Rachel Thompson

Jack Canon's American Destiny

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

#AmWatching - In A Better Worls (starring Mikael Persbrandt)

In A Better World

4.7 out of 5 stars See all reviews (33 customer reviews) |

7.6/10

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Despite his father's plea for tolerance, a bullied schoolboy and his friend choose revenge over forgiveness in this provocative drama about family relationships and world events.

  • Starring: Mikael Persbrandt, Trine Dyrholm
  • Directed by: Susanne Bier
  • Runtime: 1 hour 59 minutes
  • Release year: 2011
  • Studio: Sony Pictures Classics

 

 

Plot Summary

Anton is a doctor who commutes between his home in an idyllic town in Denmark, and his work at an African refugee camp. In these two very different worlds, he and his family are faced with conflicts that lead them to difficult choices between revenge and forgiveness. Anton and his wife Marianne, who have two young sons, are separated and struggling with the possibility of divorce. Their older, ten-year-old son Elias is being bullied at school, until he is defended by Christian, a new boy who has just moved from London with his father, Claus. Christian's mother recently lost her battle with cancer, and Christian is greatly troubled by her death. Elias and Christian quickly form a strong bond, but when Christian involves Elias in a dangerous act of revenge with potentially tragic consequences, their friendship is tested and lives are put in danger. Ultimately, it is their parents who are left to help them come to terms with the complexity of human emotions, pain and empathy. Written by Sisse Graum Jørgensen, Producer

Monday, October 7, 2013

Excerpt: Time Killer by Todd M. Thiede @toddthiede

1

Tuesday morning 2 a.m.

Stephen Bjornson wakes up and tries to roll over towards his wife only to find he cannot move at all. His thinking feels slow and hazy as if he has been drugged. He opens his eyes slowly to see that the room is dark with only a small beam of light from the full moon breaking through the drapes. He had opened them earlier to make sure the front gate was shut. His son rarely remembers to shut the gate when he comes home for dinner from the neighbor’s house. He surveys his room and continues to fight the fog in his brain as he can feel something is very wrong.

He tries to stay calm, but his mind and heart are racing. He slowly tries to raise each arm and finds that he is tied down to the bed with duct tape across his chest, torso, and legs. With his arms pinned to his sides, all he can do is turn his head far enough to the left to see that his wife, Gwen, is still there, but she is also taped to the bed. Mr. Bjornson notices Gwen has tape over her mouth. Her brown eyes are wide and look very dark in the moonlit room. Her hair is splayed out and crowns her head like a halo. At first, Stephen thinks he must be dreaming. He can’t imagine why he would be tied to his bed and his angel, Gwen, tied next to him. Then, he shakes his head as nothing is making sense. He closes his eyes and reopens them. He focuses on Gwen and realizes that the halo was created by her messy blonde hair as she struggled to break free from the bonds. She keeps sweeping her gaze away from him to stare towards the foot of the bed and Stephen slowly focuses his gaze on the shape of a person behind the footboard. He is terrified at the thought of some stranger in their house. However, he is having a hard time maintaining focus on any one thought.

Stephen starts to remember the early days of their marriage when they fought over silly things like furniture. He and Gwen had spent three months shopping for bedroom sets, picking at each other’s tastes for traditional or modern furniture. The young couple had taken almost every Saturday to go shopping to fill their home. Giddy and in love, their fights never lasted long and often ended in the bed. In hindsight, maybe that was why they had been so careful in their choices. Stephen wishes their lives could be that easy now – just make love to end an argument. He is not able to remember the last time he and Gwen had made time for intimacy. He keeps thinking that now isn’t the time for memories – like having a daydream at work – but he can’t think about what is more important than remembering the good times with Gwen.

He feels a bouncing sensation next to him on the bed and wakes from his drug-induced reverie. Gwen is bouncing her head and moaning beneath the tape. She keeps staring at him and then throwing her head towards the foot of the bed. He remembers that there is a person standing over him and his wife, just staring across the bed at them, waiting for him to wake up. Stephen vaguely wonders how Gwen can be so awake when he is so tired.

He tries to swallow, but his tongue feels like lead. His mouth feels like it is full of cotton. After a few tries, he squeaks out, “Who are you? What do you want?” He is disappointed in the quiver of his voice so he tries again, hoping to sound more intimidating. “Who do you think you are, coming into my house? What do you want from us? We don’t keep large sums of cash in the house.”

The man just stands there, staring down at Stephen and Gwen, not saying a word. Stephen thinks that it must be a man based on the wide shoulders and body shape. Besides, there is no way a woman would do this, he thinks. This man is wearing a dark ski mask. He is also wearing black leather gloves, which particularly frightens Stephen. He has watched enough forensic shows to know that gloves can make identification of criminals much harder. As he begins to become more aware and able to focus, he sees that the man seems to be very well dressed, wearing an expensive suit, button-down shirt, and tie. The ski mask and leather gloves clash against the business attire and Stephen starts to wonder who would dress so nicely to commit a crime. He feels like he is going to drift off again so he shakes his head and tries to maintain focus on the intruder.

Just when it seems like an eternity has passed since he first tried to roll over in his own bed, he jumps as the man yells, “You wasted my time!”

