Camy Tang's Blog, page 112

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Book giveaway - BEYOND ME by American Idol Melinda Doolittle - 8 copies!

With this season’s American Idol in full swing, I’ve decided to give away this awesome autobiography from former American Idol contestant, Melinda Doolittle. And what’s more, I’m giving away 8 copies!

(These copies are softcover ARCs, or Advanced Reading Copies, that Zondervan gave to me to give away)



Beyond Me: Finding Your Way to Life’s Next Level by Melinda Doolittle

(Foreword by American Idol Jordin Sparks)



In Beyond Me, American Idol star Melinda Doolittle shares the surprising truth that her own success and personal joy were directly proportional to her investment in encouraging and nurturing others.



Through poignant, often humorous stories, you will discover the secrets to Melinda’s success, finding practical help to overcome your own obstacles to achieve the next level in any area of life.



Because she was tone deaf as a child, Doolittle’s choir director would plead with her to just move her mouth and not let any sound come out. Undaunted, her love of singing drove her to enter a contest in the 7th grade and, miraculously, she won. Melinda began to realize that success in life was something bigger than her---or, as she puts it, “It’s beyond me!”



She began setting and systematically reaching her goals, such as singing background vocals for her many of her favorite music artists. Then by an amazing turn of events, she burst onto the music scene with her flawless vocal performances on American Idol – becoming the clear favorite of the show’s most difficult judge, Simon Cowell.



Beyond Me also provides you a rare behind-the-scenes glimpse of one of America’s biggest pop culture phenomenon, American Idol, and how she turned that stress-filled environment into a springboard from which she could soar.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Chapter One: Dream Big!



According to all the statistics, I am not supposed to succeed, and I am definitely not supposed to be happy. You see, I started my life as a shy, only child in a single-parent family; my mom and dad divorced when I was not quite one year old.



So how have I beaten the odds and defied the statistics? Why am I happy? Why do I feel like I have been blessed with success beyond my wildest dreams? To be truthful, it’s beyond me.



I do know, however, that I haven’t just sat back and let life throw at me whatever it will. Instead—and this has been key— I’ve always worked to find my way to life’s next level. Hopefully, in the pages ahead, I’ll be able to show you not only how to do the same but also why I believe success and happiness are more of a choice than merely a result of your circumstances.



Both my mom and dad are absolutely wonderful people. When I was growing up, I got to see my dad twice a year, and I spent the rest of the time with my mom. As she did for most things in my early life, Mom made me feel that having a single parent all to myself was the coolest thing ever!



Mom was my best friend. We had “girls’ night” and slumber parties together, times when the two of us simply hung out and talked about life, big issues and small, and all that was going on in our world. One of our favorite activities was to put on our pajamas and have an Anne of Green Gables party, during which we watched the video for the umpteenth time and enjoyed it every bit as much as the first time. Mom also encouraged me to have my girlfriends over to our home, and she was quick to allow one or more of my friends to sleep over. She wanted to know my friends. Mom never allowed me to sleep over at the home of a friend unless she knew that the parents’ lifestyle was consistent with her morals and values. Mom was always so innovative and creative when it came to our parties, too, coming up with all sorts of fun things to do. Although she never complained, I now realize that she had to be creative, since we lived on a very limited budget.

Nevertheless, not only did I get to have girls’ nights with Mom and my friends on a regular basis at home, but I was also a jet-setter. Well, sort of. I got to fly—by myself—to visit my dad.



That was the way I was raised: Figure out the best thing about a situation and run with it. So, not surprisingly, that life principle has stuck with me—and come in very handy over the years.



I was also raised to believe I could be or do anything I put my mind to. And how do children figure out what they want to do or be? They try everything! Thankfully, my mom was up for the challenge, and she let me try almost any sport, instrument, or childhood activity at least once.



So What Were My Options?



As I considered those things that I enjoyed, I started with my closest role model.





Option 1: Be a Teacher





My mom has worked in schools all of my life. Mom has taught elementary, middle, and high school. She worked mainly in special education. She even worked in school administration for a while. School was Mom’s life, so I figured it might be mine as well. I remember getting home from school before my mom, lining up my stuffed animals, and teaching them all the subjects. That’s how I did my homework a lot of the time. I quickly realized, however, that I did not have the patience for teaching. Every time a stuffed animal got an answer wrong, I got so frustrated! Then I suspended the offending critter, and pretty soon, I would be down to one student. Teaching was out.





Option 2: Be an Ice-Skater





I loved watching ice-skating on television with my mom. I tried gliding and jumping around the room to show Mom my triple lutz, and she applauded and gave me my score. I probably should have figured out that ice-skating was not for me, considering the fact that she never gave me a perfect 10. But I asked to take skating lessons anyway. That dream faded as fast as it started. I quickly discovered that I had a fundamental problem with being an ice-skater: I can’t stand to be cold. Ice-skating was out.





Option 3: Be a Dancer or a Gymnast





I should probably preface this with the fact that words really matter to my mom. She believes that words are powerful, that you receive what you say. Mom nicknamed me “Grace” in hopes that one day the name would stick and I would actually be graceful. Unfortunately, I was the kid who ran into everything, tripped over my own feet, and always found some new way to fall. Why I thought dancing or gymnastics would work is beyond me, but I tried. During the first dance class my mom observed, my fellow dancers and I were dancing around some kind of large column in the middle of the room. Of course, I was the only one to run into it— several times. Similarly, in my first gymnastics meet, I fell off the balance beam at least twice; my highest score was a 6.3 out of a possible 10. Dancing and gymnastics were out.



Option 4: Be a Singer



After I had stumbled through bunches of activities, the one thing I absolutely could not get enough of at the end of the day was music. First, I tried playing instruments. The only time Mom ever flinched about me taking lessons was when I wanted to play the saxophone: “You know, Melinda, the flute is a little more delicate. The saxophone is really loud.”



I tried the saxophone, and not only was it really loud, but I was really bad.



I later switched to the flute and did fairly well, landing a first-chair position in our school band. I finally found something I was good at, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t my passion.



Now, my mom and dad had very different views about the kind of music I should listen to. My mom played only Christian music in our home. My dad, on the other hand, wanted me to hear the reason he had started playing drums so many years ago—when Motown was in its prime. I immediately fell in love with Gladys Knight, Stevie Wonder, Michael Jackson, and so many more. A new dream blossomed within me. I wanted to be a singer!



