Ginger Simpson's Blog, page 68

"It Can Wait"

Photo from USA TodayThis is the "saying" for the joint advertising program by the major companies in an attempt to make people more mindful of cell phone use behind the wheel.  Has it worked?

Accordidng to an article featured by USA Today earlier this year, hands free devices are just as bad as using an actual phone.  Cognitive distraction is the reason.  Some people can't walk and chew gum let alone engage in a lengthy conversation while navigating America's streets.

The above fact is proven by the 245,348 crashes caused by drivers using cell phones.  In 2011, 350 fatal crashes were involved, but that number continues to increase as more and more people acquire the devices.  According to statistics, 90% of adults now have cell phones, but we don't have the intelligence to stop and think before we use them.

Based on these statistics, don't you wonder why law enforcement hasn't passed a law prohibiting cell phones while behind the wheel?  Could it be that AT&T, Sprint and Verizon have money enough to pad the pockets of those who might pass such a referendum?

Are you part of the problem.  Is what you need to discuss more important than your life or that or another?

The entire article can be found at USA
Today and I advise you to read it:  www.usatoday.com/story/money/cars/2014/03/28/cellphones-use-1-in-4-car-crashes/7018505/

A Page Straight from Ginger Simpson #APageStraightFrom

Cynthia Freitas moved from the midwest to San Francisco, seeking some excitement in her life.  She didn't realize her salary would only support her living in a rundown tenement building, nor did she expect the newspaper to reveal a serial killer preying on victims...and they're all petite blondes...just like her. 
Lucky for her, she lives next door to a handsome police officer, but Cynthia is in for yet another shocking jolt.  This one really changes her life! She must solve the case before her new love interest becomes the next victim.









Culture Shock byGinger Simpson
He sat alone in his dim apartment and thought about what he'd done. The tattered draperies blocked out society and created the perfect ambiance for his dark mood. His curtains were never open; instead he kept the floor lamp in the corner turned down low. In his mind, he tightened the electrical cord over and over, choking the last breath from each of his victims. Momentarily, he warmed at the thought. In a flash of sanity he supposed he should feel bad—but he didn't. His lips curled in the feral smile he'd seen so often in the mirror, and a feeling of power swept over him. For now, his hunger for death was sated. His memory replayed the crimes. His victims all had it coming—every one of them. They shouldn't have fought. He only wanted to show them love, but they wouldn't let him. He scowled. Filthy women—playing with a man's emotions and eventually destroying his ego and breaking his heart--and for what? He snorted. To move on and do the same to someone else? His fist tightened, reveling in his quest to end man's suffering. Each of his victims had begged for mercy, but he had none to spare. The red tip of his cigarette glowed brighter as he inhaled. Safe in his comfort zone, he relaxed. No one would ever suspect him. He passed potential victims every day—coming and going as he pleased. Whether they lived or died all depended on how he felt at the moment. He emptied his lungs, filling the air with acrid smoke. Meeting women had always been problematic. He either wasn't tall enough, rich enough or didn't have the good looks they preferred. But, things seemed right when he had first met her. She acted unlike the others, or so he'd thought. Memories caused his calloused fingers to ache, wanting to splay through her soft, blonde hair as he had when they'd made love in the past. His lips still hungered for her kisses. She'd been very convincing—accepting him, welcoming his attentions, and sharing his bed. But, her actions had all been a farce. The ancient wood beneath the chair's upholstered arm splintered beneath the pounding of his fist. Some days, he put the memories behind him, forcing the hurt and anger from his mind and trying to live a normal life. He didn't really want to hurt anyone, but there were days; dark haunting days when her mocking laughter taunted him, and visions of her cold, blue eyes burned a hole in his heart. Her downfall had been hurting him. If he couldn't have her, no man would. He started to rise, but his simmering anger boiled. His fingernails painfully embedded themselves in his palms and he dropped back into the seat. Didn't she know he had feelings? Wasn't his heart supposed to ache when she told him she had no further need of him? She had discarded him like yesterday's garbage. Her words still resounded in his head. "I don't want to be with you anymore, and I certainly don't want to bear your children. You turn my stomach." A loud whoosh of air rumbled past his lips. He'd willingly planned to devote his life to her, and she dashed his dreams. How could she vow to love him 'til death parted them, and then change her mind? Death parted them all right. He saw to that. He curved his mouth into a smile when he remembered how she had pleaded for another chance and vowed to love him again. But it had been far too late for that. She'd already proven she was a liar and a cheat. He made sure she never hurt anyone again. Her last gasping breath numbed his pain for a little while, but now doing away with her wasn't enough! The others who looked like her, reminded him of her, called out to him. They were the same; never giving him the time of day unless they wanted or needed something. Users, all of them. He was making sure to get rid of as many as possible. With the help of the media, people would soon recognize his calling card as the mark of someone doing the world a huge favor. It might take time, but folks would know him as the hero he was.
The already dim room went totally dark for a moment as the lamp across the way flickered, died then came back to light. Unfazed, he pondered what had just happened. Another electrical surge. Living in such an old building, he'd grown rather used to them.




