Camy Tang's Blog, page 164
October 4, 2010
Street Team Book List excerpt - Surrender the Heart by MaryLu Tyndall
Today's Wild Card author is:
MaryLu Tyndall
Relive the rich history of the War of 1812 through the eyes of Marianne Denton and Noah Brenin, who both long to please their families but neither one wishes to marry the other. Noah is determined to get his cargo to England before war breaks out, and Marianne is equally determined to have a wedding so that her inheritance can be unlocked and her destitute family saved. When their stubborn games get them captured by a British warship, can they escape and bring liberty to their country—and growing love?
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
M.L. Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist, and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King's Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in Math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. For more information on MaryLu and her upcoming releases, please visit her website or her blog.
Visit the author's website.
Visit the author's blog.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 368 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (August 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602601658
ISBN-13: 978-1602601659
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
June 18, 1812, Baltimore, Maryland
"I would rather boil in oil than marry Noah Brenin." Marianne tossed the silver brooch onto her vanity.
"Hold your breath and stay still." Rose said from behind her. "Besides, it is only an engagement party, not a wedding."
"But it is one more step to that horrid destination." Marianne sucked in her breath as Rose threaded the laces through the eyelets on her stays. "Why must women wear these contraptions?"
"To look our best for the gentlemen in our lives." Cassandra appeared on Marianne's left, a lacy petticoat flung over one arm. With shimmering auburn hair and eyes the color of emeralds, Cassandra had no trouble looking her best for anyone.
Marianne huffed. "I have no care what any gentleman thinks of my appearance."
"Which is why you are still unmarried at five and twenty."
"Then what is your excuse at three and twenty?" Marianne arched a brow, to which Cassandra responded with a shrug. "I have not yet met a man worthy of me." She grinned.
"Where on earth is your chambermaid?" Rose grunted as she squeezed Marianne's rounded figure into the stays and tied the final lace tight. "Shouldn't she be doing this?"
"I dismissed her." Marianne waved a hand through the air. "I prefer to dress myself." She hoped they didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice. If only they knew that her mother had been forced to let the entire staff go and the ones here today were hired just for her betrothal party.
"There." Rose finished her work and stepped back as Marianne took the petticoat from Cassandra and slipped it over her head.
"Truth is, I do not wish to marry—ever." Marianne squared her shoulders as Cassandra slid behind her and latched the petticoat hooks.
Rose put her hands on her waist. "Noah Brenin is a fine man and a good catch."
Marianne gazed at her friend and couldn't help but smile at the motherly reprimand burning in her crystal blue eyes. Tall and slender, with honey blond hair, Rose turned many a head in Baltimore. Just like Cassandra.
But not like Marianne.
"He is a boor."
"Why so low an opinion of him? Haven't you and he been friends since childhood?" Rose cocked her head and gave Marianne a look of censure.
"I wouldn't call it friendship, more like forced acquaintance. And my knowledge of him is precisely why I know him for the churlish clod he is."
Gathering a cream-colored silk-embroidered gown from Marianne's bed, Rose and Cassandra tossed it over her head and assisted her as she wiggled into it. She adjusted the ruffled lace bordering her neckline and circling her puffy sleeves. Cassandra handed her a jeweled belt which Marianne strapped around her high waist and buckled in front. She pressed down the folds of her gown, admiring the pink lace trailing down the front and trimming the hemline. After slipping on her white satin slippers, Marianne moved to the full length looking glass and paused to eye her reflection.
Plain. Despite the shimmering, glamorous dress, plain was the first word that came to her mind. Perhaps because that was how she had always been described. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, a bit plump. Nothing remarkable, nothing to catch an eye.
Simply plain.
Which was precisely why, when the other girls her age were being courted, Marianne had preferred to spend her time caring for her ailing mother and younger sister, particularly after their father died. No whirlwind romances, no soirees, no grand adventures lit up the horizon for her. She had resigned herself to lead an ordinary life. An ordinary life for an ordinary girl.
"Come now, it won't be so bad." Rose brushed a lock of hair from Marianne's forehead and then straightened one of the curls dangling about her neck. "You look as though you were attending your own funeral."
"I dare say I feel as though I am." Tired of staring into the mirror with the hope her reflection would transform into that of a beautiful woman, Marianne turned aside, picked up her silk gloves from the vanity and sauntered toward the window.
"I, for one, cannot wait to get married," Rose said. "To the right man of course. He must be a good, honest, god-fearing man. A man who stays home, not a seaman. And he must be agreeable in all respects."
"What about handsome?" Cassandra asked, and Marianne turned to see a blush creep up Rose's neck.
"Well, yes, I suppose I would not be opposed to that." Her blue eyes twinkled.
Facing the window, Marianne slid the white gloves onto her hands and tugged them up her arms. Shouts echoed from the street below, accompanied by the clip clop of horse hooves and the grating of carriage wheels. She brushed aside the curtain to see people running to and fro darting between carriages. A warm breeze, heavy with moisture and the smells of the sea, stirred the curtains. A bell rang in the distance, drawing Marianne's attention to the maze of ship's masts thrusting into the blue sky like iron bars of a prison. A prison that could not constrain the ravenous blue waters from feeding upon the innocent—an innocent like her father.
Rose and Cassandra joined her at the window as more shouts blasted in with the wind. "What is all the commotion about?" Cassandra pushed back the other side of the curtains.