There was only one problem with that. I was tone-deaf. As much as I loved music, it did not love me. It wasn’t that I didn’t try; I tried my best. I remember how excited I was when I finally got into a choir. Come to find out, they loved my charisma, so they put me in the middle of the group, but they specifically requested that I not sing, that I simply lip sync. “Just move your lips, Melinda,” the director would say. “Stand there in the middle of the group and mouth the words, but please don’t let any sound come out.”



I was happy to do it, though, because I was still considered a member of the choir, and I loved every second! However, as far as my choir directors were concerned, for me, singing was out.



I did not see it that way. As any tone-deaf person knows, I was not the problem. When I sang alone and a cappella, I thought I was pretty good. The problems started when people and music were added. For some reason, their voices and instruments did not want to adapt to my pitch. So I quickly learned that if I were going to be part of a choir, I would have to sacrifice singing out loud. That was okay with me. I was the best at the “hand-ography,” and my huge smile contributed to performances that were loved by our parents and friends in the audience. I was content . . . for a while.



I remember the day everything changed for me. It was the summer before seventh grade, and I was shopping for shoes with my mom. Neither of us really liked to shop, so it wasn’t fun at all, and I was looking for any distraction. Just then, a Whitney Houston song came on over the store’s speaker system, and not only did we stop shopping, but everyone in the store stopped to listen. Whitney’s voice was so commanding and beautiful. The moment lasted only a few seconds, but it seemed like forever.



As everyone went back to shopping, I started imagining and dreaming. I don’t even recall the rest of the shopping trip. All I remember is getting home and telling my mom that I wanted to sing for real! I wanted a voice to come out of me that made people stop and listen.



My mom searched to find words that would not discourage me from my dream, but still be honest. I believe her exact reply was “Baby, you’re going to have to pray—HARD!”



So I did. I prayed harder than I had ever prayed. I promised God that when He did this for me, if people stopped and listened, I would represent Him well. Then I set a goal. I decided I wanted to be able to sing with music at the Fusion talent show. Fusion was the name of my youth group at Rhema Bible Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma. I learned so much at church about having strong faith and dreaming big, so what better place to debut my new voice?



I had the dream, I had the faith, I had the venue. Now, I needed the song. My mom and I have always loved the song “Oh, the Blood of Jesus.” So we went to the store to find the soundtrack for my favorite version, one I had heard on Gospel Bill, a television show I loved as a child. Once the song was picked, the only thing left to do was practice, practice, practice! I practiced for a full month to get ready. I was living and breathing that song.



Then the day came. My youth pastor, Kent Booth, and the staff were kind enough to let me be a part of the show even though they had heard me sing in the past and knew the potential for disaster. It was so great to have them believe me when I said, “I can do it this time.”



All I remember about that event is stepping onto the stage and hearing the music start. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and began to sing. I don’t recall anything about the actual performance, but when it was over, I opened my eyes and saw all of Fusion on their feet, clapping and cheering. My mom was in the back of the room, crying tears of joy.



When I got home later that evening, my mom told me that some of the youth leaders had gone to Kent and expressed their concern that I had been allowed to lip sync in the talent show. He had just laughed and explained to them that the quiet girl with the big smile had been singing for real! I haven’t stopped smiling or singing since.



Because I have had some dreams come true, I love encouraging other people to dream, to open their hearts and minds and see what they can do and what God can do in and through them. Nowadays I like to tell people that I meet after my concerts, “Dream big!” That’s how I sign my photos and my albums, usually adding a reference to my favorite Bible verse, Ephesians 3:20. I quote it to anyone who will listen:



Now to Him Who, by . . . [the action of His] power that is at work within us, is able to . . . do superabundantly, far over and above all that we [dare] ask or think [infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, hopes, or dreams]. (amp)



Let me tell you why I know this verse is absolutely true. After that talent show, not only could I sing with other people and musicians, but I could hear harmonies, I could make them up on my own, and the sound of my voice was more powerful than I could have ever imagined.

Years later, I walked into a recording session in Nashville, Tennessee, to sing background vocals for a project Israel Houghton was producing. The songs were for a church in Texas that had just hired a new worship leader. My mouth dropped open when he came into the studio.



It was Kent Booth. We hugged, and Kent said, “Melinda, what in the world are you doing here?”



“I’m singing background on your album.” Kent wasn’t aware of it, but by that time in my career, I had already sung on dozens of albums.



“Wow! Did you ever dream in a million years that you’d be doing this for a living?”



Of course I did! I’d dreamed it over and over again.



Order:

Print books:

Barnes and Noble

Amazon.com

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com



Ebooks:

Nookbook

Kindle

Kobobooks.com

iTunes



Here’s how you enter:



1) You get one entry into the contest when you sign up for my email newsletter at http://www.camytang.com/. Please know that when you sign up, you will get an email asking you to click a link to confirm your subscription. If you don’t get that email or if you don’t click the link, you won’t be subscribed to my newsletter and you won't get this extra entry. If you already belong to my email newsletter, let me know!



2) You get a second entry into the contest if you Like my Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/CamyTangAuthor. If you already Like my Facebook page, let me know!



3) You get a third entry into the contest if you join my Goodreads group: http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/49078. If you already belong to my Goodreads group, let me know!



4) You get extra entries into the contest if you get someone else to join my email newsletter. Just email camy {at] camytang dot com with the person’s email address (new newsletter sign-ups only).



5) In the comments section of this blog post, let me know if you joined/already belong to my email newsletter, Facebook page and Goodreads group. Also please list the email address you used to sign up for my newsletter (please use this format--you [at] yourmail.com--or something like that to prevent spammers from trolling for your email address) OR if you're not comfortable posting your email, just email me at camy {at] camytang dot com with your entry.



I always email the winner and give him/her a week to reply, but if I don’t receive an answer, I will pull another person to win the book. It is the winner’s responsibility to check to see if you won and to email me if you haven’t yet heard from me. I am not responsible for a lost opportunity if you misspelled your email address, are on vacation, or leave an email address you don’t check frequently.



I’ll pick a winner on February 11th, 2013. The winner can expect his/her free book in 4-6 weeks.



