“The Santa Letters”
by Stacy Gooch Anderson
You can visit www.thesantaletters.org to learn more about the author and the book. To find out more about this story and where it is going nationally, please contact Mr. Kim Garvey, the author’s national publicist at ComsMgt@aol.com.
STACY'S BIO:
Stacy Gooch Anderson moved often during her growing up years living in Phoenix, Los Angeles, Chicago, Denver, St. Louis, and finally ended up in Salt Lake City, where she currently resides with her husband and four sons. She is the oldest of six children.
She attended the University of Utah before turning her focus to raising her family. She never abandoned her love of writing, however, and later returned to her roots as a journalist and won several awards through the Society of Professional Journalists for her feature writing and investigative skills.
She began her public speaking career at age eighteen when she was asked to speak at an event with a local TV personality and a nationally renown author. It was then that she found her voice, her ability to tell stories and draw visual analogies that uplifted and inspired those she publicly shared her skills with.
She is currently a corporate trainer for new writers at her company and spends her extra time publicly speaking and teaching. She is also an advocate for crime victims and acts as a voice for children in difficult situations and raises money and awareness for cancer research.
She enjoys reading, learning, anything creative and soaking in the sunshine with her friends and family. She readily admits however, that her greatest source of joy and pride is her husband and four sons who even on dark cloudy days, bring extraordinarily bright rays of sunshine into her life.
To purchase this book, contact any area store or order online at www.cedarfort.com or by calling any of the telephone numbers listed below.
Media review copies are available by calling (801) 489-4084. You may also contact CFI’s publicist, Bevan Olsen, or Mr. Kim Garvey, her national PR spokesman, to book author appearances, interviews or to obtain further information. Mr. Olsen may be reached at bolsen@cedarfort.com, by calling the number listed above, or by mail at 2373 W 700 S, Springville, UT 84663. Mr. Garvey may be contacted by emailing ComsMgt@aol.com or by mail at 4815 West Sunnyside Avenue, Glendale, AZ 85304.
Visit our website at www.cedarfort.com for Books That Make a Difference.
PREVIOUS REVIEWS:
“Stacy Anderson’s The Santa Letters is storytelling at its best in the finest tradition of American literature. Her wrenching, lucid insight into to the human condition makes it impossible to read this book unmoved bringing us close as we can ever get to another person’s heart and soul through the written word. This eloquent an honestly told remembrance allows the reader to not only witness her story – but live it. A true Christmas classic for now and generations to come.” - Craig L. Clyde, Emmy winning screenwriter and director
“Stacy G. Anderson delivers a true holiday gem that will be passed on from one generation to the next. In the tradition of such classics as Christmas Jars and The Christmas Box, The Santa Letters is a story you will find yourself thinking about long after you’ve finished the last page. Funny, touching and inspiring. A definite Christmas winner!” – J. Scott Savage, author of the national young adult fantasy series Farworld
“The Santa Letters will touch your heart bringing you closer to the Savior. A timeless story that is certain to become a classic.“ - Michele Ashman Bell, author of A Candle in the Window, Perfect Timing and A Modest Proposal.
"I am writing you upon having finished reading The Santa Letters. It is indeed a powerful, thought provoking and potentially life altering work. It is a simple story with a compound message. It is true that we lose our way year to year as we lose sight of meaning and the things that really matter. The Santa Letters effectively and poignantly reminds us of those things. It is a journey that everyone who celebrates Christmas should visit. And, it is an awakening for anyone who has experienced loss. An element of the story; "pass it forward" was particularly meaningful and appreciated and 'Santa's' Survival Kit for the New Year' inspired. Thank you for sharing this touching & meaningful story." - Libby Brien, Producer/Director Flicker Fusion, Inc.
“The Santa Letters” by Stacy Gooch Anderson, 200 pages, hardback, will be available on Amazon.com August 1, at most national book retail chains and bookstores this fall, by telephone at 1-800-sky-book or on-line at www.cedarfort.com
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Updates on everything
I told you all I was being a bad host for virtual book tours. I am supposed to be hosting Stacy Gooch Anderson on the 20th (tomorrow) with a review of The Santa Letters and an interview. For more on her book tour, you will have to check her blog out for a listing of places to follow. The list is extensive and the tour has been going on for a while apparently.
Next week, I'll be hosting two virtual book tours, one for Chris Verstraete and Search for a Starry Night on Tuesday (I think this will be fun since she has it set up as a scavanger hunt from stop to stop) and one for Vivian Zabel and Midnight Hours. I need to finish reading Midnight Hours so I can post a review for Vivian. Fear not, it won't take too long to read and get that written. Vivian is offering a one prize deal for her tour, so check for details next week.
Band update: We have finished our regular season of competitions. This past Saturday was upper state (online there had been 26 bands listed to compete but when we arrived only 19 in the program). To get to state, a band has to be in the top 6 from upper state and top 6 from lower state - so there are supposed to be 12 bands competing for the title of best in the state. We hosted a competition on the first week, did a competition the next week, and two the following week. Saturday was upper state and we placed 4th out of the 19 bands that competed. This is pretty good considering we only competed in three actual competitions during this season. It seems that they keep cutting our competitions shorter and shorter. Before you know it, we will host a competition and then the next week will be upper state - but hope not - that would be hard on the kids not having the opportunity to go up against schools in regular competitions and see what they need to work on. It's been a crazy season but we survived.
Next weekend, I will miss the state competition but my ears and eyes will let me know what happens. I may post some pictures of the season but just haven't had time of late.
I'll be attending the SCWW Writer's conference in Myrtle Beach again this year (Oct. 24 - 26th) and am so looking forward to this. With one book in the series of 50 published and the second on its way, I'm hoping that soon I can be on panel discussions or do workshops at book festivals and things like the SCWW conference. I can hope for the fame some way some day.
Be on the lookout for more updates as I get them - see you all in the postings - E :)
Next week, I'll be hosting two virtual book tours, one for Chris Verstraete and Search for a Starry Night on Tuesday (I think this will be fun since she has it set up as a scavanger hunt from stop to stop) and one for Vivian Zabel and Midnight Hours. I need to finish reading Midnight Hours so I can post a review for Vivian. Fear not, it won't take too long to read and get that written. Vivian is offering a one prize deal for her tour, so check for details next week.
Band update: We have finished our regular season of competitions. This past Saturday was upper state (online there had been 26 bands listed to compete but when we arrived only 19 in the program). To get to state, a band has to be in the top 6 from upper state and top 6 from lower state - so there are supposed to be 12 bands competing for the title of best in the state. We hosted a competition on the first week, did a competition the next week, and two the following week. Saturday was upper state and we placed 4th out of the 19 bands that competed. This is pretty good considering we only competed in three actual competitions during this season. It seems that they keep cutting our competitions shorter and shorter. Before you know it, we will host a competition and then the next week will be upper state - but hope not - that would be hard on the kids not having the opportunity to go up against schools in regular competitions and see what they need to work on. It's been a crazy season but we survived.
Next weekend, I will miss the state competition but my ears and eyes will let me know what happens. I may post some pictures of the season but just haven't had time of late.
I'll be attending the SCWW Writer's conference in Myrtle Beach again this year (Oct. 24 - 26th) and am so looking forward to this. With one book in the series of 50 published and the second on its way, I'm hoping that soon I can be on panel discussions or do workshops at book festivals and things like the SCWW conference. I can hope for the fame some way some day.
Be on the lookout for more updates as I get them - see you all in the postings - E :)
Sunday, October 05, 2008
Halloweeny Tag (Childish or Childhood Games)
Holly (clink on Title to find the original posting) has tagged me again (must be because the JGDS is hosting her on another Trockle tour this week and we are tying everything into Halloween which is just 26 days away. So I will play and try to have fun and tag some people this go round.
Here are the rules: One person is "It" - that'd be me. The rest of y'all - RUN!! If I tag you (as in, reach out through the monitor and grab you by the arm, or visit your blog and say "You're IT!" or somehow suck you in and get you to read this post), you're IT! YOU, in turn, must answer the questions below, then go tag as many people as you can. You can repost these rules, or point to this blog entry for explanations. If you're feeling super-creative this morning, you can even post your answer in video form, on YouTube! Or in audio form! Phone it in to Utterli.com! Or...oh, just play, okay? Then come back here and post a link to your reply. That's important - post a link here so we can all see what you did when it was your turn to be "It." I mean, you could just take your marbles and go home, like the kid who says, "This is stupid. I don't wanna BE 'It' again. I'm going home. What a bunch o' losers." But then good luck finding anyone to go trick-or-treating with at the end of the month.
1) What were your favorite games to play when you were a kid? Do you remember the rules? Share them here (bored kids grounded from video games will thank you):
Games - we played games? I played school and made my brothers endure lesson after lesson of whatever I could figure out was good school material. Of course, reading was always a requirement. Card games came early from my parents - we learned how to play spades but not many people really know how to nowadays. The rules vary from region to region I think. I know my parents taught us 2-handed spades, 3-handed spades and of course 4-handed spades which is played as partners. I have tried teaching my kids to play spades but they don't get it.
The object of the game is to take as many "tricks" as you can. You have to first bid or guess how many tricks you think you can take (Aces are always good bets to take tricks and if you have the Kings, Queens and maybe the Jacks to back them up, those are pretty much good calls, especially in 2-handed spades but be careful not to count on all those as tricks if you have an abundance of one suit; it's very possible your opponent has none or very few in that suit and will "trump" your high cards with a spade). Once you count how many tricks you think you can take, you write that guess down and then play out the hand. If you just make what you guessed you would make you get a 0 added behind the number you guessed (let's say you think you can take 5 tricks and your opponent says he can take 7 tricks and you make 5 exactly, then your opponent has made 8 (because there are 13 tricks available - in 2-handed and 4-handed spades; in 3-handed spades there are 17 tricks availble - you take out the 2 of clubs and shuffle and distribute the remaining 51 cards between the three people playing (51 divided by 3 = 17)). So in this example, you would score 50 and your opponent would score 71. You keep playing hands until you reach a set "winner's" score or until you become tired and bored with the game. The highest score wins.
2) Did you go trick-or-treating when you were a kid? What was your favorite costume ever?
I remember going trick-or-treating with my brothers and friends but don't remember any of my costumes.
3) How old is "too old" to go trick-or-treating?
If you are a kid at heart, you are never too old to go trick-or-treating.
4) Do you remember any silly or gross songs or rhymes from your childhood (like, "Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts")? Share them with us!
The only one that comes to mind is "Found a Peanut" or the "Bumble Bee" song
(both are too long to post the words to - Found a peanut, it was rotten, ate it anyway, got sick, died and went to heaven, - I don't remember all the verses and the bumble bee song - I'm bringing home a baby bumble bee, Ouch, he stung me; I'm squashing up a baby bumble bee, ...; and again don't remember any more words or verses - but you can always look them up somewhere. I'm sure that one version that shows up will have the words I learned.
5) What is your favorite Halloween memory?
Halloween memory? I'm supposed to remember stuff from over 30 years ago? Oy vey. I don't really have any favorite memories. Maybe that is because nothing stands out as memorable. I can't even remember my costumes let alone my favorite Halloween Memory.
6) What goodies do you hope to find in your treat bag this Halloween?
With band season upon us and my kids teenagers, they don't go trick-or-treating. If their father is off and he feels like taking them to the neighborhoods that still participate in trick-or-treating, he will take them but usually there are no treats or not many by the time they get home. So I don't expect any tricks or treats this year.
Okay, YOUR TURN!! You're IT!
I'm tagging Chai (http://raindropsays.blogspot.com/), Janelle (http://janelledakota.blogspot.com/), Mary Ann (http://thebrokentree.blogspot.com/), Henri the Ghost (http://henritheghost.blogspot.com/), and Cassie (http://cassielitton.blogspot.com/) - I know that is only 5 but that is all I can think of right now. So if you are reading my blog and feel inclined to participate, consider yourself tagged and leave a comment if you take the tag and run with it posting your link so I can go read your meme. Have fun with it and keep the tag going.
(This tag is in conjunction with Holly's Trockle Trick-or-Treat tour which I'm hosting on my other blog - http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com later this week. Trockle is a created monster - the monster under the bed to be exact - who has all kinds of funky features (he is orange and bumpy like a basketball, has one eye, three fingers with long pointed, green colored fingernails) and with whom we are going to have fun. So stop by the different host stops and see what kind of tricks or treats we may have for you.
TROCKLE TOUR SCHEDULE:
October 5:
Joyce Anthony @ Books and Authors
http://joyceanthony.tripod.com/blog/
October 6:
Joyce Anthony @ Books and Authors
http://joyceanthony.tripod.com/blog/
October 7:
Janet @ Janet’s Book Nook
http://www.sheneedstoknow.com/booknook
October 8:
Kimberly @ All About Kimberly
http://www.allaboutkimberly.com
October 9:
Jen (Pantheistic Mom) @ My Terrene Reality
http://terrenereality.blogspot.com
October 10:
Elysabeth Eldering @ the Junior Geography Detective Squad
http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com/
October 11:
Ron Berry @ The Surreal Writer
http://unwriter1.wordpress.com/
October 12:
Lynne Thompson @ La Vida Es Un Sueno
http://suenogrande.blogspot.com/
October 13:
Wrap-up by Holly Jahangiri and Jordan M. Vinyard
http://blog.jahangiri.us
There Will Be Prizes!
Here are the rules: One person is "It" - that'd be me. The rest of y'all - RUN!! If I tag you (as in, reach out through the monitor and grab you by the arm, or visit your blog and say "You're IT!" or somehow suck you in and get you to read this post), you're IT! YOU, in turn, must answer the questions below, then go tag as many people as you can. You can repost these rules, or point to this blog entry for explanations. If you're feeling super-creative this morning, you can even post your answer in video form, on YouTube! Or in audio form! Phone it in to Utterli.com! Or...oh, just play, okay? Then come back here and post a link to your reply. That's important - post a link here so we can all see what you did when it was your turn to be "It." I mean, you could just take your marbles and go home, like the kid who says, "This is stupid. I don't wanna BE 'It' again. I'm going home. What a bunch o' losers." But then good luck finding anyone to go trick-or-treating with at the end of the month.
1) What were your favorite games to play when you were a kid? Do you remember the rules? Share them here (bored kids grounded from video games will thank you):
Games - we played games? I played school and made my brothers endure lesson after lesson of whatever I could figure out was good school material. Of course, reading was always a requirement. Card games came early from my parents - we learned how to play spades but not many people really know how to nowadays. The rules vary from region to region I think. I know my parents taught us 2-handed spades, 3-handed spades and of course 4-handed spades which is played as partners. I have tried teaching my kids to play spades but they don't get it.