"There have been rumors that President Madison will soon declare war on Britain," Marianne said.
"I hope it doesn't come to that." Rose peered over Marianne's shoulder. "War is such horrid business."
"But necessary if the British insist on stealing our men from land and sea and impressing them into their Navy." Marianne felt her ire rising. "Not to mention how they rouse the Indians to attack us on the frontier."
"They want their colonies back, I suppose." Afternoon sunlight set Cassandra's red hair aflame in ribbons of liquid fire. "England never was good at losing."
"Well they can't have them." Marianne's voice rose with a determination she felt building within. Though she'd been born after the Revolution, she had heard the stories of oppression and tyranny enforced upon them by a nation across the seas whose king thought he had the right to dictate laws and taxes without giving the people a voice. But no more. "We won our freedom from them. We are a nation now. A new nation that represents liberty to the entire world."
"I couldn't agree more." Cassandra nodded with a smile. "Perhaps you should run for mayor?"
"A woman in public office?" Marianne chuckled. "That will never happen."
The door creaked open, and Marianne turned to see her mother and younger sister slip inside.
Lizzie's eyes widened and she rushed toward Marianne. "You look so beautiful, Marianne!"
Kneeling, Marianne embraced her sister. She held her tight and took a big whiff of the lavender soap with which their mother always scrubbed the little girl. "Thank you, Lizzie. I can always count on you for a compliment."
"Now, Lizzie, don't wrinkle your sister's dress." Marianne's mother sank into one of the chairs by the fireplace and winced. The slight reminder of her mother's pain caused Marianne's heart to shrink. She squeezed her little sister again—the one beacon of joy in their house these past three years since Father died—and kissed her on the cheek. "You look very beautiful too."
The little girl clutched her skirt and twirled around. "Do you really think so?" She drew her lips into a pout. "But when can I wear a dress like yours?"
"Come now, Lizzie," Mother said. "You are only six. When you are a grown woman like Marianne, you may wear more elaborate gowns." She gestured toward Rose and Cassandra. "Ladies, would you take Lizzie downstairs for a moment? I need a word with Marianne."
"Of course, Mrs. Denton." Rose took Lizzie's hand. "Come along little one."
Cassandra followed after them and closed the door.
Marianne sat in the chair beside her mother and gently grasped her hands. She flinched at how cold and moist they were. "How are you feeling, Mama?"
"Very well today, dear." She looked down as if hiding something..
But Marianne didn't need to look in her mother's eyes to know she was lying. The sprinkles of perspiration on her forehead, the paleness of her skin, and the tightening of her lips when the pains hit spoke more clearly than any words.
Marianne squeezed her mother's hands. "The medicaments are not working?"
"They will work. It takes time." Her mother attempted a smile. "But let us not talk of that now. I have something more important to discuss with you." She released a heavy sigh then lifted her gaze to Marianne's. Though illness had stolen the glimmer from her eyes, it could not hide the sweet kindness of her soul. "You don't have to do this, you know."
The truth of her words sliced through Marianne. She stared at the floral pattern woven into the carpet. "You know I do."
"It isn't fair of me to ask this of you." Her mother's voice rang with conviction and deep sorrow.
"You didn't ask, Mama. I want to do this." A truth followed by a lie. Marianne hoped the good canceled out the bad.
"Come now. You cannot fool me." Mama said. "I know this is not the match you would choose."
Releasing her mother's hands, Marianne rose from the chair and sauntered toward the window. The rustle of her gown crackled through the air with conviction. "In truth, I would choose no match." She turned and forced a smile. "So if I must marry, why not this man?"
Her mother gazed at her with such love and sorrow that Marianne felt her heart would burst. Once considered the most beautiful woman in Baltimore, Jane Denton, now withered away with the sickness that robbed her of her glow and luster and stole the fat from her bones, leaving her but a frail skeleton of what she once had been. The physicians had no idea what ailed her save that without the medicaments they administered, she would die a quicker and more painful death.
Tearing her gaze from the tragic vision, Marianne glanced out the window where it seemed as though the approaching evening only heightened the citizens' agitation. "Marrying Noah Brenin will save us. It will save you."
"But what of saving you?" Her mother's sweet plea caressed Marianne's ears, but she forced down the spark of hope that dared to rise at her mother's question. There was no room for hope now, only necessity.
"You know if we continue as is, all that is left of our fortune will be spent in one year on your medicaments. Then what will we do? Without my dowry, no man will look my way, since that and our good name is all that has caught this particular fish upon the hook." And without a husband to unlock her inheritance, her father had ensured that the seven thousand dollars would remain as far from her reach as if she did not own it at all.
"Perhaps you will meet another man—someone you love?" Her mother said.
"Mama, I am five and twenty." Marianne turned and waved her hands over herself. "And plain to look at." She gave a bitter laugh. "Do you see suitors lining up at our door?"
"You are too beautiful for words, dearest." Her mother's eyes beamed in adoration. "You just don't know it yet."
Shrugging off her mother's compliment as the obligation of a parent, Marianne stiffened her back before she attempted to rekindle an argument long since put to death. "We could take what's left of our money and fund a privateer, Mama." Marianne glanced out the window at a mob that had formed down the street. "War is certain and our fledgling navy will need all the help it can get."
Her mother's nervous huff drew Marianne's gaze. "It is far too much of a gamble. And gambling destroys lives"—a glaze covered her mother's eyes as she stared into the room—"and families."