Sorry, I’m limiting this to the US and Canada only because it’s too expensive for me to ship books internationally. Sorry, no ebook copy winners for this one because I'm giving away specific physical books.

Plush turtle from NARROW ESCAPE

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Source: amazon.com via Camy on Pinterest

Those of you who've read Narrow Escape will recognize this little guy from a few scenes near the end. :) It's one of those plush dolls that projects stars on the ceiling and walls. I happened to see him on Amazon one day and thought he was adorable, so I wrote him into my book as a significant (and cute!) clue.

Winner of A DANGEROUS STAGE from Lyn Cote’s blog

The winner of a copy of A Dangerous Stage is:

Beth M.

Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)



I know that all of you who didn’t win are now crying in your Mac-n-Cheese. Cheer up and order the book!



Back cover blurb:



Tessa Lancaster worked for her uncle in the Japanese mafia until she was sent to prison for a murder she didn't commit. Now, after finding God behind bars, she takes odd jobs as a bodyguard to keep her distance from the family business.



In A Dangerous Stage, the second book in Camy Tang's Protection for Hire series, Tessa gets caught up in the web of lies surrounding a shady singing competition. Hired by one of the contestants, she works with Charles Britton---the lawyer who sent her to prison---to discover the dark figures manipulating the contest from behind the scenes.



Tessa's abilities will be tested like never before as she's forced to balance the safety of her client's family and her deepening relationship with Charles. In the midst of the chaos, she holds on to her faith to keep her safe and bring down the shadowy organization.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Tessa Lancaster checked in her car’s rear view mirror and spotted the headlights of the slightly battered black pickup truck again. Yup, they were definitely being followed.



And he was really bad at it.



He’d nearly crunched into her rear bumper when he had to jam through an intersection in order to keep up with them when the light turned from yellow to red. It gave Tessa a good view of his face—coarse and red, almost as fiery as his short spiky hair, with a mean sneer that curled the thin mustache on his upper lip.



She turned to Erica, sitting in the passenger seat. “Don’t turn around to look, but I think your ex-boyfriend is behind us.”



Erica bit her lip and paled so much Tessa worried she might throw up. “How’d he find us? How’d he know we were going to the bus station tonight?”



“I don’t think he knew,” Tessa said, switching lanes aggressively and causing a cacophony of car horns behind her. “He might have followed us from Wings.”



“How did he know we were at the women’s shelter? Wings didn’t tell him we were there, did they?”



“No, they don’t do that.” Tessa yanked hard on the wheel of her ancient Toyota, nicknamed Gramps, and sent the car into a tire-squealing left turn just in front of a wave of traffic from the opposite direction.



“Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh.” Erica grabbed onto the door handle with both hands.



They zipped away from the sound of more car horns, but Dan’s black pickup was left stranded in the left turn lane, unable to follow them.



The rather neat maneuver—if Tessa did say so herself—woke up Emily, strapped into her car seat in the back, and she sent up a wail. Erica turned in her seat to soothe her daughter. “It’s all right, honey. Tessa’s just trying out for the Indy 500.”



A flash of headlights made Tessa glance in her rear view mirror again. “I don’t think we lost him, though.” Dan had jammed into a left turn in between two oncoming cars, making one driver slam on the brakes, and now roared down the street trying to catch up with them. Subtlety really was not Dan’s middle name.



“What are you going to do?” Erica’s voice had a low tremor, a remnant of her fear of Dan and his flying fists. The young hair stylist still had yellowing around her cheek and left eye from the last time she’d seen him.



“Erica, I am going to get you and Emily on that bus tonight,” Tessa said firmly. “I promise you that.”



She weighed her options. It was possible Dan had figured out they were heading to the bus depot since she had left Wings domestic abuse shelter heading northwest, but when she suspected they were being followed, she’d pulled four right turns in a row to make sure—and Dan had followed for all four right turns. After that left turn, now they were heading southeast.



Right toward the Caltrain station. Perfect. That’s where Dan would assume they’re heading.



But first she had to make sure Erica and Emily were safe.



She could totally see Demented Dan charging into a wild car chase in the middle of San Francisco, but she didn’t want her passengers in the car if that happened. But this was the middle of the city. Where could she drop them off where they’d be safe?



“Erica, get into the back seat with Emily,” Tessa said. “And unbuckle her from the car seat.”



“What are you going to do?” Erica’s elbow clocked Tessa in the temple as she scrambled between the front seats into the back.



“I can get enough ahead of Dan and then make a right turn.” Tessa checked out the street signs. Yes, she was now on 4th street. “It’ll give us a maximum of two or three seconds where he won’t see us. When I stop the car, I want you to get out fast—and I mean fast—and run into the In-N-Out with Emily. Then hopefully by the time Dan turns the corner, you’ll be inside the restaurant and I’ll be down the street, and he’ll never know you’re not with me in the car.”



Tessa floored Gramps’s accelerator and he responded with a hack and a wheeze from his ancient engine before picking up the pace. She wove in and out between the cars on 4th street, a wide, straight shot toward the Caltrain station. Dan tried to catch up, but his larger truck had a harder time maneuvering into the small spaces in between the cars, even though he made an attempt to muscle his way in a few times. The drivers reluctantly let him in, but he had to move slowly so as not to take out someone’s front bumper, and Tessa zipped Gramps further away from him.



“Are you ready?” Tessa glanced in her rear view mirror at Erica’s tense face. She’d dragged Emily into her lap.



“Yes.” Erica reached for the door handle.



Tessa cut across two lanes of traffic and swerved right toward the new In-N-Out burger joint, flashing bright and new since it had just opened off of 4th and Brannon a few weeks ago. She slammed the car to a halt, earning her a car horn blast from the SUV behind her, who then swerved around her and continued down the street. “Go!” she shouted to Erica.



Erica was already out the door, her daughter in her arms, before the car came to a complete stop. She slammed the door shut and raced toward the bright lights of the building, which was milling with people. She instantly blended in with the other twenty-somethings grabbing a quick bite in the late evening.



Tessa threw Gramps in gear and jerked away from the curb. About a second and a half later, she saw Dan’s pickup turn the corner onto Brannon and head toward her.



Showtime.



She cruised down the street, making a few turns to head toward the Union Square Park area. As she drove, she dialed 9-1-1 on her cell phone.



