Sandra Cox's Blog, page 291

Muay Thai

Well it wasn't pretty, but I passed my test for my yellow belt.  I totally freaked. I'm not a pressure person. My brain shuts down, becomes a total blank under pressure. I couldn't even remember left jab, right cross which are the most basic moves of all. But I somehow fumbled my way through it. The best thing I can say is its over. Am I glad I did it? Yes. Maybe.Sorta. Will I do it again? Not in the near future. But with some distance from the humiliation of my lack luster performance, maybe.

Full Snow Moon Blog Tour

Blurb: A hapless surfer, restless spirit and Native Son dig up some controversy when they unearth a National Treasure buried at the Jersey Shore.
Cocky surfer Alex only cares about the future. Who cares about the things of the past like an old house or an old friend? But one February night as he recklessly takes to the road during a snowstorm, he discovers that the past may have some plans for him. When his life is saved by the troubled spirit of a local youth who perished during the historic “Blizzard of 1888,” he agrees to rescue a house from the hands of a greedy land developer. But when he enlists the help of some forgiving friends, they dig up a National Treasure… and some controversy.
With assistance from a “hottie” of an Historian and a colorful antiquities dealer, Alex hopes to ride a wave of redemption. Can he rescue a piece of local and national history, reunite his boyhood friend with his native roots and regain the respect of friends and family? 
Excerpt:It was eight o’clock already. No time to waste. Alex pulled on a ski parka, a pair of gloves, and a knit hat.
Going out to the garage, he picked up a shiny new shovel that had never touched snow. He made a few uninspired shoveling motions, then he slumped into the driver’s seat of the Jeep, considering his options. For a moment, he even thought about making a fast buck, shoveling through the night. What he had told Denis earlier was true. He really was tired of his old life. In May, he would be eighteen. Why did everyone treat him like a stupid kid? And, most importantly, what good was a Jeep if you couldn’t use it?
In anger, Denis had compared him to a rabbit. Well, if I’m a rabbit, this bunny’s gonna spring its hutch, Alex declared to himself.
He climbed into the Jeep. But in the driver’s seat, he sat still, like a rabbit too frightened to flee from the hunter. The only thing separating the mind-numbing comfort of his suburban home from the rebellious ride of his life was the garage door, which was rattling in the wind.
He would go to the party, make an appearance, and return the Jeep safely home. Let it storm. With the snowfall they were predicting, Mother Nature would cover his tracks, just as she had the bloodshed by his best – and possibly former – friend.
Alex put the key in the ignition and pressed the button of the garage-door opener. As the door rose, he was met by a great wall of white. Undaunted, he started the engine and rolled out into the falling snow. No sweat, he told himself.
 Buy Link:Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Full-Snow-Moon-ebook/dp/B007DXMYG0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1330695964&sr=1-1

About The Author: 
Lisa Begin-Kruysman lives in Ocean County, New Jersey, with her husband Rich and Portuguese water dog, Hooper. Her short fiction has garnered national recognition in writing competitions sponsored by Calliope Writers and Writer’s Digest Magazine.
Her highly-acclaimed, Something’s Lost and Must be Found was released in the summer of 2011 to glowing reviews. A collection of seven short inspirational stories, the book was inspired by her blog site established two years ago to promote the mission of National Dog Week and her biography of its Founder, Will Judy. Currently, she is working on a sequel to Something’s Lost and Must be Found and her second Young Adult Novel.
Email: pst39crd@aol.comZeb Bradley: zeb@bradleypublishings.com,Bradley Website: http://www.bradleypublishings.com/


 

Shadow on the Wall Blurb Blitz Tour

[image error] Blurb: Recai Osman: Muslim, philosopher, billionaire and Superhero?

Controversial and daring, Shadow on the Wall details the transformation of Recai Osman from complicated man to Superhero. Forced to witness the cruelty of the Morality Police in his home city of Elih, Turkey, Recai is called upon by the power of the desert to be the vehicle of change. Does he have the strength to answer Allah's call or will his dark past and self doubt stand in his way?

Pulling on his faith in Allah, the friendship of a Jewish father-figure and a deeply held belief that his people deserve better, Recai Osman must become The SandStorm.