The voice is so loud and deep, that Stephen believes he feels the rumble through the floor into the bed. He jumps and his eyes open wide. He instantly tries to put on a brave face again and stares the man down. After all, this man is threatening his family. Then, he starts to worry if his kids will be woken up by this man. He doesn’t want them to wake and see any of this. Writhing wildly against his bindings, they don’t give. Fear raises his neck hair. This isn’t a normal burglary.

He decides that he is getting nowhere and tries conversation, which is what he is best at anyways. “What are you talking about? Why are you doing this?” Mr. Bjornson says, his voice quivering. All he can do is lie there, thinking about his children just across the hall from him. He has no idea what this madman knows about his family and if he knows the kids are sleeping right across the hall. While he is very concerned for his and Gwen’s safety, he closes his eyes and quickly asks God to protect his children from harm.

It seems like hours that the suited man continues to stand over them, but only minutes pass. Stephen is scared to speak more, worried that any noise will arouse the kids. Just when the angst is going to force Stephen to say something again the stranger finally speaks again, “You wasted my time…Time is money!” Gwen had been fighting her restraints up until that second yell. She lays completely still except ratcheting her head towards Stephen. He looks back at her and can see the tears spilling from her eyes. The moonlight catches the tears just right that they remind him of his playtime with his daughter the other day when they blew bubbles in the backyard and the sunlight glistened off the bubbles in the air.

The man grabs a pen from the top of Stephen’s dresser. He starts pacing back and forth in front of the bed, clicking the pen over and over again. CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! The clicks echo through Stephen’s head and return him to the moment. The man continues to mumble, “You wasted my time…you wasted my time…you wasted my time.” Gwen, still staring at Stephen nods towards the man. He understands that she expects him to do something, but he is at a loss. He cannot free himself so he focuses on what he can do – continue to try to talk his way out of this.

As he is trying to come up with a plan, the man finally kneels down next to the bed, pen still in hand. He leans over and says, “Stephen, is it okay if I call you Stephen?” Stephen nods his head in reluctant approval. Stephen starts thinking, how does this man know my name? Have I met him before? What does he want from me?

“Stephen, I know you and your type. You don’t have a care in the world outside of you and your family’s own little bubble. You don’t think that your actions have any effect on other people’s lives. You see, Stephen,” he intones, “I once had a nice wife and a daughter just like you. We were happy, just like you; we had the perfect life, just like you. But you see, things are not always as they appear. Are they, Stephen?”

Stephen decides not to answer as he fears that the answer to the question is nothing that he wants to hear, particularly from some aggressive stranger. “Answer me!” the suited man shouts directly into Stephen’s ear. Stephen shakes his head no. “You see, Stephen, my wife packed up all her things one day and decided she was taking my daughter away from me. It seemed that she was leaving me for another man. She said I was wasting her time. I couldn’t provide her with what she needed. She needed financial stability and, even though I had a good job that kept us afloat, it wasn’t enough. Stephen, it wasn’t enough because, every so often, people like you waste my time and I don’t make any money. People like you cost me money and you cost me my family.” That comment was chilling. The man walks over to Gwen.

“Please don’t hurt us!” says Stephen whimpering now, his bravado completely gone. “I love you, Gwen,” he murmurs as he starts to sob. He turns his face away so that Gwen does not see him. He feels compelled to turn back as the man approaches his wife who, despite their distance, he loves dearly.

“Oh poor Stephen, poor, poor Stephen. You didn’t tell him, did you, Gwen? I can call you Gwen, can’t I?” Gwen nods her head reluctantly. She is between sobs because the bed is only shaking on Stephen’s side. She starts fighting at her restraints again, trying to push away from the approaching masked man with her feet, trying to dig her heels in. The tape keeps her from being able to arch her body high enough to move towards the head of the bed. Stephen is sick, watching her suffer this way and he starts to fight his restraints, too.

“You see, Stephen, ever since you and I met a month ago. I have been following you and your family, watching you and Gwen, little Billy and Sandy in your daily lives. Now, I haven’t been able to watch you every day because I have a job and time is money, you know. Nonetheless, I have been watching all of you. And what I have learned from watching you is that you enjoy wasting people’s time. Gwen here is not only wasting other people’s time, she is also wasting your time, Stephen. You see, Stephen, your precious little Gwen is having an affair,” he states matter of factly.

At those words, everyone in the room freezes. Stephen lays completely still, weighing whether there could be truth to the words of this madman. Gwen stops moving either because of his words or because the mask is now only inches from her face. She is staring into his eyes and cannot drop her gaze.

Stephen decides that whether it is true or not, this man is not their marriage counselor and has no right to intrude or reveal their issues like this. He musters up more courage and exclaims, “No, that’s not true. I know my Gwennie loves me and would never do that!” The suited man now leans over and whispers into Gwen’s ear, “Tell him, tell Stephen the truth! He deserves that at the very least. Tell him the truth now.” What had started as a whisper has turned into a menacing hiss in her ear. She flinches as he says truth so loud that her eardrum hurt. Stephen watches, helpless, as his wife pulls her head as far away from the man’s face as possible.

The masked man suddenly rips the duct tape from her mouth in one quick jerk. Gwen screams in pain and then throws her head towards Stephen. “It’s not true, Stephen! I love you with all my heart and would never do that to you or our family!” She is crying again and Stephen is not sure who to believe. Why would a man break into his house and lie about this to him?