“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” The woman sounded faintly bored.



Tessa injected as much theatrical fear as she could into her voice. “Please help me, I think someone’s following me. I’m nearing the corner of Maiden Lane and Grant Avenue.” She didn’t disconnect the call, but she tossed the disposable phone onto her passenger seat so she could concentrate on her driving.



She turned onto Maiden Lane, a narrow one-way street bordered by tall buildings that housed boutiques and art galleries, heading toward The Gambit, a small nightclub and bar that opened a few months ago. She passed the restaurant, fronted by a line of people waiting to get in while colored lights flickered out from the open doorway and the deep bass of a dance beat made Gramps’s steel frame shudder as she drove by.



She slowed as Dan’s pickup turned onto Maiden Lane. When he was only a couple car lengths behind her, she sped up toward the intersection of Grant and Maiden.



Then she swerved the car sideways in the middle of the street and came to a halt.



Dan was too close to stop. His brakes squealed a split second before the truck rammed into the tiny Corolla.



The impact made Tessa jolt upwards in her seat while her seatbelt sliced into her torso like a sword blade. She couldn’t breathe for a few seconds, her stomach crushed with pain.



She came to her senses before Dan did, staring at the steering wheel and out the front window. She’d hit a lamppost at the corner of Maiden and Grant, and the white steel pole looked a bit slanted from where it rose out of her car’s front bumper.



But she remained in the car, waiting.



Dan seemed to take forever to finally get out of his car. Tessa grabbed her head, pretending to be dazed, as she heard his car door open and then slam shut.



Then she heard a second car door slam. There was a second person with Dan. She’d been so focused on her driving she hadn’t realized he’d had a passenger.



No problem.



Dan yanked open her car door so hard it rocked on its squeaking hinges. He grabbed at her shirt front to pull her out of the car, but her seatbelt was still firmly fastened, and it dug into her already-bruised stomach with a sharp snap. She winced.



Cussing, he popped her with a jab to the cheek.



She had seen him crank his arm back and was able to roll with it, reducing the impact so that it felt more like a hammer rather than an anvil, but it still made her cry out as his fist crunched into her face. Breath hissed between her teeth as the pain radiated out from her cheek.



Dan hit the button to unfasten her seatbelt and untangled her from the strap to drag her out of the Corolla. “Where is she?” he roared, spit flying in Tessa’s face.



“Hey,” said a man’s voice over his shoulder.



Oh, no. Tessa glanced over to see a young man dressed in black slacks and a silk shirt, obviously one of the people in line to get into The Gambit. He approached Dan warily. “Let her go, man.”



Tessa wondered if Dan would let her go to engage with the Good Samaritan, but his fists tightened in the fabric of her T-shirt, and he glanced back towards the truck.



The collision didn’t even look like it had dented the front of his truck, aside from a frowning front bumper. Tessa got a look at his passenger, now, and saw not one but two people.



One was a burly man, black goatee and long black hair that he flipped out of his eyes. She noted the gesture.



The other person was a woman, sporting a gigantic black eye, cut lip, and hair mussed as if it had been grabbed by a meaty fist. What was surprising was that she was dressed in a cream colored business jacket and matching skirt, a crumpled white silk blouse underneath. She limped on Italian leather heels next to the burly man, her thin arm firmly in his grasp.



They’d beaten this woman up. And brought her with them in the truck. Tessa’s jaw clenched tight.



The burly man tossed the woman aside onto the street, where she lay exhausted on the asphalt. The man then approached the Good Samaritan and shot his hand out with a punch to the nose.



Blood spurted as the young man whirled away, staggering and grabbing his face.



No, she wasn’t going to stand for this. She grasped at Dan’s hands still full of her shirt.



He removed one hand to slap her across the face.



The blow, coming on top of the other blow to the same cheek, rocked her more than she expected. Maybe because she hadn’t been sparring as much for the past sixteen months as she had when she was in prison. She’d gotten soft. She blinked away the stars in her vision and took advantage of the opening Dan gave her by slamming the heel of her hand into his nose.



His other hand released her shirt and he jerked back a half-step. She followed up with a knee to his groin, a fist to his kidney, and an elbow to the back of his exposed head as he folded in half in pain. He dropped to the ground.



Her elbow stung from where it had collided with his skull. She shook it off and turned to face Dan’s sidekick.



He approached her with more caution than Dan had, his fists up. He moved like a boxer, and he had the shoulders of one. She brought her fists up as he took a swing at her, testing her, and she easily dodged him. He took another swing, this time more forceful, and she ducked, feeling the air whooshing against her skin as his knuckles just missed her temple.



He took a third shot at her, a beefy uppercut, but as his hand retracted, his long hair fell partly over his eye. She took advantage of his impaired vision and snapped her leg up in a front kick that slipped between his hands and collided squarely with his jaw.



He reeled backward, his eyelids already starting to fold as her blow knocked him for a loop. She advanced with him, swinging in a reverse roundhouse kick that caught him hard in the temple. He was unconscious even before he dropped to the ground with a satisfying smack, his entire body limp.



Tessa’s hands shook with the adrenaline, and the entire left side of her face was a swollen mass of throbbing pain. She stumbled as she walked toward the woman in the business suit. “Are you all right?”



The woman looked up at her through her one good eye and nodded numbly.



“You’re okay now.” Tessa looked up as a few people from the crowd that had gathered in front of The Gambit approached her.



“Are you okay?” asked a young blonde woman with a short silver skirt and glittery purple top came up to them.



“Did you call the police?” Tessa asked.



“People called as soon as the cars crashed.”



“Did anyone call the club manager?”



“I saw the bouncer head inside,” the girl said.



At that moment, a short, stocky Japanese man pushed his way out of the club doors and rushed toward them. His black Hugo Boss suit made him almost invisible in the darkness of the narrow street, but Tessa recognized him. “Itchy,” she said as he drew near. “I thought you might be here.”



Especially since The Gambit was owned by her uncle Teruo Ota, leader of the Japanese mafia in San Francisco, and her cousin Ichiro always liked going to their uncle’s latest clubs. She’d deliberately avoided her family connections in the twelve months since she’d gotten shot by a Chinese Triad assassin, because she wanted to be legitimate and she didn’t want to be dependent on her uncle’s money or resources, but right now, she could use Itchy’s help.