In the tradition of books by Margaret Atwood and Salman Rushdie, Shadow on the Wall tackles issues of religion, gender, corruption and the basic human condition. Beautiful and challenging, this is not a book to miss.  Excerpt:Knock. Just one solid sound. Recai sat up too quickly and fell back against his mattress gasping as Rebekah stuck her head into his small room, her face creased with worry and fear.“Cover yourself and stay silent,” she whispered before closing the door and rushing back into the living room to retrieve her burqa and open the door. Recai heard the movement of the heavy fabric she wore on top of her house dress as she moved across the room to greet their visitor. He wondered if she had retrieved her father’s gun which he’d overheard Hasad say was under the couch in the living room.Before hiding beneath the thin sheet that covered him, he reached down and pulled the rug from the floor and threw it across his legs. He covered his head and melted against the wall with the pillow on top of his upper body. Feeling foolish, Recai laid there, wishing he had his ID, his phone, anything to help bribe his way out of this situation if it was indeed the RTK at the door.Perhaps it’s just a neighbor, he thought. A neighbor come to ask after Rebekah’s father’s health or to borrow some salt. His attempt at rationalizing the unexpected visit did not quell his fears. The RTK made a habit of performing home inspections, especially if they suspected a woman alone. It wasn’t a safe time for anyone under the jurisdiction of Mayor Yilmaz.Rebekah’s voice from the front room was soft and gentle. Recai could not make out the words but he managed to hear the sound of another voice. Was it a man? What man would she let into her home, knowing he was back here and her father away? Only one she could not turn away. Recai squeezed his eyes shut and prayed to Allah that it was her Rabbi, come to check on her.“ . . . Only a storeroom, my father sleeps back here with the supplies and sometimes the animals so I can have the proper privacy a woman should be afforded,” Recai heard her say.Rebekah’s voice was right outside the door to his room. She remained calm, not a hint of fear betrayed her. Few were able to handle themselves as coolly as she sounded. Recai prayed her strength would be enough.They were in trouble. The only men who would feel at liberty to explore a woman’s home when she was alone were the RTK and their morality police. No one else possessed the sheer hypocritical audacity. And to come all the way out here, to this nothing village without even a paved road or proper mosque. Recai had the fleeting thought that perhaps this was not about Rebekah but about him and however he had ended up in the desert on the brink of death.The door swung open abruptly, startling Recai despite his knowing it would happen. He was as covered as was feasible. He willed himself to fade into the shadows of the small room and tried not to breathe. In’shallah this would all be over soon.

About The Author:
[image error] Pavarti K Tyler is an artist, wife, mother and number-cruncher who has been committed to causing trouble since her first moment on this Earth. Her eclectic career has flirted with Broadway, Teaching, Law Firms and the IRS. Author of many short stories, Pavarti spans genres from Horror and Erotica all the way to Fantasy. Currently Pavarti is hard at work establishing her Indie Publishing Company Fighting Monkey Press.
Pavarti K Tyler’s novel Two Moons of Sera is a Fantasy/Romance and began in a serial format in November 2011. Her next novel Shadow on the Wall is scheduled for release in May 2012. Shadow on the Wall is Book One of The SandStorm Chronicles, the saga of Recai Osman — businessman, philosopher, Muslim and . . . superhero.


LINKS:My blog is all ages: http://www,fightingmonkeypress.com
My tumblr is 18 only: http://pavartidevi.tumblr.com/
My Fan Page needs your likes: https://www.facebook.com/#!/FMPress
My Twitter likes friends: http://twitter.com/#!/PavartiKTyler
My Google is random: https://plus.google.com/?gpinv=JFSVnKSj7Uk:FdjR-3NCJW8#me/postsTRAILER FOR THIS BOOK: http://youtu.be/MeWoIv5osNc 
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I'm blogging today at DowntownYA on YA publishers.
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I turn eighteen tomorrow. A sharp wind blew off the water. My eyes closed. I stood perfectly still, except for the shudders that racked my achy body as fear and revulsion washed over me like the loud pounding waves below.  Muse It Up Publishing

Porches, Wrens and Heroes

I usually sit out on the porch, and under the guise of working, watch the birds. When I got home Friday night, the view was up close and personal. A little Carolina Wren had found a hole in our screen and had decided to stop by and say hello.Unfortunately, once in he had no earthly idea how to get out. For forms sake, I'll call him a he, going on the assumption a she would have figured out how to get back outside;) For any guys reading this, I'm just pickin' with ya. But back to the story.
We had no more of an idea how to get the little guy out than he did. The cats were also grousing.  Here was this fascinating new toy and we wouldn't let them out to play with it.
After much deliberation the HH got a shoe box. We put sunflower seeds and bread in it. Both of which were met with the disdain they deserved. This guy wanted insects, thank you very much.  You think herding cats is tough, trying herding a bird.  Back and forth across the porch we went. The bird would come almost right up to us, but we were both rather squeamish about trying to pick it up. Besides the possibility of damaging it, the HH didn't want pecked and I didn't want to feel the mad fluttering of wings and his little agitated heartbeat against my palm. After over an hour of walking him around the porch, the HH herded him into the box, slipped the lid on  and took the wren outside to freedom.
My hero.