The object of the game is to take as many "tricks" as you can. You have to first bid or guess how many tricks you think you can take (Aces are always good bets to take tricks and if you have the Kings, Queens and maybe the Jacks to back them up, those are pretty much good calls, especially in 2-handed spades but be careful not to count on all those as tricks if you have an abundance of one suit; it's very possible your opponent has none or very few in that suit and will "trump" your high cards with a spade). Once you count how many tricks you think you can take, you write that guess down and then play out the hand. If you just make what you guessed you would make you get a 0 added behind the number you guessed (let's say you think you can take 5 tricks and your opponent says he can take 7 tricks and you make 5 exactly, then your opponent has made 8 (because there are 13 tricks available - in 2-handed and 4-handed spades; in 3-handed spades there are 17 tricks availble - you take out the 2 of clubs and shuffle and distribute the remaining 51 cards between the three people playing (51 divided by 3 = 17)). So in this example, you would score 50 and your opponent would score 71. You keep playing hands until you reach a set "winner's" score or until you become tired and bored with the game. The highest score wins.
2) Did you go trick-or-treating when you were a kid? What was your favorite costume ever?
I remember going trick-or-treating with my brothers and friends but don't remember any of my costumes.
3) How old is "too old" to go trick-or-treating?
If you are a kid at heart, you are never too old to go trick-or-treating.
4) Do you remember any silly or gross songs or rhymes from your childhood (like, "Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts")? Share them with us!
The only one that comes to mind is "Found a Peanut" or the "Bumble Bee" song
(both are too long to post the words to - Found a peanut, it was rotten, ate it anyway, got sick, died and went to heaven, - I don't remember all the verses and the bumble bee song - I'm bringing home a baby bumble bee, Ouch, he stung me; I'm squashing up a baby bumble bee, ...; and again don't remember any more words or verses - but you can always look them up somewhere. I'm sure that one version that shows up will have the words I learned.
5) What is your favorite Halloween memory?
Halloween memory? I'm supposed to remember stuff from over 30 years ago? Oy vey. I don't really have any favorite memories. Maybe that is because nothing stands out as memorable. I can't even remember my costumes let alone my favorite Halloween Memory.
6) What goodies do you hope to find in your treat bag this Halloween?
With band season upon us and my kids teenagers, they don't go trick-or-treating. If their father is off and he feels like taking them to the neighborhoods that still participate in trick-or-treating, he will take them but usually there are no treats or not many by the time they get home. So I don't expect any tricks or treats this year.
Okay, YOUR TURN!! You're IT!
I'm tagging Chai (http://raindropsays.blogspot.com/), Janelle (http://janelledakota.blogspot.com/), Mary Ann (http://thebrokentree.blogspot.com/), Henri the Ghost (http://henritheghost.blogspot.com/), and Cassie (http://cassielitton.blogspot.com/) - I know that is only 5 but that is all I can think of right now. So if you are reading my blog and feel inclined to participate, consider yourself tagged and leave a comment if you take the tag and run with it posting your link so I can go read your meme. Have fun with it and keep the tag going.
(This tag is in conjunction with Holly's Trockle Trick-or-Treat tour which I'm hosting on my other blog - http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com later this week. Trockle is a created monster - the monster under the bed to be exact - who has all kinds of funky features (he is orange and bumpy like a basketball, has one eye, three fingers with long pointed, green colored fingernails) and with whom we are going to have fun. So stop by the different host stops and see what kind of tricks or treats we may have for you.
TROCKLE TOUR SCHEDULE:
October 5:
Joyce Anthony @ Books and Authors
http://joyceanthony.tripod.com/blog/
October 6:
Joyce Anthony @ Books and Authors
http://joyceanthony.tripod.com/blog/
October 7:
Janet @ Janet’s Book Nook
http://www.sheneedstoknow.com/booknook
October 8:
Kimberly @ All About Kimberly
http://www.allaboutkimberly.com
October 9:
Jen (Pantheistic Mom) @ My Terrene Reality
http://terrenereality.blogspot.com
October 10:
Elysabeth Eldering @ the Junior Geography Detective Squad
http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com/
October 11:
Ron Berry @ The Surreal Writer
http://unwriter1.wordpress.com/
October 12:
Lynne Thompson @ La Vida Es Un Sueno
http://suenogrande.blogspot.com/
October 13:
Wrap-up by Holly Jahangiri and Jordan M. Vinyard
http://blog.jahangiri.us
There Will Be Prizes!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Tagged, yet again!!
Wow, Tagging is becoming a way of blogging now - lol - I've been tagged on two Multiply sites (Rena's site and Crystalee's site) as well as Holly's blog. On Rena's site, I was asked to answer 20 questions, so if you want to be tagged to do that one, you can go here and play that one; and on Holly's and Crystalee's, I was asked to do 6 random things about myself, so you can take whichever tag you want. I don't have people to tag so figure if you read my blogs or anything, consider yourself tagged - lol; how's that.
The rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you: Holly Jahangiri, Do I Have to Spell it Out?
2) Post the rules on the blog: Here you go.
3) Write six random things about yourself:
Okay, here goes:
- I'm highly allergic to aspirin - if I get even the tiniest amount of aspirin in my system, I go into anaphylaxis.
- I'm working towards a van and house (sometime in the far future it seems)
- I was shy when I was a youngun (true - it would take me a long time to make friends or speak to people). I didn't overcome this shyness until I was in college (but now, only shy for short periods of time, unless there is an immediate click when I meet someone)
- I have never had a broken bone but have had probably close to 150 stitches at some point or another (I have had three cesarean sections and had a hernia repair, knee surgery and busted my face twice with stitches right below my lower lip (a tiny X marks the spot) and stitches above my eye)
- Five and six are just not coming to me so I guess if you want more random things about me - you need to read my posting from 2007 and read some more random things (although in looking back, one of the things about me is the same - the aspirin allergy)
- (*five - just thought of this) - the first movie I ever saw in a theater was "Sound of Music" and it was during a very rare mother/daughter outing - which included my grandmother. I was big stuff back then - going to an actual theater with my grandmother and mother.
4) Tag six people at the end of your post: Tagged at end and beginning - whoever is reading my blog is tagged.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged: Not sure who all reads so can't leave them a message.
6) Let the tagger know when your entry is up: Okay, Holly, Crystalee and Rena - my tags are up -
"Tag, You're It!"
I'm tagging the six people who may be reading my blog right now - lol unless you have already been tagged and have posted your six random items.
I will also cross post this on my Multiply site - so consider everyone tagged who feels like responding - E :)
The rules:
1) Link to the person who tagged you: Holly Jahangiri, Do I Have to Spell it Out?
2) Post the rules on the blog: Here you go.
3) Write six random things about yourself:
Okay, here goes:
- I'm highly allergic to aspirin - if I get even the tiniest amount of aspirin in my system, I go into anaphylaxis.
- I'm working towards a van and house (sometime in the far future it seems)
- I was shy when I was a youngun (true - it would take me a long time to make friends or speak to people). I didn't overcome this shyness until I was in college (but now, only shy for short periods of time, unless there is an immediate click when I meet someone)
- I have never had a broken bone but have had probably close to 150 stitches at some point or another (I have had three cesarean sections and had a hernia repair, knee surgery and busted my face twice with stitches right below my lower lip (a tiny X marks the spot) and stitches above my eye)
- Five and six are just not coming to me so I guess if you want more random things about me - you need to read my posting from 2007 and read some more random things (although in looking back, one of the things about me is the same - the aspirin allergy)
- (*five - just thought of this) - the first movie I ever saw in a theater was "Sound of Music" and it was during a very rare mother/daughter outing - which included my grandmother. I was big stuff back then - going to an actual theater with my grandmother and mother.
4) Tag six people at the end of your post: Tagged at end and beginning - whoever is reading my blog is tagged.
5) Let each person know they have been tagged: Not sure who all reads so can't leave them a message.
6) Let the tagger know when your entry is up: Okay, Holly, Crystalee and Rena - my tags are up -
"Tag, You're It!"
I'm tagging the six people who may be reading my blog right now - lol unless you have already been tagged and have posted your six random items.
I will also cross post this on my Multiply site - so consider everyone tagged who feels like responding - E :)
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Coffee, Tea and you want me to host what?
Virtual book tours (or blog book tours) are the wave of the future. With the economy as it is and finances dropping (as well as some institutions on the verge of collapse), doing a live book tour is getting near impossible. The travel alone is the biggest expense an author has to incur to do a book tour. You have to spend your time schmoozing with the managers of the bookstores or wherever you happen to want to set up a book signing with no guarantee that you will make enough sales (that's of course sales for the store and receiving royalties months later which amount to pennies on the dollar; most authors make less than $1 per book, even priced at $25 for a hardback copy), then either book a flight or drive to your destination, book a hotel for the number of nights you plan to be in the area and then of course eat out or on the run. Then you pack up and head out either to the next destination or home. Expenses are racking up with no definite income based on the sales or lack of sales you may have.
So what's an author to do? Well, a simple solution is to do a virtual book tour. This is done online and if you don't have a regular day job that you have to get dressed for, you could actually visit all your tour stops in your pajamas. But I wouldn't recommend it since someone told me before that if you want to feel the part, you need to dress the part. At least put on comfortable clothing just in case you need to run out during the day for that cup of coffee or you need a break.
I have hosted several tours of late and have been a poor host. That is until the recent tour on my JGDS blog with Trockle. No, I wasn't the best host for the tour but I was more active and participated in the tour more than I have other tours. Why? The difference could have been that I am writing children's books now and felt that promoting a child's book would help get my blog noticed and hopefully boost sales for me as well as the author of Trockle, or maybe it was because Vivian (my publisher) was the one putting it together and since it was a fellow author in the same publishing house I felt obligated to do a better job than previously.
Most of the other tours I have hosted have been from a professional service and it was kind of "here is the tour we are doing now and would you mine posting something on such and such day" and then it was over and done with - not much contact with the author (if any at all) nor the people putting on the tour. I felt distant, like I didn't really need to worry about anything. I would post my obligatory article, that I volunteered to do but there would be nothing in return. I didn't see much change in the hits or comments on my blog during a tour stop than before. I was a bad host. You have to stay active, authors in contact with hosts and keep things out there in the public's eye in order to have a successful tour.
I am about to host three more tours, one on the JGDS blog and two here and because of the guidelines Holly and Vivian have come up with, I believe I will be a better host and having been more active in the most recent tour doesn't hurt either.
If you are a fellow writer and want to have your book hosted, it is fine but remember to stay involved with the tour all the way to the end. Post responses on your host blogs as the comments build during the day on a particular spot. Promote yourself like crazy everywhere you have connections. Your blog should be very active during the time of your tour. Your hosts need to make sure they talk your book up during the tour as well, not just for the day they host you but all the stops you plan on making during your tour. Try to offer your hosts something. Maybe have contests and have door prizes, doesn't have to be anything that costs a lot, but offer something. Your hosts and followers will participate more if you have something to give away.
For more guidelines on what makes a good host, email me at eeldering@gmail.com and I'll share with you the list Holly and Viv have come up with and are willing to share with future hosts.
So, yes, I will host book tours and I will be a good hostess and promote your book to help you out.
So what's an author to do? Well, a simple solution is to do a virtual book tour. This is done online and if you don't have a regular day job that you have to get dressed for, you could actually visit all your tour stops in your pajamas. But I wouldn't recommend it since someone told me before that if you want to feel the part, you need to dress the part. At least put on comfortable clothing just in case you need to run out during the day for that cup of coffee or you need a break.
I have hosted several tours of late and have been a poor host. That is until the recent tour on my JGDS blog with Trockle. No, I wasn't the best host for the tour but I was more active and participated in the tour more than I have other tours. Why? The difference could have been that I am writing children's books now and felt that promoting a child's book would help get my blog noticed and hopefully boost sales for me as well as the author of Trockle, or maybe it was because Vivian (my publisher) was the one putting it together and since it was a fellow author in the same publishing house I felt obligated to do a better job than previously.
Most of the other tours I have hosted have been from a professional service and it was kind of "here is the tour we are doing now and would you mine posting something on such and such day" and then it was over and done with - not much contact with the author (if any at all) nor the people putting on the tour. I felt distant, like I didn't really need to worry about anything. I would post my obligatory article, that I volunteered to do but there would be nothing in return. I didn't see much change in the hits or comments on my blog during a tour stop than before. I was a bad host. You have to stay active, authors in contact with hosts and keep things out there in the public's eye in order to have a successful tour.
I am about to host three more tours, one on the JGDS blog and two here and because of the guidelines Holly and Vivian have come up with, I believe I will be a better host and having been more active in the most recent tour doesn't hurt either.
If you are a fellow writer and want to have your book hosted, it is fine but remember to stay involved with the tour all the way to the end. Post responses on your host blogs as the comments build during the day on a particular spot. Promote yourself like crazy everywhere you have connections. Your blog should be very active during the time of your tour. Your hosts need to make sure they talk your book up during the tour as well, not just for the day they host you but all the stops you plan on making during your tour. Try to offer your hosts something. Maybe have contests and have door prizes, doesn't have to be anything that costs a lot, but offer something. Your hosts and followers will participate more if you have something to give away.
For more guidelines on what makes a good host, email me at eeldering@gmail.com and I'll share with you the list Holly and Viv have come up with and are willing to share with future hosts.
So, yes, I will host book tours and I will be a good hostess and promote your book to help you out.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
So busy (in other words - too much to do and so little time to do it in)
A lot has happened since I last posted. Let's see - a friend of Hailie's family moved; she is also in band with Hailie and so I've been granted temporary guardianship so that she could continue in band and not mess things up for the program; Benjamin had decided at the end of the school year he wanted to play football (against my wishes that he participate in something safer) and then after band camp had started, he decided he wanted to go back into marching band. The first week of band camp was an 8 to 12 week; the girls attended Monday and Tuesday, then Wednesday, Trish's throat started bleeding from her tonsillectomy (scab came off and she was bleeding not as much as she thought) I had to run up the road to take Trish to the on-call doctor for the group that had done her tonsillectomy. Cauterized the bleeding spot and sent her on her way (told her to rest, not be active in the colorguard until this week). Thursday took the girls up to practice (they had to be there after lunch for a bit) and when I picked them up, the colorguard director (if you want to call her that) came over to my car and told me to leave Trish at home (she sat and observed, did not participate) because she (the director) had her nieces and nephew and daughter up there and she was worried that Trish might be contagious and didn't want to chance her infant/toddler niece would get something (hello - Trish had her tonsils taken out and is no longer contagious; the whole reason for taking them out was to prevent her from contracting strep throat and other diseases as is. Her bleeding is not contagious; just a part of the healing process. So how stupid of the director to say something like this.)