“Lies, lies, lies…you are wasting my time again, Gwen. Now tell him the truth. Stop wasting my time. Stop it; stop it, stop it…time is money!” he shouts and hits the bed next to her. “Tell him now!” Stephen is feeling impatient about what this man wants and worries about why his children haven’t come in to see what is going on. He starts to fear the worst about their fate, but asking will only remind the man that they are close by.

Between sobs, Gwen begins to choke out her confession in a small pitiful wail. “Okay, it’s true, Stephen. I met someone else. But I love you and I love our kids! You have to believe me, Stephen, I do love you.” The silence hangs in the air, thick and palpable. Stephen feels a gulf widening between them – the woman he so desperately wanted to protect a minute ago has indeed betrayed him.

Stephen’s eyes widen and he struggles against the tape. A slow look of realization comes across his face. His tears stop and his eyes start to narrow to slits. “So that’s why you missed my work luncheon? Is that why you weren’t there that day to pick up Billy from soccer practice? Have you been busy sleeping around?” Stephen’s voice begins to roar, forgetting about anyone, but the two of them. “Who is it, Gwen? Who is he?” he yells, trying viciously to face her. He succeeds in partially turning his body towards her. The suited man steps back, folds his arms, and watches the argument as it progresses. A smile of accomplishment is visible in the mask’s mouth opening. He seems proud that he caused the two of them to fight.

Gwen continues to cry and shake the bed. “I have been seeing David, one of the dad’s from Sandy’s daycare. I never loved him, Stephen. I just needed more than you have been giving me.” With the last statement, her words sound hollow, as if she is wrung out and tired. Guilt creates an ugly mask of her face as she looks into Stephen’s eyes.

The masked man takes advantage of her pause. “See, Stephen, do you see how she is wasting your time? It’s just like you did to me last month when you wasted my time. Now, here’s the difference between you and me. I am here to help you, Stephen; I am going to rid you of your problem so you are no longer wasting time with Gwen.”

As soon as he finishes this statement, he begins clicking the pen again as if he is nervous. Stephen starts to fight his bonds again to stand between the masked man and his wife, who he knows he still loves. The masked man places his hand between Stephen and Gwen. Then he crawls on top of her, positioning himself so he is straddling Gwen and her body is between his legs. After the humiliation he has faced – being told by a total stranger that his wife is cheating – seeing him on top of her is too much for Stephen. He manages to get a leg free from the tape and starts kicking towards the man. However, the bed is wide and he just grazes his arm. He is waiting for the man to pull up her night gown and rape her, but that doesn’t happen.

The man looks back and forth between the two, savoring her fear and his anger. He then thrusts the pen directly into Gwen’s right eye. He jams it in so hard and so fast that she dies almost instantly from the pen penetrating the brain pan. Blood spatters everywhere and the suited man takes a few seconds to survey the results. Stephen can see the man’s teeth in the mouth hole of the mask. His smile is demonic and growing. Vice grips of trauma lock his body. He feels numb. It is a blessing.

“Just like I said, Stephen, I am here to help you. I’m here to stop you from wasting everyone’s time.” The man stands up from the bed and walks around to Mr. Bjornson’s side to sit next to him. He stops talking directly to Bjornson, but the husband can hear him mumbling, “You wasted my time, you wasted my time, time is money,” over and over again.

Stephen, still lying there in shock, wakes up as if from a dream and starts to scream, “No, No. No. Why are you doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this?”

“Okay, Stephen, here is the situation: I’m going to need you to pay me for the time you took from me. After all, time is money. So for the time you took away from me last month, I figure you owe me $633. That would make us even for the three hours of my time you wasted. Heck, I won’t even charge you for the time I just saved you by taking Gwen out of your life, consider that a gift from me to you,” he says in a very calm business-like voice.

Stephen thinks he must have fallen back into a dream because this cannot be real. Money for the time he took from the suited man? Three hours? This was all about three measly hours of time? Where did he meet this guy? How did he waste three hours of his time? he keeps thinking.

“Where is my money, Stephen? I am going to have to start adding to the bill if you don’t tell me where my $633 are. Time is money! You wouldn’t want to waste any more of my time would you, Stephen?” the suited man asks angrily. Stephen shakes his head slowly, still not understanding.

As the man starts rifling through their things, Stephen finally comprehends he is looking for his money. He proceeds to tell him that his wallet is on his dresser in the corner of the room and that there should be enough to cover it. The suited man walks over to the dresser and grabs his wallet, takes out the money and counts it. “You only have $450 here, Stephen. Where is the rest of it? Quit wasting my time!” he screams.

“My…my…wife may…have some money in her purse. It’s in the closet…probably on the floor,” Stephen says, his voice choked.

“You know what, Stephen, I kind of like you,” the man says calmly as he goes to the closet. “I liked you last month, too. Well, that is before you decided to waste my time. I like the fact that you want me to take the money from your wife’s purse. I mean, it isn’t like she needs it anymore anyhow and, after all; it is your money anyway. Am I right?” The man’s laugh is high pitched and evil. He reaches into the closet, pulls out the purse and takes out some money. “All she has in here, Stephen, is two 100 dollar bills.” With that, the masked man takes out his own personal wallet and puts $17 exactly on Stephen’s dresser. He puts the $650 into his wallet and proceeds to sit back down by Stephen. Stephen tries to take note of the wallet to tell the police later, but then he realizes that he may not be alive much longer either.