Maggie's Last Coup

Maggie has caught her last mouse and emptied her last locked trashcan. In spite of cancer, she lived to  fourteen and a half and was always happy. I wish I knew her secret. Her outlook on life, though simplistic, was always much better than mine.  Like most dogs, she found joy in the little things: a treat, a belly rub, dinner, a walk, and sunshine. She loved unconditionally. Forgiveness was guaranteed. Maybe, unconditional love and forgiveness is the universal truth we all seek.
RIP, Maggie. You made our little corner of the world a better place.

It's Saturday

Go to a movie. Read a book. Eat a hot fudge sundae. Enjoy your day.

Romance In The Garden

 I was out in the garden today and found an Iris I'd never seen before. No kidding. Either the birds and the flowers have been romancing and pollinating or I ordered a different strain a long time ago and it just decided to bloom. Either way, I was pleased to see it. Below are some of its neighbors.

The Resrved Brit

I'm blogging today at Night Writers on the British Shorthair. If you're in the vicinity, I'd love to have you stop by.

Never Argue With a Woman

Never Argue with a Woman

One morning the husband returns after several hours of fishing and decides to take a nap. Although, not familiar with the lake the wife decides to take the boat out. She motors out a short distance, anchors and reads her book.Along comes a Game Warden in his boat. He pulls up alongside the woman and says, “Good morning, Ma’am. What are you doing?”“Reading a book,” she replies, thinking, ‘Isn’t that obvious?’“You’re in a Restricted Fishing Area,” he informs her.“I’m sorry, officer, but I’m not fishing. I’m reading.”“Yes, but you have the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I’ll have to take you in and write you up.”“For reading a book?” she replies.“You’re in a Restricted Fishing Area,” he informs her again.“I’m sorry, officer, but I’m not fishing. I’m reading.”“Yes, but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment. I’ll have to take you in and write you up.”“If you do that, I’ll have to charge you with sexual assault,” says the woman.“But I haven’t even touched you,” says the game warden.“That’s true but you have all the equipment. For all I know you could start at any moment.”“Have a nice day, ma’am,” and he left.Moral: Never argue with a woman who reads. It’s likely she can also think.

Feedback: How To Give It How To Get It

I'm very pleased to welcome Jo Sparkes who's blogging on her new book Feedback: How To Give It How to Get It.Jo will be giving away a $50 Amazon GC to one randomly drawn commenter during the tour.
Feedback … a kinder word for criticism, is an organic component to life.
When a toddler learns to walk, he falls. He screams, cries – and persists. What would happen to the human race if he gave up after a few bumps?
Before we could read self-help books, before we could understand a language and sit in a classroom, we learned by trial and error. “Feedback” is the natural teaching process. It’s how the creator set it up. It’s how the world actually works.
Here, at last, is a simple process for getting the most from all the feedback the world offers us.