Marianne grimaced. "I am not like Papa. I have heard these privateers can make a fortune while helping to defend our country."
A breeze stirred a curled wisp of her mother's hair as she gazed at Marianne with concern.
Marianne twisted the ring on her finger. "Down at the docks, merchantmen are already outfitted their ships as privateers. The call for investors goes out daily." If only she could convince her mother, not only would Marianne not have to marry that clod, Noah, but she could do something to help this great nation of hers.
Her mother's boney hands perched in her lap began to tremble. "We could lose everything. And what of Lizzie? I could not bare it."
Shame drummed upon Marianne's hopes. She had upset her mother when the doctor strictly instructed her to keep her calm.
"Perhaps a trade of some sort?" Mama offered. "I hear that Mrs. Pickersgill makes a decent living sewing ensigns."
A blast of warm wind stirred the gauzy curtains and cooled the perspiration forming on Marianne's neck. "Mama you know I have no skills. I'm not like other ladies. The last gown I attempted to sew fell apart. My cooking would drive the hardiest frontiersman back to the woods, and the pianoforte runs when it sees me coming."
Mother chuckled. "You exaggerate, dearest."
But Marianne could tell by the look in her mother's eyes that despite the humorous delivery, her words rang true. Though a governess in her younger years and her mother in her later years had strived to teach Marianne the skills every proper lady should acquire, she had found them nothing but tedious. She possessed no useful skills, no talents. As her father had so often declared before his death. In essence, Marianne had nothing to offer. If her mother would not agree to fund a privateer, Marianne would have to accept her fate in marriage.
"I'm an old woman and will die soon anyway," Mama said with a sigh. "But I must ensure you and Lizzie are cared for."
Gathering her skirts, Marianne dashed toward her mother and knelt at her feet. "You must never say such a thing."
"Do not soil your beautiful gown." Her mother smiled and wiped a tear from Marianne's cheek. "Perhaps we should simply trust God with my health and let His will prevail."
Marianne laid her head on her mother's lap like she used to do as a child. She had trusted her father, she had trusted God.
And they had both let her down—her and her mother.
Trust no longer came so easily. "I will not let you die, Mother. I cannot." Her eyes burned with tears. "As long as I have my inheritance and a man who is willing to marry me, I promise you will be well cared for. And Lizzie too. That is all that matters, now." Marianne lifted her gaze to her mother's, feeling strength surge through her.
"And mark my words, Mama. Nothing will stand in my way. Especially not Noah Brenin."
It is time for a
FIRST Wild Card Tour
book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
MaryLu Tyndall
and the book:
Barbour Books (August 1, 2010)
Relive the rich history of the War of 1812 through the eyes of Marianne Denton and Noah Brenin, who both long to please their families but neither one wishes to marry the other. Noah is determined to get his cargo to England before war breaks out, and Marianne is equally determined to have a wedding so that her inheritance can be unlocked and her destitute family saved. When their stubborn games get them captured by a British warship, can they escape and bring liberty to their country—and growing love?ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
M.L. Tyndall, a Christy Award Finalist, and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King's Pirates series is known for her adventurous historical romances filled with deep spiritual themes. She holds a degree in Math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. MaryLu currently writes full time and makes her home on the California coast with her husband, six kids, and four cats. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. For more information on MaryLu and her upcoming releases, please visit her website or her blog.Visit the author's website.
Visit the author's blog.
Product Details:
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 368 pages
Publisher: Barbour Books (August 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1602601658
ISBN-13: 978-1602601659
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
June 18, 1812, Baltimore, Maryland
"I would rather boil in oil than marry Noah Brenin." Marianne tossed the silver brooch onto her vanity.
"Hold your breath and stay still." Rose said from behind her. "Besides, it is only an engagement party, not a wedding."
"But it is one more step to that horrid destination." Marianne sucked in her breath as Rose threaded the laces through the eyelets on her stays. "Why must women wear these contraptions?"
"To look our best for the gentlemen in our lives." Cassandra appeared on Marianne's left, a lacy petticoat flung over one arm. With shimmering auburn hair and eyes the color of emeralds, Cassandra had no trouble looking her best for anyone.
Marianne huffed. "I have no care what any gentleman thinks of my appearance."
"Which is why you are still unmarried at five and twenty."
"Then what is your excuse at three and twenty?" Marianne arched a brow, to which Cassandra responded with a shrug. "I have not yet met a man worthy of me." She grinned.
"Where on earth is your chambermaid?" Rose grunted as she squeezed Marianne's rounded figure into the stays and tied the final lace tight. "Shouldn't she be doing this?"
"I dismissed her." Marianne waved a hand through the air. "I prefer to dress myself." She hoped they didn't hear the slight quaver in her voice. If only they knew that her mother had been forced to let the entire staff go and the ones here today were hired just for her betrothal party.
"There." Rose finished her work and stepped back as Marianne took the petticoat from Cassandra and slipped it over her head.
"Truth is, I do not wish to marry—ever." Marianne squared her shoulders as Cassandra slid behind her and latched the petticoat hooks.
Rose put her hands on her waist. "Noah Brenin is a fine man and a good catch."
Marianne gazed at her friend and couldn't help but smile at the motherly reprimand burning in her crystal blue eyes. Tall and slender, with honey blond hair, Rose turned many a head in Baltimore. Just like Cassandra.