Friday had to run Hailie to the doctor to have this lump (inflamed lymph node probably) on her neck checked out. Found out sheh as tonsilitis and will need a tonsillectomy and lymph node resection. The doctor also checked Trish's ears (not a patient and not on the schedule) because she was complaining of her throat up to her ears hurting and I was going to have to run her up to the Urgent Care or one of those facilities and I'd forgotten to have the ENT look at her when he cauterized her throat Wednesday; Hailie's ENT doctor was very nice and just checked her out and said it was all part of the healing process from the tonsillectomy, advised her on what she needed to do and that the pain would go away (by Monday night or Tuesday morning the pain had disappeared which was two weeks postoperative for Trish). After the doctor's appointments had to get a bit of shopping done, then meet with Trish's mother to sign the papers and get them notarized and get Hailie back up to practice to play catch up.
Band camp long week started this past Monday. It seems I had something to do Monday but I don't remember at this point. Tuesday I had to take Trish to the doctor in the opposite direction for her followup appointment with the ENT who did her tonsillectomy. Got her back right at lunch time which was good timing on my part, lol. I had to go see my doctor in the afternoon due to a toothache and needing an antibiotic.
This week they have been up at the school from 8 AM to 8 PM, with an hour for lunch and 45 minutes for dinner (band booster club provides them with supper which is usually donated from our local businesses). They are so worn out, it's a miracle they can even take their showers when returning in the evening. I only live 5 minutes from the school but by time they get out (has been after 8 when they are finished so far) and I take the rider home (yes I have a full car every day - three girls and Benjamin in the Focus), and possibly pick up a quick snack type food and get home, it has been about 9 or later.
Yesterday, I did another presentation at the Belton Center for the Arts in their summer camp program (theme this year is storybook time). I read from State of Wilderness and let the kids guess the state, but Stephanie would rather just tell them the state and not let them buy the book and figure it out on their own, so she wants me to read clue #25 (which is my giveaway clue on all my states I hope) and let them guess. This group didn't seem as enthused as the first group I did a couple of weeks ago. Overall, it was good though. I dropped off three press releases to the local newspaper next door to the Center for the Arts and am awaiting a picture from Stephanie to post on the other blog.
Today, the kids decided they didn't want to bring their lunches so they want me to go to Burger King and take their lunches to them. So in a bit, I'm heading out to hit the pavement again to pick up lunches and check mail.
State #2 has some progress made - I've got 5 clues with dialogue and interaction with my characters and the bonus clue in place; I've added 6 more clues that are at the end but not added anything else yet (since each state will have 27 clues and I know what the last two clues for each state are going to be, I will put those in automatically. The 25th clue in each book should be the giveaway clue (something that is common knowledge and just seems so trivial you don't think about it). I'm going to include a silly law (State #1's is - It is illegal to give another citizen in this state a box of candy weighing more than 50 pounds. State #2's is a good one (remember to pronounce your states properly or you could go to jail) but I shall wait to reveal it later.
Okay - that's how busy I've been lately - see you all in the postings - E :)
Friday had to run Hailie to the doctor to have this lump (inflamed lymph node probably) on her neck checked out. Found out sheh as tonsilitis and will need a tonsillectomy and lymph node resection. The doctor also checked Trish's ears (not a patient and not on the schedule) because she was complaining of her throat up to her ears hurting and I was going to have to run her up to the Urgent Care or one of those facilities and I'd forgotten to have the ENT look at her when he cauterized her throat Wednesday; Hailie's ENT doctor was very nice and just checked her out and said it was all part of the healing process from the tonsillectomy, advised her on what she needed to do and that the pain would go away (by Monday night or Tuesday morning the pain had disappeared which was two weeks postoperative for Trish). After the doctor's appointments had to get a bit of shopping done, then meet with Trish's mother to sign the papers and get them notarized and get Hailie back up to practice to play catch up.
Band camp long week started this past Monday. It seems I had something to do Monday but I don't remember at this point. Tuesday I had to take Trish to the doctor in the opposite direction for her followup appointment with the ENT who did her tonsillectomy. Got her back right at lunch time which was good timing on my part, lol. I had to go see my doctor in the afternoon due to a toothache and needing an antibiotic.
This week they have been up at the school from 8 AM to 8 PM, with an hour for lunch and 45 minutes for dinner (band booster club provides them with supper which is usually donated from our local businesses). They are so worn out, it's a miracle they can even take their showers when returning in the evening. I only live 5 minutes from the school but by time they get out (has been after 8 when they are finished so far) and I take the rider home (yes I have a full car every day - three girls and Benjamin in the Focus), and possibly pick up a quick snack type food and get home, it has been about 9 or later.
Yesterday, I did another presentation at the Belton Center for the Arts in their summer camp program (theme this year is storybook time). I read from State of Wilderness and let the kids guess the state, but Stephanie would rather just tell them the state and not let them buy the book and figure it out on their own, so she wants me to read clue #25 (which is my giveaway clue on all my states I hope) and let them guess. This group didn't seem as enthused as the first group I did a couple of weeks ago. Overall, it was good though. I dropped off three press releases to the local newspaper next door to the Center for the Arts and am awaiting a picture from Stephanie to post on the other blog.
Today, the kids decided they didn't want to bring their lunches so they want me to go to Burger King and take their lunches to them. So in a bit, I'm heading out to hit the pavement again to pick up lunches and check mail.
State #2 has some progress made - I've got 5 clues with dialogue and interaction with my characters and the bonus clue in place; I've added 6 more clues that are at the end but not added anything else yet (since each state will have 27 clues and I know what the last two clues for each state are going to be, I will put those in automatically. The 25th clue in each book should be the giveaway clue (something that is common knowledge and just seems so trivial you don't think about it). I'm going to include a silly law (State #1's is - It is illegal to give another citizen in this state a box of candy weighing more than 50 pounds. State #2's is a good one (remember to pronounce your states properly or you could go to jail) but I shall wait to reveal it later.
Okay - that's how busy I've been lately - see you all in the postings - E :)
Monday, July 21, 2008
Bob Avey guest poster
As promised, Bob Avey has written an interesting article on going from short stories to writing novels. Here is his posting. See you all in the postings - E :)
From 2,500 to 80,000 in 4.5 seconds
By Bob Avey
Transitions of any kind offer the potential for difficulties, but changing from a writing form that possesses unexplored territory to one you know even less about serves up a different set of problems. When it comes to writing, as with any endeavor, a community of like-minded people can offer support and understanding, which can go a long way, but sometimes following the advice of others can have unexpected results.
I began writing at an early age, when I was in the ninth grade to be exact, but, for reasons I don’t really understand, I didn’t take it seriously until I was caught up in the throws of a rather intense midlife crisis during my late thirties. Of course, I’d fallen in love with reading many years before that, when my third grade teacher gave us a break from Dick and Jane and introduced us to fairy tales, fantasy stories that offered interesting characters with problems worth reading about. From that, my starting out with fantasy short stories when I began writing exhibits a logical path. However, by that time, due to a fascination with writers like Stephen King and Dean Koontz, my literary tastes had begun to lean toward the dark side.
At the apex of this psychological meltdown, my wife and I decided to move the family back to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where we’re both from. I’d spent years traveling the southern half of the country, working in the oil and gas industry and we both harbored desires of getting back to our roots. Apart from the love of my wife and family, about the only thing holding me together during this period was my desire to write, and once we were settled in I contacted the local library system and asked about writers’ groups in the area. The library staff put me in touch with The Tulsa NightWriters, a group I still belong to. After attending a few meetings, I learned that some of the members had formed a critique group, which met once a week. I made a few inquiries and soon I was sitting in a room, reading out loud words that no one outside the family had previously seen or heard. As it turned out, the rather conservative members of the group weren’t exactly thrilled about what I was writing. Looking back, I guess some of the stories were pretty bad. Anyway, the group encouraged me to abandon short stories and begin a novel. In addition they suggested, perhaps a bit more subtly, that I choose a more serious subject matter. You can probably imagine how I felt. Being a new writer, unaccustomed to constructive criticism, I was devastated.
As a result, I dropped out of the critique group. But that didn’t last. A few weeks later, I sat at home, brooding over what I’d thought at the time to be overly harsh words, when something happened. An idea began to form. Stories come to me in different ways, but often they will start with what I call a snippet of character monologue or dialogue. I don’t think I’m schizophrenic or anything, but I often hear – actually it’s a thought process, but it seems like they are talking – my characters talk. In this particular instance, a rather forceful character said, “You can’t fill out a homicide report, indicating the suspect to be a ghost.” That caught my attention. It was obviously some kind of cop story, which should satisfy the conservative critique group members, but at the same time there was this ghost element, which gave me something to work with. I went to my desk and wrote a few pages. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon how you look at it, I was still a little miffed, or hurt over the group’s comments, so I decided to poke a little fun at them. I would give them what they wanted, only in an exaggerated format, everything, from characterization to dialogue would be over the top. That’s how I wrote it. When it came time for the next critique session, I grabbed my pumped up pages and attended the meeting. However, when my turn to read came up, I almost chickened out. After all, I didn’t really want to make anyone angry, which is what I was sure would happen if I continued. Before I could stop myself, though, I began to read my little literary joke. I nearly fell out of my chair when the comments started. The group members were not offended. On the contrary, they loved it, praising me to the point of embarrassment. Well, at that point I couldn’t very well tell them it was a joke, so I just kept writing. About a year later, I had a completed novel manuscript. And that’s how I made the transition from short story writing, to writing novels.
Being around people who offer support and caring through a sharing of interests not only makes things easier, but is also an avenue to lasting friendships. Similarly, making the transition from one form of writing to another should not be feared, but welcomed as a means of learning and an expansion of horizons. Don’t be afraid to take a little advice along the way. You never know where it might lead.
From 2,500 to 80,000 in 4.5 seconds
By Bob Avey
Transitions of any kind offer the potential for difficulties, but changing from a writing form that possesses unexplored territory to one you know even less about serves up a different set of problems. When it comes to writing, as with any endeavor, a community of like-minded people can offer support and understanding, which can go a long way, but sometimes following the advice of others can have unexpected results.
I began writing at an early age, when I was in the ninth grade to be exact, but, for reasons I don’t really understand, I didn’t take it seriously until I was caught up in the throws of a rather intense midlife crisis during my late thirties. Of course, I’d fallen in love with reading many years before that, when my third grade teacher gave us a break from Dick and Jane and introduced us to fairy tales, fantasy stories that offered interesting characters with problems worth reading about. From that, my starting out with fantasy short stories when I began writing exhibits a logical path. However, by that time, due to a fascination with writers like Stephen King and Dean Koontz, my literary tastes had begun to lean toward the dark side.
At the apex of this psychological meltdown, my wife and I decided to move the family back to Tulsa, Oklahoma, where we’re both from. I’d spent years traveling the southern half of the country, working in the oil and gas industry and we both harbored desires of getting back to our roots. Apart from the love of my wife and family, about the only thing holding me together during this period was my desire to write, and once we were settled in I contacted the local library system and asked about writers’ groups in the area. The library staff put me in touch with The Tulsa NightWriters, a group I still belong to. After attending a few meetings, I learned that some of the members had formed a critique group, which met once a week. I made a few inquiries and soon I was sitting in a room, reading out loud words that no one outside the family had previously seen or heard. As it turned out, the rather conservative members of the group weren’t exactly thrilled about what I was writing. Looking back, I guess some of the stories were pretty bad. Anyway, the group encouraged me to abandon short stories and begin a novel. In addition they suggested, perhaps a bit more subtly, that I choose a more serious subject matter. You can probably imagine how I felt. Being a new writer, unaccustomed to constructive criticism, I was devastated.
As a result, I dropped out of the critique group. But that didn’t last. A few weeks later, I sat at home, brooding over what I’d thought at the time to be overly harsh words, when something happened. An idea began to form. Stories come to me in different ways, but often they will start with what I call a snippet of character monologue or dialogue. I don’t think I’m schizophrenic or anything, but I often hear – actually it’s a thought process, but it seems like they are talking – my characters talk. In this particular instance, a rather forceful character said, “You can’t fill out a homicide report, indicating the suspect to be a ghost.” That caught my attention. It was obviously some kind of cop story, which should satisfy the conservative critique group members, but at the same time there was this ghost element, which gave me something to work with. I went to my desk and wrote a few pages. Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending upon how you look at it, I was still a little miffed, or hurt over the group’s comments, so I decided to poke a little fun at them. I would give them what they wanted, only in an exaggerated format, everything, from characterization to dialogue would be over the top. That’s how I wrote it. When it came time for the next critique session, I grabbed my pumped up pages and attended the meeting. However, when my turn to read came up, I almost chickened out. After all, I didn’t really want to make anyone angry, which is what I was sure would happen if I continued. Before I could stop myself, though, I began to read my little literary joke. I nearly fell out of my chair when the comments started. The group members were not offended. On the contrary, they loved it, praising me to the point of embarrassment. Well, at that point I couldn’t very well tell them it was a joke, so I just kept writing. About a year later, I had a completed novel manuscript. And that’s how I made the transition from short story writing, to writing novels.
Being around people who offer support and caring through a sharing of interests not only makes things easier, but is also an avenue to lasting friendships. Similarly, making the transition from one form of writing to another should not be feared, but welcomed as a means of learning and an expansion of horizons. Don’t be afraid to take a little advice along the way. You never know where it might lead.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Beneath a Buried House by Bob Avey
This is the snyopsis of Bob's book, Beneath a Buried House. Check out more info here.
Synopsis: Things aren’t always what they seem. A police detective’s quest to uncover the truth behind the death of a transient makes him a target…from whom or what, he isn’t sure.
Tulsa Police Detective, Kenny Elliot, brushes the dirt from the surface of an apparent John Doe overdose case, finding a labyrinth of misdirection and deception beneath, and a trail, which leads him to the dark side of religion, a place where anything can happen.
ORDERING INFORMATION: B&N
Amazon
Product Details
Paperback: 226 pages
Publisher: Deadly Niche Press (June 15, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0937660817
ISBN-13: 978-0937660812
Product Dimensions: 8.3 x 5.4 x 0.9 inches
Shipping Weight: 10.4 ounces
EXCERPT:
BENEATH A BURIED HOUSE
Chapter 1
People go missing. Llewellyn knew that as well as anyone but when a whole family fell victim to such a fate, that tended to get his attention. It had the interest of someone else as well. Threats had been made. But the way he saw it, with Millie gone, he didn't have all that much to lose anyway.
Llewellyn watched his step as he moved from the sidewalk to the street, for it was dark, the sun skimming the bottom of the sky in a thin, red line, the color of embers clinging to life in a dying campfire. A disturbing thought—a deep suspicion that had grown to such proportion that he feared it might twist his reasoning—snaked through him. He'd previously abandoned the project with good reason.
At times like this, he would think back to when he was a boy, visiting his mother. Her house sat on a small hill and behind it was a pond with huge willow trees growing from its banks. It always struck him as odd that the surface of the water remained calm and never rippled, as if it were not real at all, but a painting, an artificial backdrop put there for the effect.