“Stephen,” he says, “like I told you earlier, I’ve been following you and your family for about a month and noticed that you like wasting people’s time. I mean, you went to the appliance store and talked to a salesman about a new television for almost an hour two weeks ago and didn’t buy it. Then you went into an open house just last week and walked around talking to the realtor about how you were considering buying a new home. You took about two hours of his time with no intention of buying the house or even calling him back. You were just there wasting his time! Like his trying to make a living is a joke to you and Gwen.”

“I was going to call him back, that isn’t true. I was very interested in that house!” Stephen spits out.

“Sorry, Stephen, I know better. You see, like I said, I was watching you closely and, the moment you walked out of the house, you threw the realtor’s card away, while you and your wife laughed. You both thought the house was disgusting and way overpriced. You discussed how you love your house right now and would never leave it. Now quit wasting my time with lies and accept the fact that I know you better than you think I do,” he says with some finality.

“I am going to do the rest of the world a favor here, Stephen. You are right handed, is that correct?” he asks. No sooner than Stephen nods his head, the man grabs the duct tape from the floor and duct tapes Stephen’s mouth shut. He then walks out of the bedroom only to return a few moments later with bolt cutters. He leans over Stephen and whispers into his ear, “I am going to cut off your thumb and index finger on your right hand.” Stephen blanches. The man continues, “So you can no longer fill out any paperwork or sign anything and waste anyone else’s time like you wasted mine, the realtor, and the appliance salesman.”

He then stands up and cuts off Mr. Bjornson’s thumb and finger. As Stephen lays there in unbearable pain, unable to scream with his mouth taped shut, his face blood red , his temple veins popping thick, the suited man leans back in and whispers, “Don’t worry. You won’t die from this. I want you to live and learn not to waste other people’s time anymore. I also want you tell anyone and everyone to stop wasting people’s time. Tell them all how time is important to you now that you have a second chance. Tell them that they need to be considerate of other people’s time and not just their own. You can do that for me, right, Stephen?” Stephen nods frantically as tears flow from his tortured eyes. He feels himself slipping in and out of consciousness as he feels his blood pumping out of his hand. The masked man tears more duct tape from the roll and wraps it around Stephen’s hand almost like a bandage. “We wouldn’t want you bleeding to death before you can get that message out, would we, Stephen?” Stephen shakes his head no.

The man now rips back the tape from Stephen’s mouth, taking part of his moustache off with it. He tastes blood. The tape has ripped off some skin. The man then picks up the phone next to the bed, lays the mouthpiece on the pillow next to Stephen’s mouth and proceeds to dial 911. He picks up Stephen’s bloody finger off the floor and uses it to write, “DON’T WASTE PEOPLE’S TIME” on the wall as the phone rings. He then calmly walks out of the room, whistling as if he has no care in the world. The song he is whistling is very familiar, but Stephen cannot place it. Stephen recognizes the sound of his back door opening and closing. The man is finally gone. As he starts to feel light-headed, he wonders if he is in a nightmare he cannot escape.

The tickle of the blood dripping down the side of his jaw brings him back to awareness. He hears the operator repeatedly asking if anyone is there. Stephen yells hoarsely into the phone as best as he can, “Please help me, there was a man here in my house! He killed my wife. He…..he hurt me. I’m bleeding and I’m tied up. Please hurry – I’ve lost a lot of…” As he drifts in and out of terrible dreams and thoughts, his mind keeps returning to his children. Did the man hurt them? Are they even alive? He prays that they will not find him like this. With tears now flowing along with the blood, he finally closes his eyes to the darkness of what has happened, his body numbing with the shock. Stephen passes out.

It takes almost ten minutes for the ambulance to arrive, followed shortly by the police. The police knock on the door at first, but hear nothing so they break down the door and rush into the house. They yell as they rush around the house, looking for the family, but no one responds.

The smell of copper from the bloody mess the murderer has left behind consumes them as they move up the stairs. With the medics behind them the police clear rooms one by one potentially destroying evidence. The master bedroom is the first room the paramedics enter upstairs as the door stands slightly ajar. There they find Stephen unconscious with blood dripping from the duct tape bandage on his right hand. His right cheek lies in a small pool of blood from his torn moustache. He is still duct taped to the bed and, next to him, lays his dead wife. The first officer in the room takes one look around and runs to the master bath and vomits up his lunch. Today is his first day, and the pen in her eye and the blood surrounding Stephen is just too much for him to handle.

The police officers go back into the hall to allow the medics to work on Stephen. James is fairly new to the force and has never seen such a violent crime. While he is upset that this happened to the family, he is also excited to be involved in what will likely be a big case for his station. His partner, Bob, is tired and waiting to retire soon. He is trying to pass on his knowledge to James, but feels that sometimes James lacks compassion for others.

James enters six year old Billy’s room. Above the red race car bed, Billy’s name is carved into a piece of driftwood. There are little green army men scattered around the floor as if it was the beaches of Normandy. James sees numerous trophies on his dresser top for various sports. James wonders how Billy could have slept through all the mayhem in his parents’ room. He doesn’t want to startle the boy as this is going to be a terrible night for him. The officer wants to take him out of the house before he can see anything that has happened to his parents just down the hall. He tries to lift the small boy up very carefully as not to wake him.