Today is the last day Culture Shock will be free.  Get your copy while you can. http://amzn.com/B00D6W5U72

Now Available from Rita Karnopp

Whispers of the Native Soul Book 3Devastated by her boyfriend’s murder, Summer Timber Wolf, Niipo Ómahkapi'si, goes back to Browning, Montana to take care of her Blackfeet grandmother. That choice finds her living in the ways of the old ones in a tipi on the shores of St. Mary’s River in the shadow of the Chief Mountains. Her Nah’ah tells her to listen to the whispering spirits of her ancestors. They are her shield, her past, her present and her future. Summer, however, is not so easily convinced. 

It doesn’t take long before Summer realizes they’re not alone. Has her boyfriend’s killer found them? To protect her grandmother, Summer trusts their scout and protector, Cameron Running Crane. Soon she doubts her decision and wonders if he’s the kind of killer we instinctively fear the most; a loved one. 

The truth will be revealed in time . . . what she doesn’t know is who will survive.



http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00Q3UHVEY

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

Let's come back to Betrayed and see how Cassie is faring with her online connection.

Cassie walked by the computer for the third time since coming home. She and her mother had already eaten dinner and Mom had retired to her own part of the house. Carson, Cassie’s co-worker who rented the spare bedroom, was out of town. Why in the world was she trying to be so nonchalant? It wasn’t like she was picking up a real, live person in a bar for heavens sake. She was only putting off checking email in her own home, and totally alone.Curiosity got the best of her. She sat, turned on the tower, and waited. She chewed her bottom lip out of nervous habit. A tennis match of ‘what ifs’ bounced through her mind. What if he didn’t answer? What is he wasn’t serious, what if…? Good grief, she sounded like a love-starved schoolgirl.Finally, the logon option appeared. She clicked into her inbox and scanned the messages. Amidst the annoying spam she saw his email, and fingers trembling, opened it.
Hi,It’s me again. Sorry I was a little quick in asking for a phone number. I’ve always been anxious when a beautiful woman is involved and I’m assuming you are beautiful! I’m still waiting for a picture. I’ve attached one of me here rather than posting it on my profile. If you think you can stand getting to know an ugly critter like me, write back and tell me more about yourself.You asked about my business. I own a landscaping design company on the Texas/Oklahoma border. I’m no millionaire but I make a good living. I’m just looking for the right woman to share my life. I, like you, have been married once. I have two darling daughters but no strings attached. The ex and I parted on good terms and she doesn’t need my help. She comes from a wealthy family. Lucky me! Feel free to ask me anything you’d like to know. My life is an open book.Hope to hear from you soon,Evan
She clicked on the attachment. A picture crept down from the top of the screen. “Damn! Hurry up machine!”Finally, Evan was fully revealed. He was slim, very slim. Dressed in tight-fitting jeans, and a sleeveless shirt, he had well-defined muscles. His face, half-hidden under a cowboy hat, appeared to be as tan as his arms, but she couldn’t see those blue eyes after which he had named himself. A long, drooping mustache hid most of his mouth, but the masculine appeal of the visible frown lines and macho image held her captive.
She leaned in for a closer look. Darn! He didn’t look very big; they probably weighed about the same. In her opinion there was nothing worse than sitting next to a man and noticing her leg was bigger than his. Men who were large boned and athletic-looking were the ones she found most attractive, and Evan certainly was not that, but there was something about him that held her interest. Besides, she hadn’t had much luck finding her preferential man. She massaged her chin in thought. Maybe her standards were unrealistic. After all, she had passed middle-age.
Like what you've read?  http://www.amazon.com/author/gingersimpson
Hope ya'll come back next Friday for another installment.