Llewellyn had resolved that he too would be like the waters of the pond, unmovable, unflappable, and later, during his adult life, he would call on that image, not every time the going got tough, but when life got particularly hard.
He stared at the dilapidated building with a sign hanging from it; a cheap plastic job with florescent lights inside that backlit the bar's name: CYMRY'S.
He shook his head and pushed open the door, a heavy wooden model that looked out of place, as if it had been ripped from the hinges of an old house and brought there against its will.
Just inside the door, Llewellyn paused, and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness he took a seat in the second booth by the window, like the man who called himself Jerry Sinclair had told him to do. Llewellyn was five minutes late, and he hoped that wouldn't matter, though he saw no one fitting Sinclair's description. At least the darkness was explained. It was the décor, which included the walls and the ceilings, and even the floors. Everything was black with the exception of a large piece of red artwork that radiated from the center of the floor in a rather unprofessional manner, as if it were a bad afterthought, the awkward brushstrokes obvious even from a distance.
Llewellyn waited but no one showed. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes had passed. He slid out of his seat and went to the bar. The man had his back turned but a mirrored wall showed his face. He must've known Llewellyn was there though he did not acknowledge him. Llewellyn laid a five on the counter. "I'd like a beer, please."
The man gave no visible indication he had heard the request.
"I'll just cut to the chase then," Llewellyn said. "What I really need is some information."
Turning around, the man drew a pint of lager, then set it down and snatched up the five. "What kind of information?"
Llewellyn slid his hand around the cool, damp handle, then brought the mug to his lips, relishing the bitter yet soothing brew. After a few sips, he said, "Does the name Jerry Sinclair mean anything to you?"
"Doesn't jump out at me."
"He said he would be wearing blue jeans and a tan corduroy jacket. Have you seen anyone like that?"
"Not since the eighties."
"Right, some people are habitually late. Perhaps Mr. Sinclair is one of those." After a pause, unable to control his inquisitiveness, Llewellyn asked, "What's up with the artwork on the floor?"
The bartender leaned forward, placing his beefy hands on the railing. "Don't know. It's always been there."
Llewellyn had dealt with his kind before; smug, confident with his size, and, as with any animal, the less challenging you could make yourself the better your odds were. He slouched a little. "Do you know what it is?"
"Maybe."
The bartender said this with a crooked grin, as if he and he alone were privy to the mysteries of the universe, which undoubtedly meant he knew nothing.
"If I had to guess," Llewellyn said, "I'd say it has something to do with the occult. But what do I know?"
Llewellyn retrieved one of his business cards and held it out. "I'm a reporter, on assignment."
Taking the card, the bartender examined it. "Florida? Long way from home, aren't you?"
"I go where the story takes me."
"Is that right?"
"So you haven't seen him, the guy I asked about?"
"Who?"
"Jerry Sinclair."
The bartender squinted. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"
"I'm sure."
"What kind of assignment are you on?"
Llewellyn sipped his beer, then set it down. "I look for the unusual. A few years back, I was working some leads, concerning a small town near here. You know, bizarre circumstances and all of that. Good Stuff. I decided to revive it, made a few phone calls, sent some e-mails, ran an ad in the paper. Then I get this reply from Sinclair. He claimed to have some information. It's not unusual. I get lucky like that sometimes."
Llewellyn heard the door and realized someone else had finally come into the place. The bartender had noticed as well, and Llewellyn took the opportunity to return to his booth by the window.
Three people had come in, and unlike Llewellyn they did not look out of place inside Cymry's, which meant they were not wearing dress pants and button-down shirts. Nor were any of them wearing blue jeans and a corduroy jacket.
One of them, a tall, slender girl wearing tight leather pants, strolled across the floor, stopping in front of the jukebox. Llewellyn couldn't imagine what kind of music might be popular in such a place, but it wasn't the anticipation of the music that held his attention. Even dressed as she was, the girl captivated him and he could not stop looking at her, which was a mistake. That indefinable female sense that alerts a woman to a man's attention seemed present in full force; she turned her head toward him.
Llewellyn looked away. He was asking for trouble. He thought of Millie. Not once during their thirty years together had he cheated on her, and he wasn't about to start now. He heard someone walk across the floor toward him, and he prayed that it would be Sinclair, that he had come through the door while Llewellyn wasn't looking and was even now preparing to slide into the other side of the booth across the table from him.
As a thick, musky smell of perfume crossed Llewellyn's senses, desperation shot through him. He turned his head, looking at the smooth patch of skin between the bottom of her shirt and the beginning of her leather pants. A tattoo of Saint Brighid's cross moved sensuously with the muscles of her stomach.
She said nothing. Llewellyn could feel her staring down at him, and when he finally raised his head, allowing for the first time their eyes to meet, he felt like the victim in an old vampire movie: frightened by the nature of his captor but hopeful that she would find him desirable and as he looked into her face, the thought occurred to him that if the eyes are truly the windows to the soul then hers was surely dark.
A color somewhere between purple and black graced her lips, as it did her fingernails. Her hair, which jabbed at the air in choreographed insolence, was as dark as either of these.
Llewellyn slid deeper into the booth, exposing an unused section of the vinyl cushion. She sat down. Llewellyn began to wonder, and not for the first time, what sort of person she really was and why was he, a slightly over-the-hill freelancer, entertaining romantic thoughts about a distant cousin of Vlad the Impaler? She was no teenager, but still half his age, twenty-four or twenty-five he suspected, and about as far away from his type as you could get. The pressure of her leg against his made none of that seem to matter.
She grinned. "You look a little out of place. Are you lost?"
"I'm here on business."
She lit a cigarette, and in response to Llewellyn's answer, she blew the smoke out a little harder than she needed to, the exhaust propelled into the air by something that could only be described as a prelude to a laugh. "What kind of business?"
Llewellyn checked his watch. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed and still his contact had not shown. In his opinion, that was late, even for the very lax. "I'm meeting someone, or at least I was supposed to."
"Sounds to me," she said, playing with the lapel of his jacket, "like maybe you just did."
Llewellyn nodded. He tried to concentrate, but his thoughts were all over the place.
"Maybe your girlfriend changed her mind."
"Come again?"
"Your little trick."
Llewellyn shook his head. "There's no trick."
She leaned closer, bringing her shoulders forward in an unspoken offer.
Llewellyn glanced up to see the bartender hovering over the booth. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there without his hearing him or seeing his approach. "This guy bothering you?" the bartender asked.
The girl smiled and touched his arm, old friends apparently. "Nothing I can't handle, Snub." She reached over and took Llewellyn's hand. "Just a little business."
"You know this guy?"
She winked. "I do now."
The bartender turned and stalked away. He acted protective, like an older brother, siblings from the dark side looking out for one another. It amazed Llewellyn that no matter how low you sank in life, you could still find evidence of a sense of community.
Llewellyn wondered what it might be like to be with this strange woman. Then, she leaned close, and with a kiss that teased with a slip of her tongue she said that she wanted him as well, or at least she intended to give him that impression.
He pushed away slightly. "Look, I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Yes you are. You're just afraid to give in to it."
"You read me pretty well."
"I usually do."
Llewellyn felt insecure, trapped. "I really am meeting someone."
"So where are they?"
"I don't know. I'm starting to have my doubts."
She let go of Llewellyn's hand and lit another cigarette. "Okay, I'll lay it out straight. Sinclair sent me."
"Is that right? Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. But he said to tell you that he has the whole story, everything that you're looking for."
She took a long draw on her cigarette. Llewellyn usually felt a mixture of sorrow and disdain when he saw someone do that, but she impressed him as someone who could handle just about anything, and anyone. His sense of good judgment, what he had left of it anyway, was telling him to excuse himself from this odd encounter, yet he resisted that urge. He hadn't told her Sinclair's name, and yet she knew it. He certainly hadn't said anything about a story. He'd always been drawn to the unusual, the unexplained, that which frightens most people—and here it all was, epitomized in this intimidating yet fascinating person. "So what happens next?"
"I'm supposed to take you somewhere. A private place where you can talk."
"Thanks," Llewellyn said, indicating with a nudge that he was ready to leave. "But I really should be going."
He half expected her to move closer and refuse to let him out, but instead she slid from the booth. Llewellyn did the same and started for the door, and then it occurred to him that he had no car and there would be no cabs waiting on the street in this part of town. He signaled the bartender. "Could you call a cab?"
The strange girl put her arm through Llewellyn's, and he realized that not only had they not exchanged names but he had anticipated her actions and welcomed her touch. She evaluated him with her gaze. "Save the call, Snub. I've got a car."
The look on the bartender's face said he was confused, and it seemed that in some strange way he might even be concerned for Llewellyn. "Whatever you think," he said.
"It's nice of you to offer," Llewellyn said to the girl, "but I hate to impose."
His resistance, though, was superficial at best. Still holding his arm, she shook her head and guided him through the door. Once they were outside, she pulled him close and they kissed again. He was in deep, and he knew it, but he kept going along with it. In the parking lot, they stopped beside a red Monte Carlo, and she did something that surprised Llewellyn. She tossed him the keys. "You drive."
Llewellyn stuck the key into the slot and opened the door, and after getting inside he reached over and unlocked the passenger side. She gave him directions and Llewellyn followed them, driving farther from his place with every block. A little later she said, "Turn here. We'll park in the back."
When they got out of the car, Llewellyn glanced around the area, seeing a few spent wine bottles. "No offense," he said, but I'm starting to have second thoughts about this. Maybe I should go."
"All right, but come in for a quick drink. I won't keep you. I promise." She ran a long nail along his jaw, making it an almost predatory gesture and an enticing one.
As they approached the building, it occurred to Llewellyn that her place didn't look much better than the bar.
She turned to look at him and caught him surveying the lines of the building. "Neat old place, huh? I like it here, love the vibes, if you know what I mean."
"It does have character," Llewellyn said.
She unlocked the door and they stepped into a small landing. The place was grim, and populated, Llewellyn suspected, by various strata of socioeconomic defeat, and as they walked the red, carpeted hallway, a red that reminded Llewellyn of blood, he thought of Dante's Inferno, for as they walked deeper into the building each successive apartment appeared more steeped in despair.
The girl's place was no exception, and once inside, Llewellyn could not imagine anyone actually living there. From a chip-edged kitchen table, she grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured some into a glass, mixed in a little soda, and handed it to him.
He swirled the amber mixture, unable to meet her eyes. His heart pounded. Leave. Just gulp it down and leave.
Before he could consider other options, she took the untouched drink and placed it on the table. Then she took Llewellyn's hand and placed it on her stomach, where she began to guide it upward, beneath her shirt, until it came to rest upon the warm, soft flesh of her breast.
Synopsis: Things aren’t always what they seem. A police detective’s quest to uncover the truth behind the death of a transient makes him a target…from whom or what, he isn’t sure.
Tulsa Police Detective, Kenny Elliot, brushes the dirt from the surface of an apparent John Doe overdose case, finding a labyrinth of misdirection and deception beneath, and a trail, which leads him to the dark side of religion, a place where anything can happen.
ORDERING INFORMATION: B&NAmazon
Product Details
Paperback: 226 pages
Publisher: Deadly Niche Press (June 15, 2008)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0937660817
ISBN-13: 978-0937660812
Product Dimensions: 8.3 x 5.4 x 0.9 inches
Shipping Weight: 10.4 ounces
EXCERPT:
BENEATH A BURIED HOUSE
Chapter 1
People go missing. Llewellyn knew that as well as anyone but when a whole family fell victim to such a fate, that tended to get his attention. It had the interest of someone else as well. Threats had been made. But the way he saw it, with Millie gone, he didn't have all that much to lose anyway.
Llewellyn watched his step as he moved from the sidewalk to the street, for it was dark, the sun skimming the bottom of the sky in a thin, red line, the color of embers clinging to life in a dying campfire. A disturbing thought—a deep suspicion that had grown to such proportion that he feared it might twist his reasoning—snaked through him. He'd previously abandoned the project with good reason.
At times like this, he would think back to when he was a boy, visiting his mother. Her house sat on a small hill and behind it was a pond with huge willow trees growing from its banks. It always struck him as odd that the surface of the water remained calm and never rippled, as if it were not real at all, but a painting, an artificial backdrop put there for the effect.
Llewellyn had resolved that he too would be like the waters of the pond, unmovable, unflappable, and later, during his adult life, he would call on that image, not every time the going got tough, but when life got particularly hard.
He stared at the dilapidated building with a sign hanging from it; a cheap plastic job with florescent lights inside that backlit the bar's name: CYMRY'S.
He shook his head and pushed open the door, a heavy wooden model that looked out of place, as if it had been ripped from the hinges of an old house and brought there against its will.
Just inside the door, Llewellyn paused, and when his eyes adjusted to the darkness he took a seat in the second booth by the window, like the man who called himself Jerry Sinclair had told him to do. Llewellyn was five minutes late, and he hoped that wouldn't matter, though he saw no one fitting Sinclair's description. At least the darkness was explained. It was the décor, which included the walls and the ceilings, and even the floors. Everything was black with the exception of a large piece of red artwork that radiated from the center of the floor in a rather unprofessional manner, as if it were a bad afterthought, the awkward brushstrokes obvious even from a distance.
Llewellyn waited but no one showed. He checked his watch. Thirty minutes had passed. He slid out of his seat and went to the bar. The man had his back turned but a mirrored wall showed his face. He must've known Llewellyn was there though he did not acknowledge him. Llewellyn laid a five on the counter. "I'd like a beer, please."
The man gave no visible indication he had heard the request.
"I'll just cut to the chase then," Llewellyn said. "What I really need is some information."
Turning around, the man drew a pint of lager, then set it down and snatched up the five. "What kind of information?"
Llewellyn slid his hand around the cool, damp handle, then brought the mug to his lips, relishing the bitter yet soothing brew. After a few sips, he said, "Does the name Jerry Sinclair mean anything to you?"
"Doesn't jump out at me."
"He said he would be wearing blue jeans and a tan corduroy jacket. Have you seen anyone like that?"
"Not since the eighties."
"Right, some people are habitually late. Perhaps Mr. Sinclair is one of those." After a pause, unable to control his inquisitiveness, Llewellyn asked, "What's up with the artwork on the floor?"
The bartender leaned forward, placing his beefy hands on the railing. "Don't know. It's always been there."
Llewellyn had dealt with his kind before; smug, confident with his size, and, as with any animal, the less challenging you could make yourself the better your odds were. He slouched a little. "Do you know what it is?"
"Maybe."
The bartender said this with a crooked grin, as if he and he alone were privy to the mysteries of the universe, which undoubtedly meant he knew nothing.