But not like Marianne.
"He is a boor."
"Why so low an opinion of him? Haven't you and he been friends since childhood?" Rose cocked her head and gave Marianne a look of censure.
"I wouldn't call it friendship, more like forced acquaintance. And my knowledge of him is precisely why I know him for the churlish clod he is."
Gathering a cream-colored silk-embroidered gown from Marianne's bed, Rose and Cassandra tossed it over her head and assisted her as she wiggled into it. She adjusted the ruffled lace bordering her neckline and circling her puffy sleeves. Cassandra handed her a jeweled belt which Marianne strapped around her high waist and buckled in front. She pressed down the folds of her gown, admiring the pink lace trailing down the front and trimming the hemline. After slipping on her white satin slippers, Marianne moved to the full length looking glass and paused to eye her reflection.
Plain. Despite the shimmering, glamorous dress, plain was the first word that came to her mind. Perhaps because that was how she had always been described. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, a bit plump. Nothing remarkable, nothing to catch an eye.
Simply plain.
Which was precisely why, when the other girls her age were being courted, Marianne had preferred to spend her time caring for her ailing mother and younger sister, particularly after their father died. No whirlwind romances, no soirees, no grand adventures lit up the horizon for her. She had resigned herself to lead an ordinary life. An ordinary life for an ordinary girl.
"Come now, it won't be so bad." Rose brushed a lock of hair from Marianne's forehead and then straightened one of the curls dangling about her neck. "You look as though you were attending your own funeral."
"I dare say I feel as though I am." Tired of staring into the mirror with the hope her reflection would transform into that of a beautiful woman, Marianne turned aside, picked up her silk gloves from the vanity and sauntered toward the window.
"I, for one, cannot wait to get married," Rose said. "To the right man of course. He must be a good, honest, god-fearing man. A man who stays home, not a seaman. And he must be agreeable in all respects."
"What about handsome?" Cassandra asked, and Marianne turned to see a blush creep up Rose's neck.
"Well, yes, I suppose I would not be opposed to that." Her blue eyes twinkled.
Facing the window, Marianne slid the white gloves onto her hands and tugged them up her arms. Shouts echoed from the street below, accompanied by the clip clop of horse hooves and the grating of carriage wheels. She brushed aside the curtain to see people running to and fro darting between carriages. A warm breeze, heavy with moisture and the smells of the sea, stirred the curtains. A bell rang in the distance, drawing Marianne's attention to the maze of ship's masts thrusting into the blue sky like iron bars of a prison. A prison that could not constrain the ravenous blue waters from feeding upon the innocent—an innocent like her father.
Rose and Cassandra joined her at the window as more shouts blasted in with the wind. "What is all the commotion about?" Cassandra pushed back the other side of the curtains.
"There have been rumors that President Madison will soon declare war on Britain," Marianne said.
"I hope it doesn't come to that." Rose peered over Marianne's shoulder. "War is such horrid business."
"But necessary if the British insist on stealing our men from land and sea and impressing them into their Navy." Marianne felt her ire rising. "Not to mention how they rouse the Indians to attack us on the frontier."
"They want their colonies back, I suppose." Afternoon sunlight set Cassandra's red hair aflame in ribbons of liquid fire. "England never was good at losing."
"Well they can't have them." Marianne's voice rose with a determination she felt building within. Though she'd been born after the Revolution, she had heard the stories of oppression and tyranny enforced upon them by a nation across the seas whose king thought he had the right to dictate laws and taxes without giving the people a voice. But no more. "We won our freedom from them. We are a nation now. A new nation that represents liberty to the entire world."
"I couldn't agree more." Cassandra nodded with a smile. "Perhaps you should run for mayor?"
"A woman in public office?" Marianne chuckled. "That will never happen."
The door creaked open, and Marianne turned to see her mother and younger sister slip inside.
Lizzie's eyes widened and she rushed toward Marianne. "You look so beautiful, Marianne!"
Kneeling, Marianne embraced her sister. She held her tight and took a big whiff of the lavender soap with which their mother always scrubbed the little girl. "Thank you, Lizzie. I can always count on you for a compliment."
"Now, Lizzie, don't wrinkle your sister's dress." Marianne's mother sank into one of the chairs by the fireplace and winced. The slight reminder of her mother's pain caused Marianne's heart to shrink. She squeezed her little sister again—the one beacon of joy in their house these past three years since Father died—and kissed her on the cheek. "You look very beautiful too."
The little girl clutched her skirt and twirled around. "Do you really think so?" She drew her lips into a pout. "But when can I wear a dress like yours?"
"Come now, Lizzie," Mother said. "You are only six. When you are a grown woman like Marianne, you may wear more elaborate gowns." She gestured toward Rose and Cassandra. "Ladies, would you take Lizzie downstairs for a moment? I need a word with Marianne."
"Of course, Mrs. Denton." Rose took Lizzie's hand. "Come along little one."
Cassandra followed after them and closed the door.
Marianne sat in the chair beside her mother and gently grasped her hands. She flinched at how cold and moist they were. "How are you feeling, Mama?"
"Very well today, dear." She looked down as if hiding something..
But Marianne didn't need to look in her mother's eyes to know she was lying. The sprinkles of perspiration on her forehead, the paleness of her skin, and the tightening of her lips when the pains hit spoke more clearly than any words.