However, Billy isn’t ever going to wake up. Billy lays in James’ arms like a limp doll. The murderer had smothered him with his pillow and, after he was sure he was dead, he cut off his finger and thumb from his right hand. The lack of bruising around the cuts indicates Billy’s heart was not beating at the time. James says a silent prayer that his future children will never go through this and gently places the boy back down.

Written on the wall in blood, only visible after James turns on the car-shaped lamp, is, “LIKE FATHER LIKE SON”. James can only imagine what this monster has done to the little girl. Right then, he gets a huge lump in his throat as he sees Bob walk out shaking his head.

For some reason, James has to see this other room. Maybe by seeing the chaos, he can understand and control it. Sandy’s room is very upbeat. There are pink walls, a princess bedspread, and dozens of stuffed animals on her bed and dresser. He can feel her presence and happiness just by walking into her world. She is only three yet there she is having been smothered with her own pillow. Her finger and thumb are missing, and just like her brother, they were removed after she was murdered. Written in blood on the wall is, “WHORE JUST LIKE MOM”.

Bob drops to his knees and starts sobbing right there. He thinks of his grandchildren, who are about Sandy and Billy’s ages. What would he do if this ever happened to them? How could a human being do this to children? he thinks. James doesn’t know what to do except pat Bob on the shoulder. He is having the same thoughts, but isn’t as affected since his kids do not exist yet.

As James and Bob re-enter the master bedroom, they see Stephen being transferred to a gurney. He has an IV in his arm. He looks up at them and says in a hoarse voice, “Please check on my kids. They’re down the hall.” The officers exchange a quick knowing look. They assure Mr. Bjornson that they will take care of everything while he gets treated.

Stephen starts to feel woozy from the drugs that were given to him by the paramedics and finally closes his eyes into a deep sleep. As they push Stephen out into the hallway the paramedics ask the police officers if they need to help the children. Bob shakes his head no, putting one finger to his lips to indicate silence; He then puts his head down again to pray.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Mystery / Thriller

Rating – PG

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Todd M. Thiede on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.toddthiede.com/

How Did I Launch My First Book? by Bobbie Cole

Choosing the Date

My personal faith memoir, She Does Not Fear the Snow, launched September 6, 2013, the 5th anniversary of my wedding to husband, Butch.

Since the book deals with how I came to meet and marry him, it was an appropriate date for the launch.

I would recommend linking a book launch to a significant date. It gives you one more thing to talk about. I celebrated with a photo montage of our five years and a huge cake.

Local Launch

My marketing for my launch was to my local audience, here in Fredericton, NB, Canada, and to my potential Kindle audience, worldwide but primarily in the USA.

The first was a traditional campaign. It involved a bookstore signing and leading an evening service at my church, to which approximately 100 people came.

I announced these events through local press and radio and postcards, distributed to local churches. My church also promoted it.

I communicated repeatedly to Facebook and Linked In connections in the local area, posting short extracts from the book and photos of people my circles would recognise, holding a copy of the book.

I asked everyone to share the news and many did.

Wherever I was dealing with people who wouldn’t know what my book was about, I added a byline in my communications: A trail of miracles led her from a Jerusalem church to love in Atlantic Canada.

I also created a countdown Facebook tile that I posted on my own pages, groups I belonged to and my Linked In profile, as well as on Pinterest.

This tile counted down the days to launch and directed everyone to the book page, where a free sample chapter was available for download, along with my promo video.

I took some trouble over the video. Sitting, surrounded by snow, I summarize my story – (It was minus 20 degrees on the day of the shoot!) – with sweet piano music in the background.

I created additional tiles in respect of the book signing and the evening service I was leading and posted these in all media, splashed ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘Today’, across them, in the run-up to these events.

About three weeks before the launch, I had a guest post on well-known Christian author, Mary de Muth’s blog (http://www.marydemuth.com/god-sent-me-a-crab-awesome-guest-post/). I sent everyone I knew to read it.

This post got good traction from her own audience and ended up with over 40 comments. Some of her readers spontaneously tweeted about it.

The Kindle Promo

My Kindle promo was over 3 free download days, Sept 6-8. I also created a tile about this and posted it widely, adding Today / Ends Tomorrow and Ends Midnight Pacific splashes, as the campaign unfolded.

I requested a listing for the Kindle promotion on every Christian and non-Christian book promotion site that I could find. In some cases, I made small ‘donations’ . Mostly, they were free.

I tweeted about each of these events as they were coming up and requested retweets, which many people did.

Personal Email List

I emailed my own personal email list, dividing it into local to Fredericton and non-local. The local people were told about the signing and evening service events, as well as the free Kindle promo.

The non-local people were only told about the Kindle.

Reviews

I sought reviews from everyone who had already read the book, having made it available as a pdf on a closed Facebook site several months prior to the launch, to whom I invited readers. I also sought reviews from volunteer readers on writing sites and professional readers.

My Blog

I have a blog, http://testimonytrain.com, a hub for honing and sharing our Christian testimonies. It’s brand new and has few followers at present. Nevertheless, the pages from my book I posted there, as well as testimonies of others, were mentioned on my Facebook page and in Linked In messages. Next time around, I know this blog will reach many people in its own right.

What has been the result of all this?

I had about 650 free downloads of the Kindle version and sold nearly 50 books during the weekend events.

This is very encouraging. Reviews will start to grow. The book will become established.

At this stage, it’s not about the sales but about the buzz.

I’m pleased and confident.

What would I do differently next time?