"If I had to guess," Llewellyn said, "I'd say it has something to do with the occult. But what do I know?"
Llewellyn retrieved one of his business cards and held it out. "I'm a reporter, on assignment."
Taking the card, the bartender examined it. "Florida? Long way from home, aren't you?"
"I go where the story takes me."
"Is that right?"
"So you haven't seen him, the guy I asked about?"
"Who?"
"Jerry Sinclair."
The bartender squinted. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"
"I'm sure."
"What kind of assignment are you on?"
Llewellyn sipped his beer, then set it down. "I look for the unusual. A few years back, I was working some leads, concerning a small town near here. You know, bizarre circumstances and all of that. Good Stuff. I decided to revive it, made a few phone calls, sent some e-mails, ran an ad in the paper. Then I get this reply from Sinclair. He claimed to have some information. It's not unusual. I get lucky like that sometimes."
Llewellyn heard the door and realized someone else had finally come into the place. The bartender had noticed as well, and Llewellyn took the opportunity to return to his booth by the window.
Three people had come in, and unlike Llewellyn they did not look out of place inside Cymry's, which meant they were not wearing dress pants and button-down shirts. Nor were any of them wearing blue jeans and a corduroy jacket.
One of them, a tall, slender girl wearing tight leather pants, strolled across the floor, stopping in front of the jukebox. Llewellyn couldn't imagine what kind of music might be popular in such a place, but it wasn't the anticipation of the music that held his attention. Even dressed as she was, the girl captivated him and he could not stop looking at her, which was a mistake. That indefinable female sense that alerts a woman to a man's attention seemed present in full force; she turned her head toward him.
Llewellyn looked away. He was asking for trouble. He thought of Millie. Not once during their thirty years together had he cheated on her, and he wasn't about to start now. He heard someone walk across the floor toward him, and he prayed that it would be Sinclair, that he had come through the door while Llewellyn wasn't looking and was even now preparing to slide into the other side of the booth across the table from him.
As a thick, musky smell of perfume crossed Llewellyn's senses, desperation shot through him. He turned his head, looking at the smooth patch of skin between the bottom of her shirt and the beginning of her leather pants. A tattoo of Saint Brighid's cross moved sensuously with the muscles of her stomach.
She said nothing. Llewellyn could feel her staring down at him, and when he finally raised his head, allowing for the first time their eyes to meet, he felt like the victim in an old vampire movie: frightened by the nature of his captor but hopeful that she would find him desirable and as he looked into her face, the thought occurred to him that if the eyes are truly the windows to the soul then hers was surely dark.
A color somewhere between purple and black graced her lips, as it did her fingernails. Her hair, which jabbed at the air in choreographed insolence, was as dark as either of these.
Llewellyn slid deeper into the booth, exposing an unused section of the vinyl cushion. She sat down. Llewellyn began to wonder, and not for the first time, what sort of person she really was and why was he, a slightly over-the-hill freelancer, entertaining romantic thoughts about a distant cousin of Vlad the Impaler? She was no teenager, but still half his age, twenty-four or twenty-five he suspected, and about as far away from his type as you could get. The pressure of her leg against his made none of that seem to matter.
She grinned. "You look a little out of place. Are you lost?"
"I'm here on business."
She lit a cigarette, and in response to Llewellyn's answer, she blew the smoke out a little harder than she needed to, the exhaust propelled into the air by something that could only be described as a prelude to a laugh. "What kind of business?"
Llewellyn checked his watch. Nearly forty-five minutes had passed and still his contact had not shown. In his opinion, that was late, even for the very lax. "I'm meeting someone, or at least I was supposed to."
"Sounds to me," she said, playing with the lapel of his jacket, "like maybe you just did."
Llewellyn nodded. He tried to concentrate, but his thoughts were all over the place.
"Maybe your girlfriend changed her mind."
"Come again?"
"Your little trick."
Llewellyn shook his head. "There's no trick."
She leaned closer, bringing her shoulders forward in an unspoken offer.
Llewellyn glanced up to see the bartender hovering over the booth. He wasn't sure how he'd gotten there without his hearing him or seeing his approach. "This guy bothering you?" the bartender asked.
The girl smiled and touched his arm, old friends apparently. "Nothing I can't handle, Snub." She reached over and took Llewellyn's hand. "Just a little business."
"You know this guy?"
She winked. "I do now."
The bartender turned and stalked away. He acted protective, like an older brother, siblings from the dark side looking out for one another. It amazed Llewellyn that no matter how low you sank in life, you could still find evidence of a sense of community.
Llewellyn wondered what it might be like to be with this strange woman. Then, she leaned close, and with a kiss that teased with a slip of her tongue she said that she wanted him as well, or at least she intended to give him that impression.
He pushed away slightly. "Look, I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"Yes you are. You're just afraid to give in to it."
"You read me pretty well."
"I usually do."
Llewellyn felt insecure, trapped. "I really am meeting someone."
"So where are they?"
"I don't know. I'm starting to have my doubts."
She let go of Llewellyn's hand and lit another cigarette. "Okay, I'll lay it out straight. Sinclair sent me."
"Is that right? Why would he do that?"
"I don't know. But he said to tell you that he has the whole story, everything that you're looking for."
She took a long draw on her cigarette. Llewellyn usually felt a mixture of sorrow and disdain when he saw someone do that, but she impressed him as someone who could handle just about anything, and anyone. His sense of good judgment, what he had left of it anyway, was telling him to excuse himself from this odd encounter, yet he resisted that urge. He hadn't told her Sinclair's name, and yet she knew it. He certainly hadn't said anything about a story. He'd always been drawn to the unusual, the unexplained, that which frightens most people—and here it all was, epitomized in this intimidating yet fascinating person. "So what happens next?"
"I'm supposed to take you somewhere. A private place where you can talk."
"Thanks," Llewellyn said, indicating with a nudge that he was ready to leave. "But I really should be going."
He half expected her to move closer and refuse to let him out, but instead she slid from the booth. Llewellyn did the same and started for the door, and then it occurred to him that he had no car and there would be no cabs waiting on the street in this part of town. He signaled the bartender. "Could you call a cab?"
The strange girl put her arm through Llewellyn's, and he realized that not only had they not exchanged names but he had anticipated her actions and welcomed her touch. She evaluated him with her gaze. "Save the call, Snub. I've got a car."
The look on the bartender's face said he was confused, and it seemed that in some strange way he might even be concerned for Llewellyn. "Whatever you think," he said.
"It's nice of you to offer," Llewellyn said to the girl, "but I hate to impose."
His resistance, though, was superficial at best. Still holding his arm, she shook her head and guided him through the door. Once they were outside, she pulled him close and they kissed again. He was in deep, and he knew it, but he kept going along with it. In the parking lot, they stopped beside a red Monte Carlo, and she did something that surprised Llewellyn. She tossed him the keys. "You drive."
Llewellyn stuck the key into the slot and opened the door, and after getting inside he reached over and unlocked the passenger side. She gave him directions and Llewellyn followed them, driving farther from his place with every block. A little later she said, "Turn here. We'll park in the back."
When they got out of the car, Llewellyn glanced around the area, seeing a few spent wine bottles. "No offense," he said, but I'm starting to have second thoughts about this. Maybe I should go."
"All right, but come in for a quick drink. I won't keep you. I promise." She ran a long nail along his jaw, making it an almost predatory gesture and an enticing one.
As they approached the building, it occurred to Llewellyn that her place didn't look much better than the bar.
She turned to look at him and caught him surveying the lines of the building. "Neat old place, huh? I like it here, love the vibes, if you know what I mean."
"It does have character," Llewellyn said.
She unlocked the door and they stepped into a small landing. The place was grim, and populated, Llewellyn suspected, by various strata of socioeconomic defeat, and as they walked the red, carpeted hallway, a red that reminded Llewellyn of blood, he thought of Dante's Inferno, for as they walked deeper into the building each successive apartment appeared more steeped in despair.
The girl's place was no exception, and once inside, Llewellyn could not imagine anyone actually living there. From a chip-edged kitchen table, she grabbed a bottle of bourbon and poured some into a glass, mixed in a little soda, and handed it to him.
He swirled the amber mixture, unable to meet her eyes. His heart pounded. Leave. Just gulp it down and leave.
Before he could consider other options, she took the untouched drink and placed it on the table. Then she took Llewellyn's hand and placed it on her stomach, where she began to guide it upward, beneath her shirt, until it came to rest upon the warm, soft flesh of her breast.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Bob Avey bio
My guest on the 21st of this month will be Bob Avey. He is an Oklahoma writer who will join me with a posting about going from short stories to novels. For more info on Bob, you can find it on his website.
Bob Avey is the author of the Kenny Elliot mystery series, which includes Twisted Perception, released April 2006, and Beneath a Buried House, June 2008, several short stories and various non-fiction articles. He lives with his wife and son in Broken Arrow , Oklahoma where he works as an accountant in the petroleum industry, and when he’s not writing or researching mystery writing techniques, he spends his free time prowling through dusty antique shops looking for the rare or unusual, or roaming through ghost towns, searching for echoes from the past. Through his writing, which he describes as a blend of literary and genre, he explores the intricacies and extremities of human nature.
Bob is a member of The Tulsa NightWriters, The Oklahoma Writers Federation (active board member for 2006), The Oklahoma Mystery Writers, and Mystery Writers of America.
Bob Avey is the author of the Kenny Elliot mystery series, which includes Twisted Perception, released April 2006, and Beneath a Buried House, June 2008, several short stories and various non-fiction articles. He lives with his wife and son in Broken Arrow , Oklahoma where he works as an accountant in the petroleum industry, and when he’s not writing or researching mystery writing techniques, he spends his free time prowling through dusty antique shops looking for the rare or unusual, or roaming through ghost towns, searching for echoes from the past. Through his writing, which he describes as a blend of literary and genre, he explores the intricacies and extremities of human nature. Bob is a member of The Tulsa NightWriters, The Oklahoma Writers Federation (active board member for 2006), The Oklahoma Mystery Writers, and Mystery Writers of America.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Book cover nominated for Author's Lounge cover of the month award
Click the title of this post to be taken directly to the Author's Lounge, Children's book covers nominated for the cover of the month award. Everything is moving in a very positive direction. Proof will be with Vivian today and order placed and book should be in hand by the week of the 21st of this month. If my cover wins this month's cover of the month award, I can add that to my portfolio of awards and that would be so awesome.
Stop by the Author's Lounge and cast your vote. Don't forget to place your order here for your copy. If you don't want to order directly, then stop by Decatur Book Festival and pick up your autographed copy. If not there, email me directly and I will get a copy out to you (after the 1st of August). Vote and get your copy today - see you in the postings - E :)
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For a bit of mystery, trivia, geography, and history, check out the JGDS series.
Where will the adventure take you next?
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Upcoming author spotlight
Bob Avey will have a guest posting on my blog July 21st. I have read his book "Beneath a Buried House" and hope to have a review posted by the end of the week (along with a couple other reviews that are long overdue). I should have his author bio and book ordering info posted before his article. See you all in the postings. - E :)
News and upcoming events
My first book has gone to the printers and is available for ordering now on Vivian's website for only $10.99. The book will be available just in time for school to start back so if you like a bit of trivia, a bit of geography and a bit of history all mixed in one, order your copy today. If you want to wait until the book is actually out in print, come visit the 4RV group at Decatur Book Festival Labor Day weekend. We will have a book there with all the newly released books available. We will have games, readings, and prizes - lots of fun. Vivian will be doing a 20-minute presentation on "Writing for the Reluctant Reader". I am so looking forward to this trip. There is a lot to be done before the end of August so I guess I better get back on track so I can be ready - looking forward to seeing all you - E :)
Friday, June 20, 2008
Walking on a Rainbow: How I Became a Children’s Book Author
By Mayra Calvani
I used to think writing children’s books was boring. Writing for those demanding, whining creatures? Are you kidding? Not for me. No thanks.
That was a few years ago.
Now, nothing fills me with more joy and excitement than writing a picture book or a novel for tweens. Writing for children is like stepping into a fresh, magical, innocent, marvelous world of color and words. Writing for children is, in fact, like walking on a rainbow.
So how did the change happen?
Easy. I had children.
I recently read an interesting post by another children’s author about how in order to write good children’s stories, one must know children. Of course, as always, there are exceptions to the rule, but in general, I find this observation to be true. This doesn’t necessarily mean that one must have children in order to write great children’s stories, but it does mean that one must interact with them, know their fears, fantasies, dreams. In sum, one must have a clear idea of what goes on inside their little heads and hearts.
In my case, having children brought out a tender, gentler part of me to the surface, a part I didn’t know I had. Suddenly, as I read to my little daughter every night, picture books, with their beautiful and evocative illustrations, began to appear very appealing to me. I don’t remember when the exact moment hapenned, the moment when I thought, ‘I want to write a children’s book.’ But I do know I went from extreme to extreme: from chilling horror to sweet picture books. Two very different worlds, but I’m able to switch from one to the other without much problem. On the contrary, each one serves as a refreshing break from the other. So I may work on a lovable children’s story in the morning, and dive into a disturbing werewolf scene in the afternoon. It’s fun, like having split personalities, without the crazy element (or at least, I hope so!).
So far, I’ve written four picture books. Two have already been published: The Magic Violin and CRASH!. The other two are in the illustrating stages and will be released next year. I also have a finished tween novel in the editing stages and another one in progress.
The world of children’s book publishing is extremely competitive, to say the least. It takes hard work, dedication, perseverance and commitment to become a published author. I know the stakes, but once you step into that magical rainbow, there’s no turning back.
*****
Mayra Calvani is a multi-genre author, reviewer, dog lover, and animal advocate. A regular contributor to Blogcritics Magazine and American Chronicle, she is also the author of CRASH!, a children’s picture book about a little boy and how he learns to care and find the perfect name for his new golden retriever puppy. Check out her ‘Crash the Puppy’ blog.
By Mayra Calvani
I used to think writing children’s books was boring. Writing for those demanding, whining creatures? Are you kidding? Not for me. No thanks.
That was a few years ago.
Now, nothing fills me with more joy and excitement than writing a picture book or a novel for tweens. Writing for children is like stepping into a fresh, magical, innocent, marvelous world of color and words. Writing for children is, in fact, like walking on a rainbow.
So how did the change happen?
Easy. I had children.
I recently read an interesting post by another children’s author about how in order to write good children’s stories, one must know children. Of course, as always, there are exceptions to the rule, but in general, I find this observation to be true. This doesn’t necessarily mean that one must have children in order to write great children’s stories, but it does mean that one must interact with them, know their fears, fantasies, dreams. In sum, one must have a clear idea of what goes on inside their little heads and hearts.