Marianne squeezed her mother's hands. "The medicaments are not working?"
"They will work. It takes time." Her mother attempted a smile. "But let us not talk of that now. I have something more important to discuss with you." She released a heavy sigh then lifted her gaze to Marianne's. Though illness had stolen the glimmer from her eyes, it could not hide the sweet kindness of her soul. "You don't have to do this, you know."
The truth of her words sliced through Marianne. She stared at the floral pattern woven into the carpet. "You know I do."
"It isn't fair of me to ask this of you." Her mother's voice rang with conviction and deep sorrow.
"You didn't ask, Mama. I want to do this." A truth followed by a lie. Marianne hoped the good canceled out the bad.
"Come now. You cannot fool me." Mama said. "I know this is not the match you would choose."
Releasing her mother's hands, Marianne rose from the chair and sauntered toward the window. The rustle of her gown crackled through the air with conviction. "In truth, I would choose no match." She turned and forced a smile. "So if I must marry, why not this man?"
Her mother gazed at her with such love and sorrow that Marianne felt her heart would burst. Once considered the most beautiful woman in Baltimore, Jane Denton, now withered away with the sickness that robbed her of her glow and luster and stole the fat from her bones, leaving her but a frail skeleton of what she once had been. The physicians had no idea what ailed her save that without the medicaments they administered, she would die a quicker and more painful death.
Tearing her gaze from the tragic vision, Marianne glanced out the window where it seemed as though the approaching evening only heightened the citizens' agitation. "Marrying Noah Brenin will save us. It will save you."
"But what of saving you?" Her mother's sweet plea caressed Marianne's ears, but she forced down the spark of hope that dared to rise at her mother's question. There was no room for hope now, only necessity.
"You know if we continue as is, all that is left of our fortune will be spent in one year on your medicaments. Then what will we do? Without my dowry, no man will look my way, since that and our good name is all that has caught this particular fish upon the hook." And without a husband to unlock her inheritance, her father had ensured that the seven thousand dollars would remain as far from her reach as if she did not own it at all.
"Perhaps you will meet another man—someone you love?" Her mother said.
"Mama, I am five and twenty." Marianne turned and waved her hands over herself. "And plain to look at." She gave a bitter laugh. "Do you see suitors lining up at our door?"
"You are too beautiful for words, dearest." Her mother's eyes beamed in adoration. "You just don't know it yet."
Shrugging off her mother's compliment as the obligation of a parent, Marianne stiffened her back before she attempted to rekindle an argument long since put to death. "We could take what's left of our money and fund a privateer, Mama." Marianne glanced out the window at a mob that had formed down the street. "War is certain and our fledgling navy will need all the help it can get."
Her mother's nervous huff drew Marianne's gaze. "It is far too much of a gamble. And gambling destroys lives"—a glaze covered her mother's eyes as she stared into the room—"and families."
Marianne grimaced. "I am not like Papa. I have heard these privateers can make a fortune while helping to defend our country."
A breeze stirred a curled wisp of her mother's hair as she gazed at Marianne with concern.
Marianne twisted the ring on her finger. "Down at the docks, merchantmen are already outfitted their ships as privateers. The call for investors goes out daily." If only she could convince her mother, not only would Marianne not have to marry that clod, Noah, but she could do something to help this great nation of hers.
Her mother's boney hands perched in her lap began to tremble. "We could lose everything. And what of Lizzie? I could not bare it."
Shame drummed upon Marianne's hopes. She had upset her mother when the doctor strictly instructed her to keep her calm.
"Perhaps a trade of some sort?" Mama offered. "I hear that Mrs. Pickersgill makes a decent living sewing ensigns."
A blast of warm wind stirred the gauzy curtains and cooled the perspiration forming on Marianne's neck. "Mama you know I have no skills. I'm not like other ladies. The last gown I attempted to sew fell apart. My cooking would drive the hardiest frontiersman back to the woods, and the pianoforte runs when it sees me coming."
Mother chuckled. "You exaggerate, dearest."
But Marianne could tell by the look in her mother's eyes that despite the humorous delivery, her words rang true. Though a governess in her younger years and her mother in her later years had strived to teach Marianne the skills every proper lady should acquire, she had found them nothing but tedious. She possessed no useful skills, no talents. As her father had so often declared before his death. In essence, Marianne had nothing to offer. If her mother would not agree to fund a privateer, Marianne would have to accept her fate in marriage.
"I'm an old woman and will die soon anyway," Mama said with a sigh. "But I must ensure you and Lizzie are cared for."
Gathering her skirts, Marianne dashed toward her mother and knelt at her feet. "You must never say such a thing."
"Do not soil your beautiful gown." Her mother smiled and wiped a tear from Marianne's cheek. "Perhaps we should simply trust God with my health and let His will prevail."
Marianne laid her head on her mother's lap like she used to do as a child. She had trusted her father, she had trusted God.
And they had both let her down—her and her mother.
Trust no longer came so easily. "I will not let you die, Mother. I cannot." Her eyes burned with tears. "As long as I have my inheritance and a man who is willing to marry me, I promise you will be well cared for. And Lizzie too. That is all that matters, now." Marianne lifted her gaze to her mother's, feeling strength surge through her.
"And mark my words, Mama. Nothing will stand in my way. Especially not Noah Brenin."
It is time for a
FIRST Wild Card Tour
book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Street Team giveaway - Stephanie's scarf!