I’d get way more guest posts set up. I should have been on this three months ahead of time.

I’d have all my tiles prepared for my countdowns etc. three months ahead of launch date also.

I totally underestimated the amount of time required in engaging with others. Being prepared would have made this less hectic.

And I’d find some methods for working out what worked and what didn’t. This campaign was a battery of shots that has left me not knowing what worked best.

Bio:

Bobbie Ann Cole is author of her faith memoir, She Does Not Fear the Snow. A trail of miracles led her from a Jerusalem church, where she wasn’t supposed to be, to meet and marry her Boaz in Atlantic Canada. Free sample chapter and promo video: www.shedoesnotfearthesnow.com. Bobbie, AKA The Testimony Lady, will help you write your testimony, too.  Download her free workbook, Start Writing Your Christian Testimony: http://testimonytrain.com.

She Does Not Fear the Snow

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Faith Memoir

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Connect with Bobbie Ann Cole on Facebook

Website www.shedoesnotfearthesnow.com

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Ben Galley - Writing Tip’s

Tip 1: Write a great book

The future of any author rests on none other than a great book, as it always has.

Of course – ‘great’ means many different things to many different people. Not every bestseller is a work of genius, but they sell because they are popular with masses of readers. They could be popular great because they engage, or challenge, or cross boundaries, or inspire. That is the mark of a great book – not just its literary quality, but what it does to the reader. Great books make people talk, and those are the books that sell and will keep selling.

So how exactly do we write a great book? Well, that’s the hard part. Firstly, through practice. Even the best writers on the planet are still writing and practicing, every day. And when you write, you should always strive for the best quality of writing that you can, and strive to engage the reader. Aim high. Do something different. Have a solid and airtight plot. Create deep and varied characters and worlds. Spend time thinking about what you want your book to do and say.

Tip 2: Get a great cover:

So once you’ve finished your book, it’s time to start polishing it – making it into a professional and sellable product.

The cover is the packaging of your book, and therefore the first point of contact for a reader. Contrary to the old adage, readers will judge books by their cover. They make up their minds about a book’s genre, price, quality, and therefore whether they want to buy it, in the first few seconds. This is why it is important to get not just a good cover, but a great one. You want it to match all the effort you’ve put into its contents.

Cover design is an area where many indie, or self-publishing, authors fall down, mainly due to the fact that good graphic design costs money, and also due to the fact that people assume they can DIY it. Unfortunately, unless you are a professional designer, this simply isn’t true.

I always recommend outsourcing a professional. Anything less simply won’t cut the mustard. In today’s market, indie books need to be indistinguishable from traditional books, both to shrug off any preconceptions and also to rise above the huge volume of poor-quality books now on the market.

Tip 3: Editing it to perfection:

Editing is as important as cover design, and another area that a huge amount of indies get wrong. What’s vital about editing is that it affects your marketing.

Unfortunately, there’s a certain stigma about indie books. A large amount of readers expect them to be full of errors and mistakes, due to the fact they haven’t been through a publishing house. We need to shrug off that stigma. Bad editing can mean bad reviews, scuppering your sales. As with cover design, we should be aiming for a professional standard. You need to do that great book of yours justice.

There are two ways to edit your books – either hire a freelance editor, or DIY. The first is expensive, while the second is difficult, as few authors are professional editors. I would always recommend the first – shelling out for a good editor. Or, like me, if you don’t want to shell out for an editor, you can use beta readers.

Beta reading, or crowd-editing as it is sometimes known, is a way of using multiple semi-pro editors. You ask a number of people (I recommend avid readers, honest fans, English teachers, professionals etc) to proofread and give detailed feedback on your manuscript. You get your book edited to a professional standard, and in return your betas get a sneak peek of your book, a free copy, perhaps even a mention in the dedication – whatever you want to offer!

Tip 4: Market it, and then market it again:

So, you’ve published yourself a great product, now you need to sell it. How? Well, gone are the days (if they even existed!) when simple availability resulted in sales. Due to the sheer volume of books now in the market, a book (even a great book!) that isn’t being marketed will be drowned out and make few, if any, sales. Marketing is a must for today’s indie author.

As we discussed, people spread the word about a good book, and this is the biggest key to marketing – Word of mouth.

A good website is paramount, followed closely by good blurbs, bios, and a professional appearance. Next up is getting readers. Social media is a good place to start. Twitter and Facebook, don’t convert very well into sales but are good for being, you guessed it - social. By following and engaging with people on a social level they will be more likely to read and recommend your books.

Customer reviews are also very important. Readers put a lot of stock in reviews, so having a lot of positive reviews will really help sales. Source as many as you can from the readers you meet on Twitter on Facebook, and also contact book blogs and ask for reviews. Comments from respected and well-known sites will also add a little validity to your book.

Basically, get talking!

Tip 5: Give it time and effort:

Lastly, you need to give it time and effort.

Simply having a book on a shelf will not make you millions overnight. Skill can gain you some success and income, but effort and time is also needed, as we’ve seen above.

Perseverance is needed too, and I urge everyone to keep working and keep trying. It will seem like you’re getting nowhere fast at first. It may seem overwhelming, but marketing is a day by day, reader by reader process. Keep at it, attack from every angle, and trust me, you will have a shot at success.

Good luck out there.