In my case, having children brought out a tender, gentler part of me to the surface, a part I didn’t know I had. Suddenly, as I read to my little daughter every night, picture books, with their beautiful and evocative illustrations, began to appear very appealing to me. I don’t remember when the exact moment hapenned, the moment when I thought, ‘I want to write a children’s book.’ But I do know I went from extreme to extreme: from chilling horror to sweet picture books. Two very different worlds, but I’m able to switch from one to the other without much problem. On the contrary, each one serves as a refreshing break from the other. So I may work on a lovable children’s story in the morning, and dive into a disturbing werewolf scene in the afternoon. It’s fun, like having split personalities, without the crazy element (or at least, I hope so!).
So far, I’ve written four picture books. Two have already been published: The Magic Violin and CRASH!. The other two are in the illustrating stages and will be released next year. I also have a finished tween novel in the editing stages and another one in progress.
The world of children’s book publishing is extremely competitive, to say the least. It takes hard work, dedication, perseverance and commitment to become a published author. I know the stakes, but once you step into that magical rainbow, there’s no turning back.
*****
Mayra Calvani is a multi-genre author, reviewer, dog lover, and animal advocate. A regular contributor to Blogcritics Magazine and American Chronicle, she is also the author of CRASH!, a children’s picture book about a little boy and how he learns to care and find the perfect name for his new golden retriever puppy. Check out her ‘Crash the Puppy’ blog.
Introducing Mayra's newest book, Crash!
This is Mayra's newest addition to her stories. Ordering can be done from a number of places: amazon.com or Guardian Angel's page.
Stop by Mayra's blog or Pump Up Your Book Promotion for more info.
A quick run down of places Mayra will be:
June 24 - http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/ReviewsbyHeidi - Review
June 25 - http://www.fictionscribe.com – Guest Post
June 27 - http://www.thebookstacks.com – Review
Also, Mayra is having a drawing, so be sure to stop by her blog and find out how to be entered for the $20 Amazon.com gift card drawing.
See you all in the postings - E :)
Introducing Mayra Calvani
Mayra’s Author Bio:
Multi-genre author, reviewer, dog lover and animal advocate Mayra Calvani hails from San Juan, Puerto Rico. She's a regular contributor to Blogcritics Magazine and American Chronicle. When she is not writing, she enjoys reading, playing the violin, interviewing other authors for her blogs and newsletters, watching reruns of Gilmore Girls, and walking her golden retriever, Amigo. She’s the author of the picture book, The Magic Violin, also published by Guardian Angel Publishing.
State of Wilderness available for presales
Clicking the title of this post will take you directly to the publisher's store page on the website and you will see my book, State of Wilderness available for order, for only $10.99 plus shipping you can have your own copy of State of Wilderness. Hope you all are liking the cover. Stop by my JGDS blog to leave a comment or sign up for the monthly newsletter to keep abreast of all the activities going on with the stories, 4RV Publishing and around various states - see you all in the postings E :)
4RV Author's Page
I have an author's page on my publisher's website now. Click the title of this post to be taken directly to my page. You will find a video with my cover and some of the illustrations in my book there as well as my logo. Remember State of Wilderness is available for preorders now and that can be found on the 4RV Publishing store page on the website. Vivian has lots of fun looking books coming out this month or by the end of this year. We have been really busy getting ready for Decatur Book Festival of late that it seems all we do is talk about what else we can do to help boost sales or that will draw in a crowd.
I encourage anyone in the Atlanta/Decatur Georgia/South Carolina/NorthCarolina areas to come visit us Labor Day weekend at the AJC Decatur Book Festival. For more info, please click here. See you all in the postings - E :)
I encourage anyone in the Atlanta/Decatur Georgia/South Carolina/NorthCarolina areas to come visit us Labor Day weekend at the AJC Decatur Book Festival. For more info, please click here. See you all in the postings - E :)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Awesome natural phenomenon
Now if this picture doesn't say there is a being that is more powerful than any of us, I don't know what does. This is so gorgeous; how anyone can stand looking at this and not be amazed and awed would be beyond any comprehension I have - I was awed seeing it in an email would love to experience this for real one day - who knows, maybe I will. Let me know what you all think of this - E :)
THIS IS A FIRE RAINBOW - THE RAREST OF ALL NATURALLY OCCURRING ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA. THE PICTURE WAS CAPTURED THIS WEEK ON THE IDAHO / WASHINGTON BORDER. THE EVENT LASTED ABOUT 1 HOUR. CLOUDS HAVE TO BE CIRRUS, AT LEAST 20K FEET IN THE AIR, WITH JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF ICE CRYSTALS AND THE SUN HAS TO HIT THE CLOUDS AT PRECISELY 58 DEGREES.
THIS IS A FIRE RAINBOW - THE RAREST OF ALL NATURALLY OCCURRING ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA. THE PICTURE WAS CAPTURED THIS WEEK ON THE IDAHO / WASHINGTON BORDER. THE EVENT LASTED ABOUT 1 HOUR. CLOUDS HAVE TO BE CIRRUS, AT LEAST 20K FEET IN THE AIR, WITH JUST THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF ICE CRYSTALS AND THE SUN HAS TO HIT THE CLOUDS AT PRECISELY 58 DEGREES.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Chris Verstraete interview/Searching for a Starry Night
With us today is Chris Verstraete author of Searching for a Starry Night. Chris and I have known each other from forums for a couple of years now. She writes short stories, now a young adult novel and probably several things in between. Don't forget to stop by her blog and website for contests and other fun stuff.
Interview with Christine Verstraete, author of SEARCHING FOR A STARRY NIGHT, A MINIATURE ART MYSTERY
When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?
Probably in the womb. Ha! My favorite baby photo is of me with a newspaper and pencil behind my ear. Destiny, I guess.
Do you work outside the home and only write when you can or do you have set writing times, keeping "office hours" so to speak?
I do freelance writing (newspapers and magazines) so I’m always writing, it seems. It’s harder to “not” be writing sometimes.
What would you say is your interesting writing quirk?
I don’t know if it’s a quirk, but I have a hard time jumping back into a project I’ve let sit. I’m trying to get this other book done and if I get sidetracked, it’s hard to continue without going over the previous things. Drives me crazy! :>)
Where do you get your information or ideas for your books?
I wonder that myself at times! Sometimes the ideas seem to come out of “nowhere.” But I have to stew on them awhile to see if they’ll work.
When did you write your first book and how old were you?
I was a big reader as kid, so I’d bet there was a book started somewhere, which I’ve totally forgotten about. But I’m a “late-bloomer” and didn’t really start the first book until a few years ago. I still like the idea and try to rework it now and then.
What do you like to do when you're not writing?
I always have a new miniatures project going and a long list of things I’d like to work on. Some of my projects can be seen at my website, http://cverstraete.com. I also like to read and enjoy being outdoors.
Who is your favorite author?
I read in many genres. I love Stephen King and Dean Koontz. I like historical fiction from authors like Diana Gabaldon, Ann Benson or Judith Merkle Riley. I seem to be drawn to reading about the 1500s to 1700s.
Who does your writing resemble or imitate?
I can’t say that there’s any particular style I imitate. I’m a pretty straightforward writer.
When did you take your work with miniatures into the writing venue? How do you incorporate the two?
I’ve been writing about miniatures for a long time. I enjoy writing about collectors and their collections for dollhouse magazines and sometimes for general magazines. Since I enjoy the hobby, it’s fun and interesting to talk to other collectors, as well. It seemed a natural step to incorporate miniatures into Searching For A Starry Night since I figured it was something that kids (and adults) would find interesting and unique. See http://cverstraete.com/Starry_Night.html and my blog, http://candidcanine.blogspot.com, for details.
Creating miniature scenes must be time consuming. Compared to writing, which takes longer, working on your miniature scenes or writing a story?
Oooh, good question! I tend to labor over both. I’m meticulous in planning my miniatures and can’t proceed until I have things the way I pictured them. But writing can take just as long; depends on the day. Ha! I’d have to say that the miniatures take longer, though, since I don’t have any deadlines.
What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your books?
I learned how much I thought I knew and didn’t! I found myself double-guessing things after awhile.
How many books have you written? Which is your favorite?
I actually have two other books underway; one is done but needs to be reworked. I’m working on the other now. Both are mysteries. I love Searching For A Starry Night as I enjoy the topic and love the characters. I’m also kind of drawn yet to my first unpublished novel, which has a 1920s theme running through it. I like that time period and enjoyed doing research. I still hope to revamp and revise it.
What do you think makes a good story?
A unique topic does it for me. I like stories with interesting settings and historical backdrops.
As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?
Being a big reader, I always wanted to write, so studying journalism and doing newspaper and other writing seemed to be a perfect fit.
Elysabeth, thanks for letting me stop by!
Visitors should go to my website for details on a special contest I am holding beginning June 12. This will be the first of several contests to celebrate the release of SEARCHING FOR A STARRY NIGHT.
Introducing Chris Verstraete
As promoised, here is some info on Chris. She and I met through several forums and she was the first winner of the fast and .... contests that Karen used to run. Her story, The Witch Tree, is still available on fictionwise.com.
Chris is into minatures and so it would make sense to write a story involving minature artwork.
For orders, click here
Chris's bio:
Christine Verstraete thinks you’re never too old to play with dollhouses, so when she’s not writing, she is probably working on a new miniature project.
Christine also is an award-winning journalist whose stories have appeared in various newspapers and magazines. Her short fiction has been published in print and online.
Her short horror story, “The Witch Tree,” was a contest winner published by Echelon Press. She also is author of the e-book, “In Miniature Style,” with stories about collectors, photos of their miniatures and how-to projects.
Check out more of Christine’s miniatures and stories at her website and at her blog Candid Canine.
Searching for a Starry Night is available through Quake Me, a subsidiary of Echelon Press. Look for the book coming soon to a store near you. E :)
Chris is into minatures and so it would make sense to write a story involving minature artwork.
For orders, click here
Chris's bio:
Christine Verstraete thinks you’re never too old to play with dollhouses, so when she’s not writing, she is probably working on a new miniature project.
Christine also is an award-winning journalist whose stories have appeared in various newspapers and magazines. Her short fiction has been published in print and online.
Her short horror story, “The Witch Tree,” was a contest winner published by Echelon Press. She also is author of the e-book, “In Miniature Style,” with stories about collectors, photos of their miniatures and how-to projects.
Check out more of Christine’s miniatures and stories at her website and at her blog Candid Canine.
Searching for a Starry Night is available through Quake Me, a subsidiary of Echelon Press. Look for the book coming soon to a store near you. E :)
Apologies to all my readers and to Chris
I've been internetless all week and I was supposed to do postings for Chris's virtual book tour. I apologize. I thought I would be back yesterday but the courier couldn't find my house and they had the incorrect phone to call in case that happened. So I'm back and will be posting some information about Searching for a Starry Night and a delightful interview with Chris. See you all in the postings - E :)
Monday, June 09, 2008
Virtual Book Tour host - Searching for a Starry Night
Christine VerstraeteSearching For A Starry Night, A Miniature Art Mystery
– Coming June 15 from Quake/Echelon Press – www.quakeme.com
ISBN 978-1-59080-579-4
Buy at: Amazon.com
Blurb:
Samantha Ann Carlton would rather spend her summer vacation anywhere but a spooky old house in Wisconsin…like Lake Geneva!
Somehow Sam knows it is going to take more than a couple days to find a missing painting no bigger than her hand. But maybe things won't be so bad, she thinks, since she gets to take a friend's lovable, nosy, and often mischievous Dachshund, Petey, and her best friend, Lita. If they're lucky, the three of them can find the miniature replica of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" and help Sam's mother get it to the museum, where it belongs.
It's not going to be easy, Sam realizes, when she discovers that her family has some spooky secrets. Then Petey digs up an ancient curse and Sam fears her friendship with Lita is doomed.
Can Sam find the miniature masterpiece before it's too late?
Will she and her best friend go home forever friends – or enemies?
I've been asked by a friend to host her during her virtual book tour. Well get ready, she will be here Thursday with a wonderful interview. Post your comments on Chris's website and be entered for her drawing. I hope you all will follow her tour as well. More coming soon - see you all in the postings - E :)
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Still time - B-day noncontest and Midnight Hours launch party
There is still time to sign up for my newsletter and check out Vivian's Midnight Hours virtual launch party below. Hurry - noncontest ends at midnight Thursday night.
Hey everyone
There's still time for my birthday noncontest. Just sign up for my JGDS (geography series) newsletter and let me know by email with your snail mail addy so I can mail your gifts out to you. Tomorrow midnight is the deadline (since my birthday will officially be over then). So tell all your friends, sign up and get the newsletters keeping you abreast of the series. Check out my blog, http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com for a signup area.
Speaking of midnight, check out my publishers new book coming out soon and her contests on writing.com. You have to be a member to participate but it's free to sign up too. Here is the link to the Midnight Hours forum on writing.com - http://www.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/1431722 - come on over and check it out.
Also, pass on to your friends and relatives and acquintances that might be interested - thanks - see you all in the postings - E :)
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Coming soon, State of Wilderness, part of the Junior Geography Detective Squad 50 states mystery trivia series.
Where will the adventure take you next?
Hey everyone
There's still time for my birthday noncontest. Just sign up for my JGDS (geography series) newsletter and let me know by email with your snail mail addy so I can mail your gifts out to you. Tomorrow midnight is the deadline (since my birthday will officially be over then). So tell all your friends, sign up and get the newsletters keeping you abreast of the series. Check out my blog, http://jgdsseries.blogspot.com for a signup area.
Speaking of midnight, check out my publishers new book coming out soon and her contests on writing.com. You have to be a member to participate but it's free to sign up too. Here is the link to the Midnight Hours forum on writing.com - http://www.writing.com/main/forums/item_id/1431722 - come on over and check it out.
Also, pass on to your friends and relatives and acquintances that might be interested - thanks - see you all in the postings - E :)
------------
Coming soon, State of Wilderness, part of the Junior Geography Detective Squad 50 states mystery trivia series.
Where will the adventure take you next?
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Noncontest, birthday, fun giveaway
It's my birthday (Thursday, June 5) and you all get the gifts. How does that sound to you?
What do you have to do, you ask. Well all you have to do is visit my newsletter forum, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jgdsseries/ - for my Junior Geography Detective Squad (JGDS) series and sign up between today and Thursday to receive my monthly newsletter and then email me after you've signed up and let me know you've signed up and I'll send you a state related item. That's it - simple and free.
So come celebrate my birthday with me and get my newsletter delivered right to your inbox, and receive a small state related item - E :)
What do you have to do, you ask. Well all you have to do is visit my newsletter forum, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/jgdsseries/ - for my Junior Geography Detective Squad (JGDS) series and sign up between today and Thursday to receive my monthly newsletter and then email me after you've signed up and let me know you've signed up and I'll send you a state related item. That's it - simple and free.