Blog question for Jo: What's the best feed back you ever rcv'd, and why.   What's the worst and why.
Do you know, I had to really think about these! The worst feedback is probably an incident when I was a junior in high school. I were taking a piano class with 30 others. I loved 'playing' at playing, and I was very good at memorizing songs. I had Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata memorized.Learning to read music, however, was at a rough stage. I could slowly translate it, but not fast enough to play from sheet music. The day came when we were going to have a recital, and the teacher listened to each student, and gave them feedback on the first six weeks. She complimented my playing, and urged me to be in the recital. I had a few reservations – I knew I couldn't read music, and was performing from memory. She didn't realize that, and I didn't tell her.Besides, there was a really cool, popular girl in the class, who had all the cute guys hanging around her. She spoke to me – to coordinate what we'd play. I felt like I was one of the in crowd. How could I not play Moonlight Sonata? As we prepared, my teacher listened and gave a few pointers. So did the popular girl, who was very good, I must say. That little voice in my head whispered I should be careful. But I was enjoying all the attention too much.The day of the recital had an audience of forty parents, all dressed up and sitting quietly. The popular girl got such applause when she was done, and I wanted to hear that same applause.I sat down, opened the music, put my fingers on the keys, and played the opening bars. And then my mind went blank. In my nervousness I had forgotten the song. And I certainly couldn't read the sheet in front of me.I thought, I'll hit this next note – and if that's not it …I struck the keys. That wasn't it.I can still hear the dead silence in the room when I stood and faced that audience. “That's all I remember.”You could hear a pin drop as I walked to the exit. Then there was polite applause – until the closing door cut it off.Even as I write this now my cheeks are burning red.The funny thing is, I would have loved to blame that on the feedback, or the teacher, or anyone else but myself. There is no one else to blame, however. And, well, I lived and learned. The best feedback was when I started a karate class. I was out of college and working by then. We began as white belts, and most tested for their next belt – an orange belt – within the first 4 weeks. I was not exactly a prodigy, however, and eight weeks later I was very discouraged.The Master of the Dojo talked to me. He gave me feedback on improving my moves, on getting out of a wristlock, and how to practice a little more effectively. I bit my lip and nodded – feeling very much like that girl who couldn't play at the piano recital.I think he saw where my emotions were. He took me to a class where the black belts were working hard. I watched them throwing each other around, moving at lightning speed, and looking like all the things I was not.“You know what a black belt is?” the Master asked me.“Perfection,” I sighed. “All the things I am not.”He looked me in the eye. “A black belt is just a white belt who never quit.” That one thought has prevailed through a lot challenges. Whenever I'm not sure I'll make it, when I fear I am back at that recital – I look at the great writers, the great teachers, all the people I admire. They only got where they are because they never quit.And then I push on.Sandra, thank you so much for having me today!
- Jo
Excerpt: For some reason it's easy to cling to criticism. To walk through the world telling yourself, “I can't act my way out of a paper bag,” or “my work is sloppy no matter what I do.”      If you think about it, you probably can recall criticism you heard as a child. When I was eight-years-old, I overheard my father tell my mother I was lazy. To this day, if I'm not getting everything done as fast as I wish, if things are piling up on my desk, I can hear him saying, “she's lazy!”     Clinging to criticism, to all the negative comments or snide remarks we've heard over the years, creates a very heavy burden. If you walk through the world so weighted down, you will inevitably slow and finally stop altogether from the sheer pressure.      All you can humanly do is what we just did. Take in the information, analyze it, and decide what to do. There is nothing more to be done.     It – the criticism – has served you. Now send it on its merry way.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
A well-known Century City Producer once said that Jo Sparkes "writes some of the best dialogue I’ve read." Not only are those words a compliment to Jo’s skills as a writer,but a true reflection of her commitment to her work.She graduated Magna Cum Laude from Washington College, a small liberal arts college famous for its creative writing program. Years later, Jo renounced life in the corporate world to pursue her passion for writing. Taking every class she could find, she had the good fortune to study with Robert Powell; a student of renowned writers and teachers Lew Hunter, and Richard Walter, head and heart of UCLA’s Screenwriting Program. The culmination of those years was the short-film "The Image", which she wrote and produced single-handedly. And in so doing, she became fascinated with the dynamics of collaboration on a project.Since then, Jo hasn’t looked back.  Her body of work includes scripts for Children’s live-action and animated television programs, a direct to video Children’s DVD, television commercials and corporate videos. She's been a feature writer on ReZoom.com and a contributing writer for the Arizona Sports Fans Network; where she was called their most popular writer, known for her humorous articles, player interviews and game coverage. Jo was unofficially the first to interview Emmitt Smith when he arrived in Arizona to play for the Cardinals.She has adjunct taught at the Film School at Scottsdale Community College, has teamed with a Producer on a low budget thriller, and a Director on a New Dramady.” She went in front of the camera for a video, “Stepping Above Criticism”, capturing a popular talk with her students. Her new book, FEEDBACK  HOW TO GIVE IT  HOW TO GET IT, shares her lessons learned with writers, and indeed everyone dealing with life's criticism.When not diligently perfecting her craft, Jo can be found exploring her new home of Portland, Oregon, along with her husband Ian, and their dog Oscar.http://www.feedbackthebook.comhttp://josparkes.com/