Ben Galley is a young indie author from sunny England. The author of the epic and dark fantasy series – The Emaneska Series, he has published five books so far, and has many more on the way. Ben is very zealous about helping other indie authors, and provides self-publishing advice and services via his website Shelf Help, which can be found at www.bengalley.com.

theWrittenj

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Genre –  Epic Fantasy

Rating – PG-13

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Saturday, October 5, 2013

#AmWatching The Descendants (starring George Clooney)

The Descendants

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Matt King (George Clooney) attempts to repair his relationship with his two daughters after his wife is in a boating accident off of Waikiki.

  • Starring: George Clooney, Shailene Woodley
  • Directed by: Alexander Payne
  • Runtime: 1 hour 55 minutes
  • Release year: 2011
  • Studio: 20th Century Fox

 

Plot Summary:

With his wife Elizabeth on life support after a boating accident, Hawaiian land baron Matt King takes his daughters on a trip from Oahu to Kauai to confront the man who was having an affair with Elizabeth before her misfortune. Written by realndn06

Matt King's family has lived in Hawaii for generations. His extended family - namely he and his many cousins - own 25,000 acres of undeveloped land on Kauai held in trust, which ends in seven years. The easiest thing for the family to do is sell the land before the seven years is up, which is all the talk in the state, as, to whom they sell the property could very well change the face of Kauai. Despite the vast wealth that comes with the land, Matt has decided to live solely on what he earns as a Honolulu lawyer. However, Matt has not had a perfect life living in Hawaiian paradise as many believe. He and his wife Elizabeth were having problems in their marriage. She recently got into a boating accident which has placed her in a coma. Their seventeen year old daughter Alex is in boarding school on the big island since they couldn't handle her rebellion, which was made all the worse by an argument of an unknown nature between mother and daughter during Alex's last visit home. And their ten year old daughter Scottie is starting to act out, which Matt doesn't know if he can handle, potentially raising her on his own. Matt decides to bring Alex home upon news that Elizabeth is brain dead, and that she will be pulled off life support. But revelations about Elizabeth and Alex's argument, which is tied indirectly to the issue of the land sale, leads to some decisions on Matt's part about what is best for him in both mourning Elizabeth's death and what is the best thing to do about the land, the two decisions which may be incompatible. Written by Huggo

Attorney Matt King is having a difficult time coping with his life at the moment. His wife Elizabeth is in a coma in the hospital following a boating accident. His youngest daughter Scottie is acting out and in many ways Matt is forced to be a parent for the first time in a long time. Matt is also in control of a family trust, one that is set to expire in a few years time. The trust owns a huge tract of land - vigorously sought by developers - the sale of which would be of great help financially to many of his cousins. He fetches his eldest daughter Alexandra from school and in a heated argument learns that Elizabeth was having an affair and was going to divorce him. Matt sets out to see the man, but isn't quite sure what he will say or do when he locates him. Written by garykmcd

The Way Home by Nhys Glover

PROLOGUE

October 1940, Leconfield, Yorkshire, ENGLAND

What it was about the large farmhouse Hawk did not know, but from the first moment he crossed its threshold, he felt at home. Its thick stone walls embraced him; its low beams protected him.

Homesickness or nostalgia couldn’t account for his feelings because the place was very different from its counterparts at home. Nothing in England reminded him of Poland.

‘Come in, come in, don’t stand there like statue,’ the farmer demanded, his gruff Yorkshire accent softened by his friendly tone. He looked to be in his fifties, although there was the fragility of old age about him, too, as if his body had worn out earlier than it should.

‘You do understand me, don’t ye? I know ye’re foreign an’ all…’

Hawk grinned and nodded. Although the man’s accent was strong, he understood it well enough. ‘I speak English. We had to learn before they would let us up in their planes.’

The farmer nodded sagely, still waiting for him to move into the house more fully. Hawk wanted to savour the moment like a fine liqueur, letting the taste remain on his tongue, breathing it in through his nose.

There was mustiness in the air of a damp space kept closed up for too long. He could smell furniture polish and wet dog. There was also the odour of manure that had accompanied them in from the farmyard. None of the individual scents he identified gave him sensations of pleasure, but in combination, they affected him pleasantly.

He’d grown up in the city. Rural life was alien to him. Mostly, it worried him with its isolation, but not here, not in this farmhouse. Here, the rural setting suited him. Here, the isolation felt comfortable, as if he could be wholly himself for the first time without the intrusion of others. The sound of aircraft landing and taking off nearby only added to the feeling of home.

‘Is it shell shock ye’re sufferin’?’ The farmer was staring at him now, his deeply lined brow puckered with concern.

Hawk gave himself a mental shake and smiled at the man again. ‘Sorry, no. It is just this house. I feel like I know it… or it knows me. I sound like a crazy person, I know. Would you prefer I left?’

He didn’t want to leave – not now. Not ever, a little voice in his head said. If the man began to worry about Hawk’s sanity, however, it might be better. They didn’t want to get a bad reputation with the locals. Already, the man might see him as an intruder. After all, Hawk had wandered up his long drive to the farmhouse for no reason other than he wanted to know what was at the end of the road. He hadn’t been invited onto the property until the farmer had seen him and offered him welcome.

‘Nah then, lad, don’t be daft. I invited thee, didn’t I? And our Mildred’ll give me a right say-so if I let thee go before tha’ve had a cup o’ tea. We’ve heard about thee lads, the 303 Squadron?’