“When the bouncer told me about an Asian girl taking on two guys, I knew it had to be you, Tess.” Itchy’s deceptively sleepy eyes took in Tessa’s aching face and the woman’s black eye. “What happened?”



“Those two guys were tailing me.”



“Oh, that completely explains why you wrecked my dad’s car in front of The Gambit.”



“I wrecked the Corolla in front of The Gambit because I knew there would be at least one kobun here who could lend me a car.” Tessa hoped the woman didn’t know that kobun was Japanese for a yakuza member.



Itchy rolled his eyes. “You really think someone’s going to lend you a car after you did this?” He flung his arm out toward the smashed Corolla.



“I’ve got a single mother and her daughter stranded at In-N-Out on Brennan. I have to go get them so they can make their bus tonight.”



“Erica Parker,” the woman croaked.



Tessa regarded her with narrowed eyes for a long moment. “Who are you?”



“Charlotte Quilly. I’m Joseph Tucker’s admin.”



“Wait a minute. Joseph Tucker, Erica’s lawyer?” Then the pieces fell into place. “You’re the one who messed up and sent those papers to Erica’s home address rather than to Wings shelter.”



The woman drew in a sharp breath, looking offended. “I didn’t mess up.”



This Charlotte Quilly had been the sole cause of all of Erica’s problems with her abusive ex-boyfriend, Dan. He had opened the envelope from Erica’s lawyer, which were copies of documents Erica had signed a couple weeks ago, and discovered his girlfriend suddenly had inherited a cool ten thousand dollars from a great-aunt. He’d then been scouring San Francisco to try to find Erica.



“It wasn’t my fault,” Charlotte insisted. “I’ve sent papers to the wrong addresses before, and it’s never been a problem.”



“They beat you up to get you to tell them where Erica was staying,” Tessa said, her voice neutral. “Then they followed us from Wings.”



Tessa supposed she couldn’t blame the woman. Most people who had been tortured this way would give up the address of anyone, even a single mother staying at a domestic violence shelter. Her new faith in Christ demanded that she give grace the way grace had been given to her, who had beat plenty of people up for her uncle.



But she guessed that Charlotte wouldn’t mess up an address again anytime soon.



The police finally arrived with flashing lights and solemn beep beeps from their squad cars as they parked a few feet from the accident and the men’s prone bodies.



Itchy groaned. “You had to wreck in front of Uncle’s club, didn’t you?”



“They’re not going inside the club. All the witnesses were out here. Besides, Erica and Emily’s lives were in danger. I had to take care of these guys somehow.”



It took twenty minutes before Tessa could leave. While waiting for the police to take her statement, she crawled onto the seat of her totaled car and rummaged for her cell phone. She found it where it had fallen on the floor of her car and straightened, tugging her shirt down over her briefly exposed lower back. She then called Erica.



“We’re fine.” The young woman had to shout a little to be heard over the noise inside the In-N-Out. “We’re snacking on fries at an inside table.”



“I might be a few minutes late,” Tessa said, “but we’ll make your train tonight.”



“Okay.”



The policeman who talked to Tessa was young, too young to remember her face from when she and Itchy had been involved in shady dealings in San Francisco more than eight years ago. He took her statement but seemed disbelieving when she said she threw a few punches and kicks to get the two men to leave her alone.



He seemed more interested in the two men handcuffed and sulking in the backseat of the squad car. The police obviously thought the Good Samaritan had been the one to dispatch the men and not the slender girl in spandex leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt. The Good Samaritan talked to another officer and seemed to be feeding their impressions, mimicking punches in between dabbing at his broken nose.



She was relieved, truth be told. The street was a bit dark and maybe the other witnesses would only give vague accounts of a fistfight. She just wanted to fade away as a hapless victim rather than be drawn into anything that would bring her family connections to light.



She nagged Itchy into letting her borrow his car, a brand-new black BMW coupe, and she picked up Erica and Emily and drove them to the bus depot.



Standing in front of the waiting bus, Erica folded Tessa into a hug, holding her tight, conveying her gratitude.



“Remember what I told you about how to stay off the radar. In case Dan gets out of jail faster than we expect.”



“Thank you for setting all this up and helping us to get away. I wish you’d let me pay you, especially now that I have my aunt’s money.”



Tessa shook her head. “You’ll need it soon enough. Emily will probably want to go to some expensive private college.”



Erica laughed and gave her another strong hug. “I’ll keep in touch.”



“You can email me or write to me through Wings. I volunteer there twice a week, usually.” Tessa gave Emily a smacking kiss on her round, soft cheek, making the little girl giggle. “Goodbye, sweetheart.”



“’Bye, Tessa.”



She sent them off on the bus, waving at them through the window as it drove off into the night. The satisfaction of helping Erica warred with the empty feeling of another person moving out of her life.



Well, her clients came and went, and Tessa had chosen to step back from her old yakuza connections. And from Charles.



She felt a small stab to her heart. She had been proud of herself for only thinking about him once a day now.



Tessa drove back to The Gambit where Itchy was pacing outside the club, waiting for her. He circled the car as she drove up, inspecting it for scratches.



“This wasn’t here before,” he accused her as he fingered an almost invisible scratch along his left rear panel.



“Yes it was,” Tessa shot back. “What, like there are any bushes for me to drive through on the streets of San Francisco?” She tossed him his car keys. “Thanks for the ride.”



“It’s only because you could kick my butt if I said no,” he groused.



“And don’t you forget it.” She gave him a quick peck on his clean-shaven cheek. “It’s good to see you, Itchy.” She thought back and realized that the last time she’d seen him had been ten months ago at Christmas at her uncle’s house, because she hadn’t made it to Uncle’s Fourth of July barbecue.



He nodded toward Gramps, now a crumpled heap and being loaded onto a tow truck Itchy had called for her. He gave her a sidelong look. “Not that I intend to be your personal car supplier, but you need a new one now, right?”



She gave him an evil grin. “Why thanks, Itchy, I’d love to take your Beamer off your hands—”



“No, no, no,” he said hastily. “Keep your paws off my new baby. But Dad just got a 1991 Suburban from a friend of his for cheap.”



“Really?” Tessa couldn’t help but be interested. A ’91 Suburban was built like a tank. With her new bodyguard business, Protection For Hire, the extra protection of solid steel would make her—and her clients—feel more secure.