Congratulations to the winners of copies of Formula for Danger:
Marguerite A.
Sandi A.
Suzanne A.
Nancye D.
Rachel H.
Holly O.
Kimberly T.
Angela W.
Deborah W.
Catherine Y.
(I've already emailed you guys so check your Inboxes!)
If you're not a Street Team member, join today! It's free, and you only have to pass out bookmarks. You get to pick FREE books from a ginormous list for every 80 bookmarks you give away. Just for joining, you get a free ribbon bookmark that my Mom made. Click here for more information.
Current Street Team members:
I'm still giving away lots of prizes to celebrate the release of Formula for Danger! Ongoing contests are:
Three free books for every batch of bookmarks you give away
A drawing for 12 winners of a cabernet sauvignon grape goat's milk soap + a free book
A drawing for a Christmas wall hanging made by my mom
And here's another giveaway for you guys:
Those of you who have read Formula for Danger remember Stephanie, the heroine's lab assistant, right? Stephanie has a fuzzy light blue scarf mentioned in the book (page 92).
Well, I have knitted Stephanie's scarf and now I'm offering it in a drawing for my Street Team members!
In addition to the scarf, you also get to pick a free book from my Street Team book list!
This is a light, luscious scarf in a diagonal lace pattern with garter stitch borders. The yarn is Patons Divine in a pretty Halo Blue color, a light blue that reminds me of paintings of angels. :)
If you are allergic to wool and/or mohair, please be aware that the yarn is 76.5% Acrylic - 10.5% Wool - 10.5% Mohair - 2.5% Polyester.
Care: Hand wash (just swish it in a sink with some shampoo--you can even take it in the shower with you if you're feeling extra lazy) and either lay flat to dry or hang to dry. Do not wash in the washing machine or dryer.
How to enter:
Either email me or Facebook me or leave a comment on this blog post about a person or place or event you left a Formula for Danger bookmark! Easy peasy!
Every Formula for Danger bookmark you give away and tell me about is one entry into the drawing for the scarf and free book!
Formula for Danger bookmarks: Some giveaways will require you to give away my Formula for Danger bookmark, so if you haven't given away your first 80 and don't have Formula for Danger bookmarks, either give away your bookmarks quick or email me and I can send you a few (although not as many as I would if you gave away your first 80 bookmarks).
Marguerite A.
Sandi A.
Suzanne A.
Nancye D.
Rachel H.
Holly O.
Kimberly T.
Angela W.
Deborah W.
Catherine Y.
(I've already emailed you guys so check your Inboxes!)
If you're not a Street Team member, join today! It's free, and you only have to pass out bookmarks. You get to pick FREE books from a ginormous list for every 80 bookmarks you give away. Just for joining, you get a free ribbon bookmark that my Mom made. Click here for more information.
Current Street Team members:
I'm still giving away lots of prizes to celebrate the release of Formula for Danger! Ongoing contests are:
Three free books for every batch of bookmarks you give away
A drawing for 12 winners of a cabernet sauvignon grape goat's milk soap + a free book
A drawing for a Christmas wall hanging made by my mom
And here's another giveaway for you guys:Those of you who have read Formula for Danger remember Stephanie, the heroine's lab assistant, right? Stephanie has a fuzzy light blue scarf mentioned in the book (page 92).
Well, I have knitted Stephanie's scarf and now I'm offering it in a drawing for my Street Team members!
In addition to the scarf, you also get to pick a free book from my Street Team book list!
This is a light, luscious scarf in a diagonal lace pattern with garter stitch borders. The yarn is Patons Divine in a pretty Halo Blue color, a light blue that reminds me of paintings of angels. :)
If you are allergic to wool and/or mohair, please be aware that the yarn is 76.5% Acrylic - 10.5% Wool - 10.5% Mohair - 2.5% Polyester.
Care: Hand wash (just swish it in a sink with some shampoo--you can even take it in the shower with you if you're feeling extra lazy) and either lay flat to dry or hang to dry. Do not wash in the washing machine or dryer.
How to enter:Either email me or Facebook me or leave a comment on this blog post about a person or place or event you left a Formula for Danger bookmark! Easy peasy!
Every Formula for Danger bookmark you give away and tell me about is one entry into the drawing for the scarf and free book!Formula for Danger bookmarks: Some giveaways will require you to give away my Formula for Danger bookmark, so if you haven't given away your first 80 and don't have Formula for Danger bookmarks, either give away your bookmarks quick or email me and I can send you a few (although not as many as I would if you gave away your first 80 bookmarks).
October 1, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - The Mayan Apocalypse by Mark Hitchcock and Alton Gansky
This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
The Mayan Apocalypse Harvest House Publishers(September 1, 2010)
by Mark Hitchcock & Alton Gansky
ABOUT THE AUTHORS:
Mark Hitchcock is the author of more than 17 books related to end-time Bible prophecy, including the bestselling 2012, the Bible, and the End of the World. He earned a ThM and PhD from Dallas Theological Seminary and is the senior pastor of Faith Bible Church in Edmond, Oklahoma. He has worked as an adjunct professor at DTS and has served as a contributing editor for the Left Behind Prophecy Club for five years.
Alton Gansky is the author of 30 books—24 of them novels, including the Angel Award winner Terminal Justice and Christie Award finalist A Ship Possessed. A frequent speaker at writing conferences, he holds BA and MA degrees in biblical studies. Alton and his wife reside in Southern California.
