years. The little man in my head chose that moment to highlight an opportunity. I did creative writing courses, bought and read a multitude of ‘how to write anything’ type books and started writing… and there I was, proudly presenting my debut novel Birth of an Assassin. An interesting offshoot to this tale; you can carry ambition around for many years without even knowing it.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>What inspired me to write my book?</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lots of people feel the need to write almost as soon as they learn to put words together. I went to school with girls who kept diaries and diligently made entries on a daily basis. Not me, I was like the other boys. If there was a ball to play with, we’d play football. If there was no ball, we’d find an old tin, maybe in a dustbin, and play kick the tin. In the late 50’s, early 60’s, where I came from that was what life was for a young lad – and I loved it.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I don’t remember the exact age, let’s say fifteen for the sake of argument, but I picked up a book I think was my uncle’s and began reading it. The novel was called The Carpetbaggers and was written by Harold Robbins. The first chapters, when the protagonist’s parents were murdered, absolutely enthralled me. I couldn’t put it down. Unfortunately, not enjoying the greatest of concentration at that time, I found the book too long, too slow, and soon got bored. However, when another novel by the same author showed up in the house, The Adventurers, I thought I’d give it a go. Once again the first chapters had me living the pages, but, yet again, as I delved further into the book my interest waned.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, you might think, no signs of a budding writer here. But no, those first chapters in The Adventurers were about an author who’d made it to the top of his trade. He lay next to his private swimming pool in the garden of his grand house musing over what the point of his life was now he’d done it all. Without realising it at the time, that man by the pool had been so believably drawn by Robbins that he weaved himself through my skin. Over the years he held on to a compartment of my mind. I wanted what he’d had. You might think I mean his wealth and position. That would be nice, but no, my reasoning was that the stories of that fictitious writer were adored by all who read them. He had a worldwide following and his works were renowned. I think what I felt was that age old sin… envy.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This figment of some writer’s imagination grabbed a space in my mind from where he occasionally popped up to make sure I hadn’t forgotten him. I was fifty when I retired and I had no intention of donning a new harness belonging to someone else. At the same time I’m not one to sit around contemplating life and I’d been an avid reader for many years. The little man in my head chose that moment to highlight an opportunity. I did creative writing courses, bought and read a multitude of ‘how to write anything’ type books and started writing… and there I was, proudly presenting my debut novel Birth of an Assassin. An interesting offshoot to this tale; you can carry ambition around for many years without even knowing it.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><img src="http://www.orangeberrybooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/10/Birth-of-an-Assassin.jpg" /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Buy Now @ <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Birth-of-an-Assassin-ebook/dp/B00DIFVC3S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382547441&sr=8-1&keywords=rik+stone" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Amazon</a>, <a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/birth-of-an-assassin-rik-stone/1115953870?ean=9781783010998" style="text-decoration: none;">B&N</a>, <a href="http://store.kobobooks.com/en-gb/books/birth-of-an-assassin/-ykZ9LomEEqWVVtGlJrG-A" style="text-decoration: none;">Kobo</a> & <a href="http://www.waterstones.com/waterstonesweb/products/rik+stone/birth+of+an+assassin+28ebook29/9960214/" style="text-decoration: none;">Waterstones</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Rating – R</i></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>More details about <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rik-Stone/e/B00DP4R3OY/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-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Connect</b> with Rik Stone on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Rik-Stone/602289653148840" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Facebook</a> & <a href="https://twitter.com/stone_rik" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">Twitter</a></span></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open Sans'; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 10px; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Website <a href="http://rik-stone.simdif.com/" itemprop="url" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">http://rik-stone.simdif.com</a></b></span></div>
Mickalia Peckhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00019698247961366566noreply@blogger.com0