“I’ll have Dad call you.”



“Thanks, Itchy.”



He waved back at her, already circling the car to get into the driver’s seat so he could find it a nice, safe parking spot. She waved as he drove away, then dialed Wings on her cell phone.



“Hello, Wings domestic shelter, this is Karissa.” Karissa’s voice sounded as young as she was, a perky twenty-two year old.



“Hi, Karissa, it’s Tessa. I didn’t know you were still there tonight.”



“I was just about to leave. What’s up?”



“I hate to bug you, but could you pick me up near Union Square Park?”



“What happened to Gramps?” Karissa asked, surprised.



There was the sound of a motor as the Corolla was slowly lifted from the street onto the tow truck. “Um … he finally retired.”

Print book:

Barnes and Noble

Amazon.com

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com



Ebook:

Nookbook

Kindle

iTunes

Christianbook.com

Kobobooks.com



Click here for info on book 1 in the series, Protection for Hire .



Protection for Hire series trailer

Simplification 2013

It seems like every year I realize I’ve filled my time with things that take up too much of my time! As I’ve been praying over 2013 during the month of January, I’ve been feeling I need to (once again) simplify my life.



So I’m stepping back from a blog I contribute to. I’m also aiming for less participation in some of my Goodreads groups (that is truly a time suck! Fun, but time suck.)



My book writing schedule is still very busy, so I’ll be doing no more critiques with my Story Sensei business in the first half of the year so that I can focus on my books, on writing what God wants me to write.



I’m going to focus my energy on my own blog--I’m aiming to post 3-4 times a week, as well as posting contests more regularly. I’m also going to be more active on my Goodreads group and my Facebook page, posting contests there as well.



And I absolutely DEPEND on those three outlets for help when naming characters, since many of you know how pathetic challenged I am in coming up with character names. :)



This will be a marketing year for me, which for you guys means lots of books being given away. I hope you’ll read them, love them, and lend them to your friends!



Or getting your library to order them would make me happy, too. And of course, making me happy is right there at the top of your list. :)



One thing I realized in 2012 was that I was so busy that I didn’t have time to read as much as I wanted to. For me as a writer, reading refills my creative well, and if the well’s empty, then it’s harder for me to write.



So in 2013, I’m going to do more reading. I want to decrease my TBR pile at least a little!



Also, I am going to read more non-Christian fiction in 2013. If a non-Christian book offends me, I won’t finish it, but I do want to know what my non-Christian friends are reading. They tend to read historical romances, paranormal romances, and young adult novels, so I’ll be reading more of those. It gives us a good topic of conversation and a way to connect with my non-Christian friends, which I think is what God wants me to do.



However, I’m going to make sure to stay constant with my daily Bible reading, because I know that in going “out there” into the world with my reading, I’ll be exposing myself to a lot of non-truth, and the only way to know the Truth and not be influenced by lies is by studying the Word.



And lastly, I’m cutting down on my TV watching. I got this idea from one of my Facebook friends who mentioned that it allows her to have more time to read! What a great idea! For me, cutting down on TV is easy since I watch everything on Tivo. I just deleted a few Season Passes for shows I won’t be watching anymore, and so now the shows won’t be recorded and won’t show up in my queue.



So how about you? Are you feeling the need to simplify or are you doing well? Do you have any suggestions for me?



(By the way, I was going to put a picture of a clock at the top of my blog post but instead decided to post this, which is me and Big Ben, taken in order to prove I really did go to England in September this past year!)

Giveaway on the Love Inspired Authors blog

For you Love Inspired Suspense readers, I'm giving away five copies of my Love Inspired Suspense novel, Narrow Escape, on the Love Inspired Authors blog! Click here to enter.

Pink fuzzy stash buster blanket

Like many knitters, I have a lot of extra yarn, almost all leftovers from other projects, and I didn’t know what to do with it because there wasn’t quite enough to make anything except perhaps hand mitts or a scarflette, and I have tons of those.



So I decided to combine them all to make a blanket using Tunisian crochet!







I think it’s pretty! Here’s the Ravelry link in case you were interested: http://ravel.me/camytang/sbb



I showed the blanket to Captain Caffeine first, then to my friend Dineen Miller. After my visit with Dineen, I complained to the Captain:



Me: I showed Dineen my pink fuzzy blanket and she expressed the proper exclamations of praise for it.



Captain: Like what?



Me: “Oh, is this your pink fuzzy blanket? It’s so nice! I can’t believe you used all your stash yarn for it! I love how the pink fun fur makes it so cute and fuzzy! It’s so heavy! It’s so soft! It’s so pink! It’s so you!” (I pause for dramatic effect and give the Captain a Significant Look.)



Captain: You mean it’s not enough to say, “It’s nice”?



Me: (Incredulous look.)



Captain: I guess I can see the difference.



Me: !!!!!!!!!

Winner - NARROW ESCAPE True Large Print winners

The winners of the two True Large Print versions of my Love Inspired Suspense, Narrow Escape , are:



Jane S.

Michelle F.



Congratulations! (I've emailed you. Please email me at camy {at] camytang[dot}com if you didn’t get the email message.)



I know that all of you who didn’t win are now crying in your Wheaties. Cheer up and order the book!



Back cover blurb:



KIDNAPPED IN BROAD DAYLIGHT



Arissa Tiong and her three-year-old niece are snatched off the street by members of a notorious drug gang. Having lost her police officer brother to a drug bust gone bad, Arissa knows the danger she's in. But she has no idea why they want her. Desperate to protect the little girl, Arissa escapes and runs straight to Nathan Fischer. She knows the handsome, weary former narcotics cop hasn't told her everything about the night that ended her brother's life and Nathan's career. But he's all that stands between her and dangerous thugs who are after something she doesn't even know she has.



Excerpt of chapter one:



Arissa Tiong awoke to darkness and the stench of fear. Pain throbbed from a sharp point at the back of her head and radiated forward to pound against the backs of her eyeballs. She drew in a ragged breath and swallowed dust. She stifled a cough against the scratchy nubs of the frilly carpet she lay on.



Where was she? She tried to move and realized her stiff arms were fastened behind her back, and her ankles were tied together. She attempted to straighten her legs and found her feet were tethered to something. She was bound like an animal.