ABOUT THE BOOK
On the heels of Mark Hitchcock's prophecy bestseller 2012, the Bible, and the End of the World comes a suspenseful novel (coauthored with bestselling novelist Alton Gansky) about the supposed expiration date of planet earth—December 21, 2012.
Andrew Morgan is a wealthy oil executive in search of the meaning of life. In his quest for answers he encounters the ancient Mayan predictions that the world will end in 2012. That the claims seem supported by math and astronomy drives him to check on them. Then he meets Lisa Campbell, an attractive Christian journalist also researching the Mayan calendar. When he learns that she is a Christian, he quickly dismisses what she has to say.
As the time draws closer to December 21, 2012, a meteorite impact in Arizona, a volcanic eruption, and the threat of an asteroid on a collision-course with earth escalate fears. Are these indicators of a global apocalypse? Will anyone survive? Does Lisa's Christian faith have the answers after all? Or has fate destined everyone to a holocaust from which there is no escape?
Watch the book trailer:
Excerpt of chapter one:
Chapter 1
JULY 8, 2011
Andrew Morgan was pretty sure he was still on Earth, although the
number of extraterrestrials surrounding him made him wonder. To his left
was a six-foot-tall gray alien with bulbous black eyes that reflected
the glare of streetlights overhead. As an alien, he would have been more
believable if he weren't handing out fliers for a barbeque joint two
blocks down the main drag. And the woman with green skin, an extra eye
glued to her forehead, and a pair of wire antennae sprouting from her
coal-black hair would have been more convincing if she weren't wearing a
worn pair of New Balance sports shoes.
Morgan had expected to see people dressed in homemade costumes wandering
the streets of Roswell, New Mexico. He had done his homework, and like
everyone in the United States, he knew about the 1947 alleged UFO crash
in the nearby desert and the ensuing cover-up.
Entertaining as the tourists were, and fascinating as Roswell's history
was, Andrew didn't care. He wasn't there for aliens or crashed UFOs. He
cared nothing for such nonsense. His mission was serious. He had come
because the end of the world was less than a year and a half away. Then
the world would change for him and a few billion others.
December 21, 2012, or 12-21-12, would arrive, and everything would be different—assuming anyone survived.
Sixty-three years earlier, a flying saucer supposedly crashed
seventy-five miles outside of town—all UFO aficionados knew the crash
was closer to Corona, New Mexico. Roswell, however, got all the credit.
Over the last two decades, the city of less than 50,000 had become Mecca
to every kind of oddness, cult group, and paranormal adherent.
Morgan had been to the town before, but never during the annual UFO
festival. Watching the costumed tourists crowding normally quiet streets
made Morgan shake his head. Roswell could well be remembered for many
things. Rocket pioneers did much of their work here. Former Dallas
Cowboys quarterback Roger Staubach played football at New Mexico
Military Institute. Demi Moore, John Denver, and other famous people
were born in Roswell. Does anyone remember that? Nope.
Morgan was a man of science as well as business. Being CEO and president
of Morgan Natural Energy made him wealthy and able to pursue his
passions, a passion that narrowed from a spotlight to a laser beam. He
enjoyed mysteries, and he had done his share of investigation in UFOs,
cryptozoology, and other fringe subjects. He didn't believe the stories,
but he did find them entertaining. That was before he learned the world
was coming to an end. Such truth tended to push other thoughts from the
mind. He had many thoughts he wanted pushed away.
Struggling to move through the crowds, Morgan pressed forward like a
salmon swimming upstream. He reminded himself to be patient and enjoy
the ambience. He was a man on a mission.
Five blocks from the parking lot where he left his Beemer, Morgan
arrived at a movie theater built in the early sixties. This week, Morgan
imagined, the owners were making far more money renting the facility to
groups bringing in experts from the far regions of the world (and of
reason). One, however, was different.
Morgan was here to see Robert Quetzal, the last Mayan priest.
###
Marcus McCue was a drunk, but he was a dedicated drunk. He took to
drinking like Mozart took to music—like Michelangelo took to canvas and
marble. Rare was the man who understood his skills and his limitations
like Marcus understood his. Marcus had many limitations but only one
skill: He could hold his liquor, at least most nights.
It was still early in the evening when Marcus pushed open the marred
blue door leading from the Tavern on the Green bar and into the Arizona
evening. The door was the only thing in Tacna, Arizona, that bore more
scars than he.
Marcus glanced at the bar's sign: TAVERN ON THE GREEN. The name always
amused him. There was nothing green around the bar, and aside from the
occasional lawn in front of some home, there was no green in Tacna: just
sandy dirt, pitiful-looking desert plants, dust roads, sidewalks, and
tumbleweeds.
Overhead, a bejeweled, cloudless sky returned his gaze. This part of
town had few streetlights, allowing the stars to shine without
interference. The only art Marcus could appreciate was that created by
the constellations.
As a boy, he spent many of his evenings staring through a telescope at
the twinkles in the sky. The small refractor lacked enough power to
render the rings of Saturn, but that didn't matter. Marcus's imagination
filled in what was missing. The warmth of memory rose in him, and he
smiled at the moon. Good times. Good times until the old man got home.