My Name is Cindy Johnson by Ginger Simpson

My name is Cindy Johnson, and I’m a freak…at least I feel like one.  Although Momma says I’m beautiful, other people look at me like I’m uglier than sin.  You see, I was born with one leg shorter than the other and I have a very bad limp.   I go to high school, but if I had a choice, I’d just stay home and read romance books all day.  At least, through the writings of others, I can escape to a world where people don’t stare and say unkind things.
Funny thing is, I have a crush on the HS Quarterback despite knowing I stand no chance with him.  His name is Cory Neil and he’s polite, but I know it’s only because he feels sorry for me. Knowing Math is my strong subject, he called and asked me to tutor him. I was so blinded by his attention, I agreed because he was so sure he’d lose his place on the team if he failed the class.  Anyhow, I arranged to meet him in the library because our house…well, let’s just say, it isn’t a mansion and I decided I’d be much more comfortable without him seeing how I live.  Oh, don’t get me wrong, my dad does his very best, but we’ve not had the best of luck which is how we ended up with me at a new school and people less forgiving than those I grew up with.  Wouldn’t it be a wonderful world if people thought before they spoke?
Anyhow, Cory asked me to Homecoming and that made me angry.  Why would he ask someone who obviously can’t dance unless he was dared by his friends?  I’m not stupid and I immediately knew I was the butt of someone’s joke.  I absolutely refused to go and he pretends he doesn’t understand.  Yeah, right!
  I don’t think I’ve ever wished for anything as much as to be normal and go to the dance with Cory, but no matter how much I want things to be different, I’m who I am.  Yes, maybe I let my “Shortcomings” define me, but I just can’t afford to open myself up to more ridicule and hurt.  He doesn’t seem to want to accept my answer, but I’ve already made up my mind.  He can take the pep squad captain.  She seems to like to remind me daily that I’m nothing but a gimp.
********************************************************************
If you want to know who Cory takes to the dance and how this story ends, you’d better pick up your own copy of Shortcomings and read the entire book.  Although this is listed as a young adult offering, the story has a message that each and everyone can heed, and maybe make this world a lot less intolerant.  Remember...a Kindle filled with great books is an amazing holiday gift.
http://amzn.com/B00J16ZA90


Note from Ginger:  I wrote this book with the hopes that people would learn that staring and saying unkind things aimed at those who are different often makes them feel less than they really are.  Their “Shortcomings” are not of their own choosing.  My grandson is “different” in that he was diagnosed with autism, but he is the kindest, most loving child in the world and my greatest gift in life.   The thought of him hurting because of someone’s ignorance makes me see RED!