And Charity. Where was Charity? Her heart began to speed up, and each beat felt like a hammer blow to her breastbone. Her entire body ached.



The dim room narrowed into focus before her swimming vision. Slivers of light came from a boarded-up window. Daylight, it was still daytime. They'd taken her sometime in the morning, and she didn't feel she'd been out for that long, so it must have only been a few hours. The rays spilled onto a rusty metal bed frame that held a thin, sagging mattress with no sheets and several dark stains. Her mind shied away from what made those stains.



The smell of mold was almost overpowering, and dust had settled on the thin carpet, pooling in holes and rips across the surface. The walls had dark water stains painted over older water stains.



She didn't realize there was a ringing in her ears until it started to fade and she could hear noises from outside the room. The sharp hard cries of street kids playing a pickup game in the middle of a road. She made out a word or two here or there. The kids spoke in Tagalog. She was still in Los Angeles, maybe still in the Filipino community where she lived. She hadn't seen the faces of the men who had nabbed her off the street, but if she remained in her neighborhood, they hadn't taken her far.



What had they done with Charity? Her last memory had been seeing the three-year-old's huge dark eyes, her mouth wide open, screaming and reaching for her as Arissa was hauled backward into a van. Had the men left Charity on the street? A three-year-old girl alone on the streets of L.A.? A cold knife blade slid under her rib cage and pricked her heart.



And why had they taken Arissa? She was only an international flight attendant. Her parents owned a tiny grocery store in a low-income Filipino community that barely earned enough to feed and house the four of them in the minuscule apartment above the store. They had nothing anyone would want.



The men must have taken her by mistake, and when they realized it, they'd kill her.



She closed her eyes. No, she had to see if she could get out of here. She would get out of here.



Arissa tugged at her hands behind her back. It felt like tape wrapped around her wrists. She twisted her arms, arched her back. Agony jabbed from her right shoulder—she must have injured it or fallen on it at some point. She gritted her teeth against the pain and pulled down her arms, getting them under her rear end.



She folded her body in half as she scooted her bound hands along the back of her legs toward her feet. Rope secured her crossed ankles, and a line ran into a tiny closet and fastened to the head of a large nail sticking out of the closet wall.



She reached down to see if she could untie her ankles even though her wrists were bound, but the line gave her a better idea. She sat up and drew her legs closer, pulling the rope taut. She set the edge of the duct tape around her wrists against the rope and started sawing back and forth.



It took forever, but soon the rope cut through and created a tear in the layers of duct tape. Then it was easier to saw through the rest and free her hands, ignoring the blood that trickled down the creases in her wrists from the tape and the friction from the rope.



She was about to untie her ankles when boot steps sounded outside the closed door, coming closer. A child's sobbing approached with the steps.



Charity. They had her niece. Arissa wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified.



She dropped back down to the carpet, tucking her hands behind her back again. Hopefully the men wouldn't realize the tape was gone. She settled into the same position she'd been in when she awoke, and shut her eyes.



The metal doorknob rattled as someone unlocked it, then two different footfalls sounded against the carpet—one lighter than the other, but neither were the steps of a child. One of them must have been carrying Charity, whose soft crying erupted into a wail as she saw Arissa on the floor.



"Let her go," growled a man's voice in Tagalog.



Now she could hear Charity's footsteps, followed by tiny hands that wrapped around Arissa's head and neck. "Aunty Rissa," Charity sobbed. "Wake up, wake up. Why won't you wake up?"



It took every ounce of willpower not to throw her arms around the small trembling body. Arissa kept her eyes shut. Thankfully, Charity's body shielded her face from the two kidnappers.



"Now be quiet," said a second voice in Tagalog, sharper than the other and slightly higher pitched. They were both men, both Filipino.



Charity gave a startled cry of fear, but then her sobs softened and she buried her face in Arissa's hair.



"See, I told you it would make her be quiet," said the sharp voice. The men walked out of the room. "Why'd you bring her, anyway?"



"It would have been better to leave her crying and screaming in the middle of the street?"



He was one of the men who'd grabbed them, then.



"All this trouble," the deeper voice groused. "If Mark hadn't gotten shot.." The door closed behind him and metal scraped as they locked it again.



Mark? Arissa's brother, Mark? But he'd been killed in the line of duty over three years ago. Why would these men care about his death and kidnap Arissa now?



And would they go after her parents, too, now that they had Arissa and Charity?



She reached out to gather Charity close to her, and the little girl gave a surprised noise. "Shh, shh. We have to be quiet or they'll come back."



"Why did they take us, Aunty Rissa?" Fresh tears trickled down Arissa's neck.



"I don't know. But we have to get out of here, okay?"



The little head nodded against her ear.



Arissa sat up and worked on the rope tying her legs together. It had been knotted tightly but inexpertly. She tore a fingernail trying to loosen the first knot, but after that she was able to undo the other knots quickly.



The window had been boarded up with plywood so that only slits of light shone through, but as she leaned closer, Arissa could see that the drywall securing the boards was brittle and crumbling. She yanked at a plywood board that she was fairly certain hadn't been nailed into a wall stud, and the bottom edge pulled away easily, with white dry-wall flakes drifting into the dingy carpet. She tried the top of the board, and it drew free.



So that's why the window had been boarded up—cracks splintered out from the glass, radiating from a small hole. A bullet hole. She glanced behind her into the room, and saw a corresponding hole high in the wall next to the closet door.



She shuddered. Growing up in her area of L.A., she'd gotten used to hearing gunshots every night, but she never got used to seeing the damage to buildings, to people.



She tore away as many of the boards from the window as she could and set them quietly on the floor. Outside, the kids playing in the street had moved on, and the empty road echoed with the whisper of cars driving elsewhere nearby. It seemed to drowse in the bright sunlight as drug dealers slept off a busy night and nosy neighbors watched reality TV shows.



There was also nowhere to hide. The street ran in a straight shot in either direction. These small, old houses had postage-stamp front lawns and broken metal fences around the better ones. Only an occasional scraggly tree or decrepit bush. If she ran with Charity, they'd be spotted down the street in an instant. How long could she run with a three-year-old girl in her arms?



What had Mark always said to her? "Distraction evens the odds."