The man had turned and had begun walking down the dark hallway, talking all the while. Hawk couldn’t draw the moment out any longer. He had to follow along behind the farmer or be considered rude.

He took several long, striding steps to catch up with the Yorkshireman. ‘Yes. We were rotated out to Leconfield from Northolt for a break. Six weeks we have been in the air.’

‘One hundred and twenty-six kills in six weeks, they’re sayin’. Impressive, and we aren’t impressed by foreigners easy in these parts.’

‘We lost eighteen Hurricanes, seven pilots and we have five more badly wounded. That is not so impressive.’

‘If I told thee the losses we took at the Somme, thee’d think twice about that.’ The man’s voice was hollow, as if it came from a long way away, a lifetime away.

‘You survived the Great War?’

‘Aye. Lucky’s what I was, nowt but lucky. The mustard gas got ta ma lungs, but nowt bad. Now ‘ere’s our Mildred…’

They’d made it to the back of the house by now and entered the big country kitchen with its wooden table in the centre and flagstones on the floor. A big black range burned hot against the far wall. He could feel its heat from where he stood. A small window over the sink was open, as was the back door, probably because it was midday and the sun was shining. The cool air from outside also balanced the heat inside a little.

He could see autumn leaves, golden and beautiful, on the oak tree just outside the window. They seemed to glow in the sunlight.

Mildred was a matronly woman with grey, straggly hair and a friendly smile. Her face was flushed red from the heat of the stove. She wiped a strand of hair away from her face with the back of a floury arm.

‘Ayap, who’s tha wi’ ye then, our Alf? A ‘andsome airman fromt’ looks of ‘im.’

The Way Home

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Genre - Historical  Romance

Rating – PG

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Harmless by Ernie Lindsey

CHAPTER 1

Here’s how it happened, and most of this is true.

That night, a single pop of gunfire next door interrupted a well-earned scotch. 

Long day.  Feet up.  Tie loosened with the Giants down by two runs in the ninth.  You know how it goes.  You wake up expecting normal things to happen—like a shower without the hot water heater going bust, or fixing your eggs without burning a fat blister, or the judge deciding that you are, indeed, entitled to see your kids every other weekend.  One bang of the gavel and you trip backwards down the stairs of Progress, rolling and tumbling until you land on your rear, dazed, alone, and seriously pissed off.

First floor: defeat, desperation, ladies’ lingerie.

It’s amazing how a thin slingshot of material—a mixture of lace and cotton, a thong, or thongs, plural—can ruin ten years of marriage, a career, and the relationship you’re supposed to have with your children.

The fault lies with me.  I’ve admitted it.  I’ve apologized.  I’ve begged.

I am, and remain, an unforgivable wretch.

At least, according to the court system.

And those who are unfamiliar with me.

I jumped to my feet, drenching a pants leg with sloshing scotch and melting ice, and pulled two blinds apart at the window.

The woman next door, the first time I met her, she initially said her name was Jan.

She said Jan, I know she did, but we’ll get to that later.  The mistakenly delivered mail from Sterling Savings & Loan referred to her as Kerry Parker—do I really look that sketchy?  Sketchy enough for her to lie?  Also, I used this joke on her, an old standby:  “I think I know you from somewhere…maybe from high school…yeah, didn’t we have Chemistry together?  No?  Well, we do now.”

Jan, Kerry.  Kerry, Jan.  I’ll call her Kerry.  It’s easier that way.

She moved in six months ago and lived alone in a modest ranch home with dark, red brick and white shutters.  Her plants died in the summer heat while her yard stayed over-watered and jungle-like.  What kind of person does that?  I was positive that an entomologist could find a number of undiscovered species crawling throughout its vines and lush green canopy.  I’d offered to mow it for her several times while mowing mine (shirtless, of course—the tan stays even, period), but she always declined, said she could use the help but no thanks, and then would scurry inside like she was trying to get away from me.  Cute butt waggling in short shorts, flip-flops slapping against her heels as she climbed the three steps leading up to her porch.

I mention the cute butt because, well, how could you not?  I mean, really, it’s like a bubble.  The one time I got a better look from my office window, as she sunbathed in her backyard—no top and a pink thong, of all things—that was all it took to confirm that yes, “bubble” was the perfect word.  It’s not like I was spying.  I just happened to be on the computer upstairs and looked outside.  Maybe for a little too long—what’s the harm in that?

The difference between a peeping tom and coincidence is timing—and duration.

She was thirty-two, eleven years younger than me.  And I know this because I got a quick look at her driver’s license—Kerry Parker, confirmed—which I found in the front seat of her car.  (A storm was coming.  Her windows were down.  I try to be helpful in such situations.  I do.  Honest.) 

She was separated from her husband, according to the letter from Wellington & Wellington, Attorneys at Law, which, coincidentally, was the same firm handling my case.  So it was a complete accident that I opened the envelope.  I thought it was mine. 

When I gave it to her, I got the feeling that she was slightly unnerved.  Explaining what happened eased her apprehension, I’m sure of it, but she still gave me the same kind of look you give a car salesman when you know he’s trying to give you the shaft and guaranteeing that you’ll enjoy it.  I should know.  I’ve gotten that look several times peddling metal over at Thrifty’s Used Cars.

Harmless

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Genre - Mystery/Suspense

Rating – PG13

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Blog http://www.ernielindsey.com/