So come celebrate my birthday with me and get my newsletter delivered right to your inbox, and receive a small state related item - E :)
Thursday, May 29, 2008
JGDS newsletter signup
Hey all - I haven't posted in a while so figured I'd try to reach as many folks as possible to see about signing up for my newsletter following my children's series.
Come one, come all - If you are interested in geography fun, or you know someone who is and you want to find out what is happening around your area or learn about the other states in the union, check out my Junior Geography Detective Squad series newsletter. Click here to sign up and start receiving your newsletters right to your email starting June 1, 2008.
This series will make an excellent gift for children of all ages, but is especially geared towards fourth through sixth graders. I have had younger readers and older readers all tell me they have loved the first draft of the first story and they wanted more. The stories are fairly short, with illustrations and are a combination of fiction and fact. All the clues leading to the state are the factual part while we follow the characters through a fictional journey from a game leaning about the states.
Please share with all who have children or enjoy geography.
See you all in the postings - E :)
Come one, come all - If you are interested in geography fun, or you know someone who is and you want to find out what is happening around your area or learn about the other states in the union, check out my Junior Geography Detective Squad series newsletter. Click here to sign up and start receiving your newsletters right to your email starting June 1, 2008.
This series will make an excellent gift for children of all ages, but is especially geared towards fourth through sixth graders. I have had younger readers and older readers all tell me they have loved the first draft of the first story and they wanted more. The stories are fairly short, with illustrations and are a combination of fiction and fact. All the clues leading to the state are the factual part while we follow the characters through a fictional journey from a game leaning about the states.
Please share with all who have children or enjoy geography.
See you all in the postings - E :)
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Janet Jensen - Informal Blog Book Tour
I've been asked to review a book by the above author, but having not read the book nor being a reader of Christian or religious fiction, I said I would gladly post previous reviews. I thought about it a while and decided to just send you to her blogs and website to check out the reviews for yourself and decide if you would be interested in reading her book. Very possible someone out in reader land may enjoy the book and be able to do a nice review for Janet, either on your own blog or on hers.
Here is the information on the book:
Don't You Marry the Mormon Boys (Bonneville Books, Cedar Fort, Inc)
First Runner-Up, Best New Writing: The Eric Hoffer Award
Finalist, USA Best Books 2007 (religious fiction)
Finalist, Foreword Magazine's Book of the Year (religious fiction)
Semi-Finalist, Reader Views Critics Awards(religion/spirituality)
Whitney Award Nominee for LDS authors
Honorable Mention, Marilyn Brown Unpublished Novel Award
The Book Lover's Cookbook: Recipes Inspired by Celebrated Works of Literature and the Passages that Feature Them (Wenger & Jensen, Ballantine, 2003)
http://www.janetjensen.com
http://www.janetkayjensen.blogspot.com - this is a generalized blog but also has information on her books
http://www.janetkayjensen2.blogspot.com - this is actually where the reviews can be found.
If you are inclined to do a review for Janet, please let her know you found out about her books here. Thanks - see you all in the postings - E :)
Here is the information on the book:
Don't You Marry the Mormon Boys (Bonneville Books, Cedar Fort, Inc)
First Runner-Up, Best New Writing: The Eric Hoffer Award
Finalist, USA Best Books 2007 (religious fiction)
Finalist, Foreword Magazine's Book of the Year (religious fiction)
Semi-Finalist, Reader Views Critics Awards(religion/spirituality)
Whitney Award Nominee for LDS authors
Honorable Mention, Marilyn Brown Unpublished Novel Award
The Book Lover's Cookbook: Recipes Inspired by Celebrated Works of Literature and the Passages that Feature Them (Wenger & Jensen, Ballantine, 2003)
http://www.janetjensen.com
http://www.janetkayjensen.blogspot.com - this is a generalized blog but also has information on her books
http://www.janetkayjensen2.blogspot.com - this is actually where the reviews can be found.
If you are inclined to do a review for Janet, please let her know you found out about her books here. Thanks - see you all in the postings - E :)
Saturday, May 17, 2008
Blue Boarders Unite!!
I found this on a friend's blog that I check out to see what she is up to. We met on the blue boards, so it is fiting that we show our pride. Her write up of the community - known as the blue boards, is very good. If you'd like to see what she has to say about this forum, check out Mary Ann's posting. I can't say anything better than what she has posted. Blue Boarders are wonderful folks - E :)
Monday, May 12, 2008
Tristi Pinkston's Rollercoast ride
By Tristi Pinkston
I’m a mother. I’m a mother who also homeschools, owns her own business, volunteers for the Cub Scouts, writes media reviews, edits for authors, and helps people set up their own blogs. If that doesn’t sound crazy enough, I also write.
I have three books published. “Nothing to Regret,” “Strength to Endure,” and my latest release, “Season of Sacrifice.” Each of these books is a well-researched historical fiction novel which took hours upon hours to write. I’m still not sure, looking back, how I did it.
There are days when it would not have surprised me to have the police show up on my porch, holding my children by the shoulders and informing me that they had been caught breaking windows or robbing banks—the books were that all-engrossing to me. There were also days (days I’m much more proud of) when I made lunch, loaded the dishwasher, and wrote while they quietly ate.
I’ve written around nap times, play times, and school times. It’s not uncommon for me to sit Child A down with her math and have her bring it to me when she’s done, during which time I can eek out another chapter. It’s also not uncommon for me to take entire months off from writing to catch up on all I might have missed, to get those odd socks out from under the beds and get all the casserole dishes washed.
Life, for me, is a rollercoaster. One day I’m on top of the world with all my projects moving right along and the children happily learning and growing. The next day I can spent all my time in my pajamas, wandering around and wondering, what happened. But I think this is just true of life in general, no matter what your own circumstances are.
It’s true that I’ve chosen a rather unique life for myself. Undoubtedly, I’d have a lot less stress if I decided to do things differently. But you know what, I’m happy. I’m at peace with my decisions and I feel so blessed. Crazy? You know it. But I’m the most blessed crazy person you’ll ever meet.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Author spotlight is back - Tristi Pinkston and Season of Sacrifices
It's been a while since I hosted an author on my blog. Well, this Monday, I'll have a blog posting from author Tristi Pinkston. She is a mother and writer. She will be giving a little insight into the writing life of a mother who homeschools and yet finds the time to write on her ever changing "rollercoaster".
Stop by and read her interesting article about her journey to becoming published, not once but three times.
Tristi's bio: Tristi Pinkston is the author of two published LDS novels, Nothing to Regret and Strength to Endure, both set during World War II. She has been critically acclaimed for the realism of her novels, which uplift without being preachy. Tristi has been married to Matt Pinkston for twelve years, and together they have four children: Caryn, Ammon, Joseph, and Benjamin. She home-schools these children and considers it a joy to watch them learn and grow. Tristi enjoys reading, watching good movies, scrapbooking, and taking long naps. She writes reviews for Families.com and also maintains her own personal blog, in addition to owning and operating her own bath-and-beauty supply company. Tristi has been a member of LDStorymakers for over five years. She is a regular presenter at the LDStorymakers Writers Conferences, has presented at the League of Utah Writers monthly meeting as well as the Spring Workshop, was featured at the ANWA yearly conference, and gives presentations regularly to promote the cause of literacy. She also hides her laundry in strange places and enjoys trying recipes no one will eat.
More info on Tristi may be found here
Season of Sacrifices synopsis: When Benjamin Perkins left behind the coal mines of Wales to come to Utah to be with the Mormons, he thought his days of using blasting powder were over. But when he and his wife were called to colonize the San Juan area of Utah, going with fifty other families to create a new community, he discovered that his skills would be needed again. The only way to get down a rock cliff and to the Colorado River was through a narrow slit, which would be widened through the use of blasting powder. Benjamin taught the men how to set off the charges and engineered a road to hang in midair to take the wagons where they needed to belong.
After settling in their new home, Benjamin faces an even more difficult task—he’s been asked to enter into the practice of polygamy, taking his wife’s sister as his second wife. He loves his wife dearly and does not want to hurt her, but he believes in the things he’s being asked to do.
Author Tristi Pinkston takes a sensitive look at the emotions and heartbreak that went in to living the practice of polygamy, as well as the strength that came from faithful obedience in this true story based on the incredible life of Benjamin Perkins, her great-great-grandfather.
For your enjoyment and preview - here is the excerpt from Season of Sacrifices: (For ordering info - click here
Ben! Come here!”
Benjamin Perkins dropped his chisel and ran toward the urgent sound of his father’s voice. In the dim light of the coal mine, he could barely make out William’s features. “What is it?” he asked.
William reached out and grasped his son’s shoulder. “There was an accident at the mine in Blongloha. They need us to help rescue any survivors.”
Ben followed his father through the tunnels, his mind racing. An accident in a mine could only mean one thing—death. The mines weren’t friendly to those who tunneled them.
They reached the mine entrance where the foreman stood, marking down all the workers who were volunteering. He wrote down William’s name, but grunted when he saw Ben.
“He shouldn’t go with you.”
“He may be only fifteen, but he’s one of the best men we’ve got,” William said.
“Please, sir,” Ben spoke up. “I want to help.”
The foreman shook his head. “I wouldn’t be sending my son, but I can’t tell you what to do.” He made a mark on his sheet and waved them on.
The miners piled into the back of a wagon and rode the six miles to Blongloha. The constant vibration of the wheels on the road might have lulled Ben to sleep if he hadn’t been afraid of what they would face when they reached the scene of the accident.
The mines were nothing more than tunnels burrowed through dirt, the walls and ceilings held in place by timbers. If one of those timbers broke, thousands of pounds of dirt would fall on the miners beneath, burying them alive as they worked. Each collier knew to move slowly, place his chisel deliberately, or his life might be forfeit.
When the wagon pulled to a stop at Blongloha, Ben and his father dashed to the opening of the still and silent mine. Not even an echo of voices sounded from inside. One worker sat on the ground near the entrance, head in his hands. He raised his face when he heard the rescuers approach.
“Where are the others?” William asked.
The man shook his head, despair streaked across his face, along with the grime. “Hundreds . . . trapped.” He didn’t say more, but pointed at the mine.
Without hesitation, Ben and the others walked directly in, locating the cave-in within minutes. Ben’s stomach clenched as he looked at the task ahead of them. He didn’t see how anyone could have survived. The other men paused a moment as well, then got to work. They plunged their shovels into the dirt time and time again, carting out piles of rubble in wheelbarrows and coal carts. The farther in they got, the darker it became, but they lit their Davy lamps and kept on digging.
“Here!” William Perkins yelled. He threw his shovel over his shoulder and began digging with his hands. Ben came to his side and worked with him, his heart racing. They uncovered a man’s legs, then torso, and finally his head. Ben winced when he saw that the man’s skull had been bashed in by the falling debris.
“Let’s drag him out and keep digging.” William took hold of the man’s arms. “Ben, get his feet.”
Ben couldn’t move for a moment. The corpse’s eyes were open, and his face wore an expression of surprise. The miner clearly had not anticipated the collapse.
“Ben!”
At the sharpness in his father’s voice, Ben stooped down and picked up the man’s feet. They carried him out to the mine entrance, then turned around and went back in. Two of the other miners passed them, also carrying a body. Ben worked feverishly with his shovel, wanting the nightmare to end. The dust in the air was becoming unbearable, the heat stifling, and he was surrounded by death on all sides. He pulled his handkerchief out and tied it over his nose and mouth, wishing he could also tie something over his eyes and heart.
The rubble near the entrance was completely cleared away and moved outside, along with the hundreds of bodies that had been trapped within. The rescuers proceeded farther in to the mine. Sections of the wall and ceiling had come down in chunks through each of the tunnels. Arms and legs could be seen protruding from the debris all around them.
Ben had believed that once they cleared the main blockage, the death would be over. But there was no escaping it.
He had always hated the dark of the coal mines. He didn’t mind the work itself—it lulled him into a state of mental numbness where he didn’t have to think beyond the placement of his chisel or the angle of his next blow. The weight of the tools and the coal sometimes caused his muscles to ache, and he was frequently sore from the strenuous labor. He took the dark home with him at night, where it haunted his dreams.
Ben closed his eyes for a minute, and his memories assailed him. His parents had joined the Mormons when Ben was a small boy, and the people in their small Welsh community had turned on them. Ben’s father lost his own job in the mines and could find work nowhere else, so they were sent to the poor house—a shoddily constructed hall of cement and rotten wood where those who couldn’t pay their bills were placed. Men and women were separated, and Ben was taken from his mother. His three-year-old mind couldn’t understand his father’s words, that it would all be over soon and that he would see her again. For six long months he stared at concrete walls of stark, heartless gray, and wondered why she had left him.
The authorities at the poor house eventually figured out that the Perkins’ were not lazy and would take any job they were offered. The mine officials were forced to give Ben’s father back his job, and they were released from their prison. Ben’s mother nearly fainted with relief when she saw her young son again. Those six months had been just as hard for her as they had for him. They clung to each other for hours.
The fear of abandonment still remained bottled up deep in Ben’s heart, and although he had tried to overcome those fears as he grew into a youth, they sprang up and mocked him, most often while he was in the dark.
But this dark was worse than any other because of the fear it carried. Even as he walked through the tunnels, he could hear the dirt around him shifting. What if it came down again and he became one of the trapped, one of the dead?
Around one of the corners he saw another heap of dirt—with another hand sticking out of it. But this time the fingers were moving. Ben shouted for help and began moving the rubble, yelling to the man inside that help was on its way. It only took a moment for three workers to uncover the man. They dragged him out and laid him on the ground to check him over for injuries. A Davy lamp was brought, and as soon as its light landed on their survivor, Ben could see that his legs were completely crushed.
“Ben, you stay here,” his father directed. “I’m going to get a wheelbarrow.”
Ben crouched down and touched the man’s forehead. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew Morgan,” he gasped.
“You’ll be all right, Andrew,” Ben said. He felt completely useless. He didn’t know what to say to a man who was at least crippled for life, and might die even yet. Andrew bled heavily, and Ben didn’t know if he could stand to lose that much blood.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Andrew asked. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Ben couldn’t lie to him. “It doesn’t look good.”
Andrew put his hand over his eyes. “I can’t die. I can’t. My wife needs me. I have children.” He started to moan, shaking his head back and forth as his voice rose in pitch. “You can’t let me die!”
Ben grasped Andrew’s shoulder, trying to give comfort, but he had no words. He heard his father wheel the cart up behind him, and they worked together to lift Andrew up and over the side. “I can’t meet God this way,” Andrew wailed as they pushed the barrow up into the fresh air.
Ben pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. They placed the cart a distance from the mine and went back inside, leaving Andrew alone. Ben felt bad for abandoning him, but who knew how many others might still be inside, alive and waiting for help.