A Page Straight From Victoria Chatham #apagefromstraightfrom

On Borrowed Time byVictoria Chatham


 Lord Randolph Buxton’s old friend, Pinkerton Agent Stuart Montgomery is a long way from his San Francisco home. But his arrival on their doorstep piques the curiosity of both Randolph and his wife, Lady Serena.
Montgomery is investigating an aircraft development company. Four partners have died in suspicious circumstances. Of the two remaining partners one is the owner and the other an old friend of Serena’s. Montgomery thinks time is running out for these two and is sure she and Randolph can help him solve his case. His one reservation in requesting their help is that he fears they will have to face an old adversary, someone who once attacked Randolph and left him for dead.Randolph is more than ready to assist Montgomery, but Serena has her doubts. How much danger is Sir Hilary really in? Will Randolph’s life be put at risk again? And, most worrying of all, Montgomery shows a side of himself she never suspected, a side she must keep from Randolph at all costs.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Serena shook her head. “No, it’s not. You helped save my husband’s life in Cold Creek and I can’t thank you enough for that. And please, do call me Serena. I feel we know each other well enough to forgo the formalities.” 
She sat down again on the arm of Randolph’s chair, aware of an undercurrent of expectation between the three of them. The moment Randolph sprinted up the terrace steps to greet their visitor she sensed that Montgomery must have some purpose, a purpose yet to show its face. 
Her stomach clenched as she took a breath and as calmly as she could asked, “So why are you really here, Mr. Montgomery?” 
“It’s Stuart.” Montgomery returned the first name courtesy Serena offered him, but there was a hint of hesitancy in his voice as he added, “I’m here to ask for your help.” 
“Well, you know you can rely on us to help in any way we can.” Randolph lifted his glass in a cheerful salute. 
Serena’s heart lurched at such a sweeping statement. She shot Randolph a warning glance and tried to control the censure in her voice. “Careful, my darling, you may want to revise that decision when Stuart tells us what he’s working on.” 
After a moment’s thought Randolph asked, “So whatever it is has to do with aeronautics?” Montgomery nodded. “An aircraft development company, to be exact. The company is owned by Hiram R. Stillwater whose very loose connection with the Wright brothers sparked his interest in the possibilities of flying. He gathered a group of associates with similar interests together to raise money for his project, but the terms of the contract were odd to say the least.” 
“In what way?” Serena’s raised eyebrow emphasized her question. 
“If one of the partners died, his shares were then distributed between the remaining partners rather than going to the deceased’s family.” 
“Oh.” Serena thought for a moment. “You mean like a tontine.” 
“A what?” Her comment puzzled Montgomery. 
“A tontine,” Serena repeated. “It’s a type of investment plan devised ages ago by a Neopolitan banker, Lorenzo de Tonti. Actually, he didn’t really invent it, only modified it from other types of investment schemes of the time. Each investor pays into the plan and gets an annual dividend on his or her capital, with the shares going to the remaining partners as they die.”
“Serena, there are times when you astound me,” Randolph admitted. “However did you discover that fact?” 
Serena waved her hand at the stacks of books around them and smiled. “There is a world of information lining these walls. I read it a while ago when I was looking for something else. The thing about a tontine is, whoever remains gets the whole pot.” 
“That sounds exactly the same as with Stillwater’s business.” Montgomery stroked his chin as he mulled the thought over. “There were six investors, now there are only two left. Stillwater himself and Sir Hilary Blenkinsop-Brown.” 
“Hilly?” Serena opened her eyes wide in surprise. 
“You know him?” Montgomery asked. 
“We hunted together with the Quorn and Berkeley and . . .” Serena stopped, noticing for the first time the calculating gleam in Montgomery’s eyes. “But you knew that, didn’t you?” 
“I must admit, Sir Hilary did mention your name but I thought it better at that stage to not disclose our association.” 
“Why ever not?” 


The buy link is http://amzn.com/B00IWGKQWG

Rita's on Hiatus

It is with a very heavy heart I announce that Rita will be taking a hiatus from blogging.  This has been a very rough year for my friend and peer, and  2014 comes to an end with the tragedy of her sister's death.  I know you will all join me in praying for Rita and her family and hoping she will soon be back.

In the meantime, if anyone is interested in filling a guest slot, please contact me at mizging@gmail.com.

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #Frifreebits

So, it's time for another six paragraphs from Betrayed.  Remember this story is based on facts, but the names and some of the circumstances were changed to protect the innocent.  Gosh I love saying that.  :)

So...here you go:

The constant buzz of the alarm invaded Cassie’s sleep. She reached to the nightstand and slapped the button atop the clock to silence the annoying noise. Although early, the light from the rising sun filtering into the room forced her to squint until her eyes adjusted to the brightness. If changing the position of her home became humanly possibly, she’d turn the whole dwelling around. The lacey white curtains that matched her down comforter made her bedroom stylishly feminine, but did little to darken the room.
With reluctance, she dropped her legs over the edge of the bed and curled her toes into the plush ecru carpet. It would be so nice to sleep in just one morning, but work beckoned. She grimaced at the thought of another day at the office. What would it be like to be married to a rich man and not have to work?
She covered her mouth to mask a gaping yawn, stood and stretched. Her fingers splayed through a gnarled mass, and she groaned. Going to bed with damp hair had been a bad idea.
Immediately, her thoughts returned to Evan—the reason she stayed up late. There was no use checking for a response this early, besides there was no time and she didn’t dare be late. Her new boss was a real jerk not at all like the wonderful man for whom she had worked for years. What were the odds that when her ideal supervisor retired, she would end up being supervised by a Japanese man? Somehow people of that particular ethnicity kept turning Cassie’s life upside down.
She had never been racially biased, but perceptions from her new boss’ actions indicated anyone of the female gender threatened him. He treated her differently than the male executives, not letting her make decisions as she had in the past, and never soliciting her opinion. In some ways, working for him felt like being married to Greg all over again.

Her new supervisor’s treatment of her set the tone for the other men in the office and made going to work a chore. If there was any possibility of finding a job that paid the same great wages, she’d quit in a flash, but unfortunately, due to unemployment statistics, her chances hovered somewhere between slim and none.



Check back next week for another "dose."

A Page Straight From Sandy Semerad #apagestraightfrom

  Message in the Roses bySandy Semerad
On a snowy morning in Atlanta, Carrie Sue rummaged through an old cedar chest, searching for a journal. The storm had knocked out her power, but she was grateful to have a fire in the hearth and a kerosene lamp to read by.
    She shook her head in dismay at all the stuff she’d collected. Only a pack rat would keep a stack of reporters’ notebooks and a cassette recorder from the 1980s. That was so long ago. No cell-phones or social media then.
    When she uncovered her wedding dress embroidered with roses, she buried her nose in the crinoline and inhaled the sweet musk, still lingering after all these years.
    Beneath the dress, was a small safe. She fumbled with the combination lock and eventually opened it to reveal the lovely leather-bound book.
    Her hands shook as she withdrew the diary. She sucked in a sharp breath and opened it.
But as she began to read, a painful nostalgia stung her. She barely recognized the passionate and reckless young woman she used to be.Journal of Carrie Sue JusticeDecember 8, 1986     My stomach knotted when I saw the strange car in my driveway. Damn it, my key wouldn’t open my front door. Deadbolt was locked.
    The door vibrated from the blaring stereo inside, as if my house were possessed. I couldn’t imagine my husband blasting music. He’d always complained about loud noise in the morning, and when I left an hour ago, he looked fast asleep.
    As the Eagles belted out Heartache Tonight, I punched the doorbell nonstop. No response. By now snow clouds had buried the sun.
    Dad used to say, “Always trust your gut.”
    My gut screamed disaster, reminding me of the day I received the tragic news about Mom and Dad. They’d died in a plane crash on their way from Atlanta to Ethiopia. http://www.amazon.com/Message-Roses-Sandy-Semerad-ebook/dp/B00LROV17O/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1405896778&sr=8-3&keywords=sandy+semerad 

Friday Freebits with Ginger Simpson #frifreebits

Did someone respond to Cassie's email?  Let's see how "Betrayed" is moving along.

As soon as she touched the mouse, his profile appeared, Blue Eyes. Despite her better judgment, Cass sat and started typing.
Hello back,Glad you answered. This is my first time doing this, but then I bet everyone says that. I never thought I’d be corresponding with a mystery man.
I read your profile and enjoyed what little I read, but I’d like to know more about you, too. I consider myself to be an independent woman and, like most others out there, I’m looking to meet the right guy. I’ve been married once, but he certainly wasn’t the one. What kind of business do you own, Evan? 
I’m in the insurance business and live alone in the San Fernando Valley. Where are you? I think it’s a little too soon for a phone number exchange. Do you mind if we just email one another for a bit?Hope to hear from you soon.
Cheers,Cassie
Before she changed her mind, she clicked send. While turning off the computer, she wondered what possessed her to be so impulsive…so desperate.

She shrugged. No harm done. He probably wouldn’t answer anyhow.
****
So, someone named "Blue Eyes" responded.  Hmmm.  Wonder where this will lead.  Tune in next week and let's see.