She scanned the room, easier now that it was brighter, and stepped into the empty closet to look up. A square in the gray asbestos-snowlike ceiling pointed to an entry to the attic crawl space.



She used a board to nudge up the panel and slowly, quietly shift it aside to clear the opening. She wasn't tall enough to get to it easily, or to check that it was safe. She'd have to trust there wasn't anything dangerous in there.



Arissa picked up Charity and whispered in her ear, "You have to be brave for me, nene. Can you do that?"



The girl hesitated before nodding slowly. She wasn't her father's daughter for nothing.



"I need you to climb up there and be very, very quiet," Arissa said.



"In the dark?" she whispered, her breath coming faster.



"It's not so dark, see?" Arissa stood under the hole and could see faint rays of sunlight coming through a crack in the roof, illuminating the crawl space. "If you stay very quiet, we can get away from the bad men. Okay?"



Charity took a quick breath. "Okay."



Arissa lifted up the girl and she scrambled into the hole. She pushed at her niece's round bottom, covered in her favorite pink stretch pants, to get her over the edge into the attic. There was a soft shuffling, then Charity's large dark eyes stared down at her from the edge of the hole.



"Stand back," Arissa whispered, "and don't make a sound."



Arissa took the longest of the plywood boards and slid it under the flimsy doorknob, propping the other end of the board against the floor. It wouldn't hold them long, but she only needed a few extra seconds.



She grabbed the heaviest of the other boards and took a deep breath, then swung it against the window glass with all her might.



The impact jarred her arms and shoulders and the sound of shattering glass rang in her ears, making them ache. She hit at the shards of glass left in the window, knocking them loose and shoving them outside. She glanced down and around the outside of the house, spying some dented metal trash cans a few feet to the side of the window. In order to make even more noise, she threw the board at them, knocking one down and making the other rattle ominously against the peeling paint of the house.



Men's voices sounded outside the bedroom door, and the knob rattled. The door stuck against the board wedged there.



She ran toward the closet and took a flying leap at the hole in the ceiling just as the men began shouldering at the barricaded door with thundering blows. She grabbed at the edge and swung an elbow over with her momentum, then hauled herself up as quickly and quietly as she could. Thank goodness for the hours she spent at the gym in between her flight assignments. She drew in her legs and laid the panel back over the hole just as the men crashed through the door to the bedroom.



"They're gone!" The voice came from the direction of the window.



"Don't just stand there, we have to get them back."



Footsteps raced out of the bedroom, leaving the house. There was a sound of a slamming door, then all was silent.



She waited a few seconds, straining to hear if there was a third man left in the house, but she didn't hear anything, not even the sound of a television or radio. She pushed aside the panel and dropped down. Reaching up her arms for Charity, the girl obediently dangled her legs over the edge, then slid into her aunt's arms.



She stepped through the splintered bedroom door, walking noiselessly into a small hallway. It opened into a dusty living room, with the open front door at one side and a kitchen door at the other. Arissa headed toward the back of the house.



There was a narrow kitchen door with a cobwebby glass panel. Thankfully it wasn't locked. She opened it and let them into an overgrown backyard, strewn with rusting car parts and various pieces of trash. She carefully closed the door behind her, then made for the sagging back fence, which had several loose slats of wood. She wriggled through one of them, followed by Charity.



Then she picked up her niece and ran.



Nathan Fischer opened the front door and saw his dead partner's eyes staring solemnly up at him.



It took him a moment to realize Mark's eyes were in the face of a three-year-old girl, her dark brown curls blowing about her round cheeks in the crisp Sonoma breeze. Then Nathan's gaze shifted to the young woman standing behind the little girl. The foyer tiles under his feet tilted sideways before righting themselves.



Arissa.



She had lost weight. Her high cheekbones stood out more, and her collarbone peeked from the wide-necked blouse she wore. It was her favorite color, a dusky rose that matched her lips. Her eyes bore into his, wide and intent.



"I'm sorry to drop in on you like this, Nathan, but I need your help." Her voice was the same as he remembered it—low, musical, her words carefully enunciated in a way that hinted at a Filipino accent, although she'd been born in the U.S.



"My help?" he heard himself repeat idiotically. Maybe because he was exhausted—he'd pulled a double shift, taking over for one of the other security officers at Glencove Towers whose wife had gone into labor.



Arissa cast a nervous glance around the neighborhood. The gathering darkness had cast the other bungalow-style homes into shadows, but this was a safe, quiet street in downtown Sonoma—there were no monsters here. Something had spooked her badly.



Especially if she'd come to him, after the last words he'd spoken to her three years ago.



"Come in." Nathan stood aside and opened the door wider. The little girl caught his attention again. So Arissa had had a child? The girl seemed tall for her age. So much had happened since he'd last seen Arissa.



She stepped into the foyer of Nathan's parents' home and he closed the door behind her, the light from the hallway lamp casting a glow across her almond-milk-colored skin. He caught a thread of rain and roses, and her familiar scent made him have a flashing urge to give her a peck on the cheek, to say, "Hi, honey, how was work?"



He exhaled a sharp breath to dispel the vision. It was the little girl causing this in him, the reminder that he had once had deeper feelings for this woman, had once wanted to have a family with her. The little girl had fooled him into thinking his dream had come true.



His dream would never come true. Certainly not with this woman, and now, not with any woman.







Print books:

Harlequin.com

Harlequin.com (Large Print)

Barnes and Noble

Barnes and Noble (Large Print)

Amazon.com

Amazon.com (Large Print)

Christianbook.com

Booksamillion.com

Booksamillion.com (Large Print)



Ebooks:

Harlequin.com

Nookbook

Kindle

Kobobooks.com

iTunes

Wings Shelter in the Protection for Hire series

Today, I’m on Lyn Cote’s blog talking about Wings domestic abuse shelter in the Protection for Hire series. I’m also doing a giveaway of A Dangerous Stage!



Click here to read the blog post and enter the giveaway.

Return to Marble Cove with "Steps of Faith"

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Source: guideposts.org via Camy on Pinterest

Some of you guys might know that I--in addition to several other authors--write for the Guideposts women’s fiction series, Miracles of Marble Cove.



My next novel in the series, Steps of Faith released recently and I did an interview on Guideposts.org.



I talk a bit about the series, the book, my personal bucket list and also some tips for writers. I hope you click on the link to read the interview!