Hours later, the rescuers felt they had done all they could. So few survivors had been found, in comparison to the hundreds of bodies they had retrieved. Ben felt tired to the core as he and his father climbed into the wagon that would take them back to the mine in Treboeth.
“What will happen to them? To the bodies?” Ben asked his father as Blongloha faded in the distance behind them.
“The families will be notified. They can come to collect their dead,” William replied.
“What about Andrew?”
“He died.” William’s voice was curt. “They sent for the doctor, but he could do nothing. He’s a man of medicine, not a magician.”
Ben leaned back. Andrew wasn’t ready to die—he’d said so himself. He had children. Tears began to course down Ben’s cheeks. He pulled his knees up to his chin and hunkered down against the side of the wagon.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” William said. “You’re a good worker, and we needed your help, but you’re still a child, Ben. I should have protected you from this.”
Ben couldn’t reply. In his mind he still saw bodies with open eyes, arms and legs broken and sticking out at odd angles.
“I pray those men will find peace on the other side.” William’s words were almost a whisper against the noise of the wheels on the road.
Ben’s parents, William and Jane Perkins, believed in the restored gospel with a fervency that sometimes intimidated him. They looked at life with faith and focus. Ben felt more skeptical. He had put off his own baptism, doubtful if he wanted to tie himself to any religious group—let alone the Mormons, the victims of so much taunting. Andrew’s words kept ringing in his ears. I can’t meet God this way. Several hundred men had died right along with him. Were any of them ready to meet their Maker? Was Ben?
He remembered the persecution his family had endured when his parents joined the church so many years ago, and he didn’t know if he could go through that again—especially with himself as the target. But as he thought about the men caught in the explosion, buried under thousands of pounds of coal and dirt, he realized his life needed to have purpose. He counted on God every day to keep him safe in the mines, to shelter him from the oppressive layers of earth that could, at any moment, collapse and crush him beneath the staggering weight.
He looked over at his father. William sat looking straight ahead, his face lined with dirt and sorrow.
“Do you believe it, Father? Do you believe Christ is there to meet those men on the other side?”
William turned and gave his son his full attention. “Yes, Ben, I do. And He’s not just there for the men who die, He’s there for those of us who still live.”
Ben settled back. His heart still ached so much, it was a wonder it still functioned. But underneath that pain came peace from his father’s firm conviction—a peace he hoped he would someday have for himself.
Stop by and read her interesting article about her journey to becoming published, not once but three times.
Tristi's bio: Tristi Pinkston is the author of two published LDS novels, Nothing to Regret and Strength to Endure, both set during World War II. She has been critically acclaimed for the realism of her novels, which uplift without being preachy. Tristi has been married to Matt Pinkston for twelve years, and together they have four children: Caryn, Ammon, Joseph, and Benjamin. She home-schools these children and considers it a joy to watch them learn and grow. Tristi enjoys reading, watching good movies, scrapbooking, and taking long naps. She writes reviews for Families.com and also maintains her own personal blog, in addition to owning and operating her own bath-and-beauty supply company. Tristi has been a member of LDStorymakers for over five years. She is a regular presenter at the LDStorymakers Writers Conferences, has presented at the League of Utah Writers monthly meeting as well as the Spring Workshop, was featured at the ANWA yearly conference, and gives presentations regularly to promote the cause of literacy. She also hides her laundry in strange places and enjoys trying recipes no one will eat.More info on Tristi may be found here
Season of Sacrifices synopsis: When Benjamin Perkins left behind the coal mines of Wales to come to Utah to be with the Mormons, he thought his days of using blasting powder were over. But when he and his wife were called to colonize the San Juan area of Utah, going with fifty other families to create a new community, he discovered that his skills would be needed again. The only way to get down a rock cliff and to the Colorado River was through a narrow slit, which would be widened through the use of blasting powder. Benjamin taught the men how to set off the charges and engineered a road to hang in midair to take the wagons where they needed to belong.
After settling in their new home, Benjamin faces an even more difficult task—he’s been asked to enter into the practice of polygamy, taking his wife’s sister as his second wife. He loves his wife dearly and does not want to hurt her, but he believes in the things he’s being asked to do.
Author Tristi Pinkston takes a sensitive look at the emotions and heartbreak that went in to living the practice of polygamy, as well as the strength that came from faithful obedience in this true story based on the incredible life of Benjamin Perkins, her great-great-grandfather.
For your enjoyment and preview - here is the excerpt from Season of Sacrifices: (For ordering info - click hereBen! Come here!”
Benjamin Perkins dropped his chisel and ran toward the urgent sound of his father’s voice. In the dim light of the coal mine, he could barely make out William’s features. “What is it?” he asked.
William reached out and grasped his son’s shoulder. “There was an accident at the mine in Blongloha. They need us to help rescue any survivors.”
Ben followed his father through the tunnels, his mind racing. An accident in a mine could only mean one thing—death. The mines weren’t friendly to those who tunneled them.
They reached the mine entrance where the foreman stood, marking down all the workers who were volunteering. He wrote down William’s name, but grunted when he saw Ben.
“He shouldn’t go with you.”
“He may be only fifteen, but he’s one of the best men we’ve got,” William said.
“Please, sir,” Ben spoke up. “I want to help.”
The foreman shook his head. “I wouldn’t be sending my son, but I can’t tell you what to do.” He made a mark on his sheet and waved them on.
The miners piled into the back of a wagon and rode the six miles to Blongloha. The constant vibration of the wheels on the road might have lulled Ben to sleep if he hadn’t been afraid of what they would face when they reached the scene of the accident.
The mines were nothing more than tunnels burrowed through dirt, the walls and ceilings held in place by timbers. If one of those timbers broke, thousands of pounds of dirt would fall on the miners beneath, burying them alive as they worked. Each collier knew to move slowly, place his chisel deliberately, or his life might be forfeit.
When the wagon pulled to a stop at Blongloha, Ben and his father dashed to the opening of the still and silent mine. Not even an echo of voices sounded from inside. One worker sat on the ground near the entrance, head in his hands. He raised his face when he heard the rescuers approach.
“Where are the others?” William asked.
The man shook his head, despair streaked across his face, along with the grime. “Hundreds . . . trapped.” He didn’t say more, but pointed at the mine.
Without hesitation, Ben and the others walked directly in, locating the cave-in within minutes. Ben’s stomach clenched as he looked at the task ahead of them. He didn’t see how anyone could have survived. The other men paused a moment as well, then got to work. They plunged their shovels into the dirt time and time again, carting out piles of rubble in wheelbarrows and coal carts. The farther in they got, the darker it became, but they lit their Davy lamps and kept on digging.
“Here!” William Perkins yelled. He threw his shovel over his shoulder and began digging with his hands. Ben came to his side and worked with him, his heart racing. They uncovered a man’s legs, then torso, and finally his head. Ben winced when he saw that the man’s skull had been bashed in by the falling debris.
“Let’s drag him out and keep digging.” William took hold of the man’s arms. “Ben, get his feet.”
Ben couldn’t move for a moment. The corpse’s eyes were open, and his face wore an expression of surprise. The miner clearly had not anticipated the collapse.
“Ben!”
At the sharpness in his father’s voice, Ben stooped down and picked up the man’s feet. They carried him out to the mine entrance, then turned around and went back in. Two of the other miners passed them, also carrying a body. Ben worked feverishly with his shovel, wanting the nightmare to end. The dust in the air was becoming unbearable, the heat stifling, and he was surrounded by death on all sides. He pulled his handkerchief out and tied it over his nose and mouth, wishing he could also tie something over his eyes and heart.
The rubble near the entrance was completely cleared away and moved outside, along with the hundreds of bodies that had been trapped within. The rescuers proceeded farther in to the mine. Sections of the wall and ceiling had come down in chunks through each of the tunnels. Arms and legs could be seen protruding from the debris all around them.
Ben had believed that once they cleared the main blockage, the death would be over. But there was no escaping it.
He had always hated the dark of the coal mines. He didn’t mind the work itself—it lulled him into a state of mental numbness where he didn’t have to think beyond the placement of his chisel or the angle of his next blow. The weight of the tools and the coal sometimes caused his muscles to ache, and he was frequently sore from the strenuous labor. He took the dark home with him at night, where it haunted his dreams.
Ben closed his eyes for a minute, and his memories assailed him. His parents had joined the Mormons when Ben was a small boy, and the people in their small Welsh community had turned on them. Ben’s father lost his own job in the mines and could find work nowhere else, so they were sent to the poor house—a shoddily constructed hall of cement and rotten wood where those who couldn’t pay their bills were placed. Men and women were separated, and Ben was taken from his mother. His three-year-old mind couldn’t understand his father’s words, that it would all be over soon and that he would see her again. For six long months he stared at concrete walls of stark, heartless gray, and wondered why she had left him.
The authorities at the poor house eventually figured out that the Perkins’ were not lazy and would take any job they were offered. The mine officials were forced to give Ben’s father back his job, and they were released from their prison. Ben’s mother nearly fainted with relief when she saw her young son again. Those six months had been just as hard for her as they had for him. They clung to each other for hours.
The fear of abandonment still remained bottled up deep in Ben’s heart, and although he had tried to overcome those fears as he grew into a youth, they sprang up and mocked him, most often while he was in the dark.
But this dark was worse than any other because of the fear it carried. Even as he walked through the tunnels, he could hear the dirt around him shifting. What if it came down again and he became one of the trapped, one of the dead?
Around one of the corners he saw another heap of dirt—with another hand sticking out of it. But this time the fingers were moving. Ben shouted for help and began moving the rubble, yelling to the man inside that help was on its way. It only took a moment for three workers to uncover the man. They dragged him out and laid him on the ground to check him over for injuries. A Davy lamp was brought, and as soon as its light landed on their survivor, Ben could see that his legs were completely crushed.
“Ben, you stay here,” his father directed. “I’m going to get a wheelbarrow.”
Ben crouched down and touched the man’s forehead. “What’s your name?”
“Andrew Morgan,” he gasped.
“You’ll be all right, Andrew,” Ben said. He felt completely useless. He didn’t know what to say to a man who was at least crippled for life, and might die even yet. Andrew bled heavily, and Ben didn’t know if he could stand to lose that much blood.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Andrew asked. “I can’t feel my legs.”
Ben couldn’t lie to him. “It doesn’t look good.”
Andrew put his hand over his eyes. “I can’t die. I can’t. My wife needs me. I have children.” He started to moan, shaking his head back and forth as his voice rose in pitch. “You can’t let me die!”
Ben grasped Andrew’s shoulder, trying to give comfort, but he had no words. He heard his father wheel the cart up behind him, and they worked together to lift Andrew up and over the side. “I can’t meet God this way,” Andrew wailed as they pushed the barrow up into the fresh air.
Ben pressed his lips together to keep them from trembling. They placed the cart a distance from the mine and went back inside, leaving Andrew alone. Ben felt bad for abandoning him, but who knew how many others might still be inside, alive and waiting for help.
Hours later, the rescuers felt they had done all they could. So few survivors had been found, in comparison to the hundreds of bodies they had retrieved. Ben felt tired to the core as he and his father climbed into the wagon that would take them back to the mine in Treboeth.
“What will happen to them? To the bodies?” Ben asked his father as Blongloha faded in the distance behind them.
“The families will be notified. They can come to collect their dead,” William replied.
“What about Andrew?”
“He died.” William’s voice was curt. “They sent for the doctor, but he could do nothing. He’s a man of medicine, not a magician.”
Ben leaned back. Andrew wasn’t ready to die—he’d said so himself. He had children. Tears began to course down Ben’s cheeks. He pulled his knees up to his chin and hunkered down against the side of the wagon.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” William said. “You’re a good worker, and we needed your help, but you’re still a child, Ben. I should have protected you from this.”
Ben couldn’t reply. In his mind he still saw bodies with open eyes, arms and legs broken and sticking out at odd angles.
“I pray those men will find peace on the other side.” William’s words were almost a whisper against the noise of the wheels on the road.
Ben’s parents, William and Jane Perkins, believed in the restored gospel with a fervency that sometimes intimidated him. They looked at life with faith and focus. Ben felt more skeptical. He had put off his own baptism, doubtful if he wanted to tie himself to any religious group—let alone the Mormons, the victims of so much taunting. Andrew’s words kept ringing in his ears. I can’t meet God this way. Several hundred men had died right along with him. Were any of them ready to meet their Maker? Was Ben?
He remembered the persecution his family had endured when his parents joined the church so many years ago, and he didn’t know if he could go through that again—especially with himself as the target. But as he thought about the men caught in the explosion, buried under thousands of pounds of coal and dirt, he realized his life needed to have purpose. He counted on God every day to keep him safe in the mines, to shelter him from the oppressive layers of earth that could, at any moment, collapse and crush him beneath the staggering weight.
He looked over at his father. William sat looking straight ahead, his face lined with dirt and sorrow.
“Do you believe it, Father? Do you believe Christ is there to meet those men on the other side?”
William turned and gave his son his full attention. “Yes, Ben, I do. And He’s not just there for the men who die, He’s there for those of us who still live.”
Ben settled back. His heart still ached so much, it was a wonder it still functioned. But underneath that pain came peace from his father’s firm conviction—a peace he hoped he would someday have for himself.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Winning disappointment - :(
Remember back when I said I had won a copy of this book? Around the middle of March I believe. I inquired to Steve since he was the one who had the contact with Geoffrey and was informed that the book had come back to Geoffrey and he needed my address again. I sent it back to him on April 2. Well, as of yesterday, May 3, 2008, the book still has not arrived. I am a bit disappointed in Geoffrey's lack of commitment to getting this book out. I was so looking forward to reading something. As it turns out, I had to go to the library and check something out since I ran out of things to read a week or two ago. I picked up Murder 101 and I'm about 1/3 of the way through and am enjoying it very much. The part I read last night gave me a weird dream but a good one. I just wasn't expecting my mind to be in that frame of mind. It must have been the "detective hot pants" comment made by the best friend. - lol.
Maybe one day I will get my book from Geoffrey but until then, I'll just keep entering other contests and try winning other books (as you can see from my previous posting, I won another book) and I'll keep writing my children's series. Maybe if I don't think about it, it will show up (but after a month of being given my address a second time, I am not holding my breath too long on that). Anyway - see you all in the postings.
Another winning - June Bug book by Jess Lourey
I'd forgotten that Jess and Dana (Peruvian Pigeon author, a copy of which I have won and reviewed here) were doing a virtual tour and so I stopped by Dana's blog to see what was new from her end and found her schedule. I clicked on the link for today's blog posting and lo-and-behold the contest was very simple - be the first to email Jess with the state flower for Minnesota and win a copy of June Bug. Now this series really sounds good. If you looking for a new author, maybe try this Murder-by-the-Month series. This ladies are going to be busy for the next few weeks. Stop on by and see what they are up to. See you all in the postings - E :)
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