Marcus's father had also been a dedicated drunk. Marcus came by it
honestly. He started drinking when he was thirteen, following an
especially severe beating from his dad. At first, he would sneak sips
from his old man's stock, but Marcus Sr. would catch him, and he would
communicate his displeasure with his fists.
His mother, a saint with graying red hair, begged him to stay away from
booze. He promised to do so. That was when he became a dedicated liar.
She left six months later, and he never heard from her again. His father
said she died in Phoenix. He had no idea if that was true. Forty years
later, he wasn't sure he cared.
His gaze drifted across the street to the auto repair shop he inherited
from his father. He hated that shop. He hated its origins. It smelled of
his father. Still, it provided enough income to pay for his mobile
home, frozen dinners, and Jim Beam. He worked during the day, just as
his father had, in a slight fog and with a persistent buzz. He had been
staining his hands with grease since he was sixteen.
"Too many years," he told the night.
He felt depression coming on. He scolded himself for the thought. Of
course he was depressed. He'd been depressed since his eighth birthday
when he realized his family was nothing but trash. Drinking a depressant
didn't help.
"You ain't so bad." This time he mumbled to himself. "You kicked drugs,
and you didn't bring any kids into the world that might turn out like
you. Nope, you ain't so bad. Just two more battles to win."
The first battle was his chain smoking. Marcus had quit smoking many
times. He was quitting again, just as soon as he finished this last pack
of Marlboros. Maybe after he finished the carton. The last battle would
be the booze, but there was no sense taking on too much at one time. He
had time. He had nothing but time.
He pulled a cigarette from the pack he kept in the front pocket of his
stained overalls and placed the filtered end in his mouth, and then he
drew a lighter from another pocket and flicked on the flame.
The glow seemed brighter in the dim light. He squinted, blocking out the glare and the twisting smoke of tobacco.
He released the lighter's starter, but the glare remained. Odd.
A distant glow in the sky captured his attention. A falling star? No. He
took a drag on the cigarette then pulled it away from his lips, his
eyes frozen on the greenish light hanging in the sky.
"Nova. That's gotta be it."
Marcus thought he heard a distant roar. That's when he realized the spot of light was moving—and growing.
"It can't be."
Over the years, Marcus had seen meteors streak the sky. It was one of
the few benefits of living in a town that was little more than a wide
spot on the road. The kind of place people passed but never visited.
He had only been drinking for a few hours, so most of his brain cells had yet to be pickled for the night. There should be a tail. Where's the tail?
As if on cue, a short green and white tail appeared. So did fiery globs
that dropped from the moving object and trailed behind it, creating
their own tails.
Should be longer. Tail's too short.
A boom rolled along the desert as the object broke the sound barrier.
Yup. Tail should…be…longer.
A frightening realization wormed through the alcohol-induced haze: The
tail wasn't too short—Marcus couldn't see it because the object was
coming right at him.
Nah. Can't be.
A second later, he changed his mind.
"Boys. Boys! You gotta see this." A voice in the back of his mind tried
to remind him that no one in the bar could hear him over the raging
country music and loud conversation.
Another boom. This one rattled the bar's blackened windows and the blue
door. The light had grown from distant star to plummeting fireball.
Smaller pieces rained from the main body.
"Hey, Marc, what'd ya do? Bump into the building?" It was Gary's voice, a
trucker who broke up his routine drive with two beers every night. Not
even Marcus was that stupid. "If you can't stand on your own two
feet…What is that?"
"Meteor." His voice was so low he could barely hear himself.
"It's a UFO, ain't it?" Gary stepped to Marcus's side.
"Don't be a fool, Gary. It's a meteor."
The light doubled in size. "It looks like it's headed right for…" Gary
was gone. Marcus heard the blue door open and shut. A muted shout that
sounded a lot like Gary pressed through the walls and windows.
The object was close enough that its light blocked out the stars.
What remained of Marcus's instinct for survival screamed in his head.
"Uh-oh." Marcus threw himself to the ground, pressing himself against
the wall. If he could, he would have started digging through the
concrete walkway.
He could hear it approaching. He thought of a train. The ground shook. Or maybe it was Marcus who shook.
He felt it. The concrete seemed to lift a foot off the ground. The
sound—a bomb-sized explosion—stabbed his ears and vibrated through his
body.
There was light.
There was heat.
There was ear-pummeling noise.
So this is it. This is how I die. Drunk. On the ground. Crushed by a big rock from the sky. At least it has class.
Marcus didn't die. He lay curled like a fetus, his hands covering his head, arms protecting as much face as possible.
Glass broke. A thousand bits of space shrapnel pounded the parking lot
and pummeled the wall next to him. It sounded like someone had pulled
the trigger on an automatic rifle and refused to let go.
"Marcus! You okay, dude?" Big Bennie the bartender stood over him. "Talk to me, man."
Slowly, Marcus opened his eyes and then sat up. Behind Bennie stood the rest of the pub's patrons.
"You hurt, pal?" Gary's voice. It sounded distant. Marcus's ears rang
and felt as if someone had packed a pound of cotton in each ear.
Without speaking, Marcus stood, wobbled, and looked at his auto shop
across the street. Its roof and two walls had collapsed. The sheet-metal
wall facing the street that separated the bar and shop bowed out.
Turning, Marcus saw dozens of holes in the wall of the bar and several
broken windows. Fragments had hit the wall like pellets from a shotgun
blast. That raised a concern with Marcus. He looked at his arms, legs,
and body. No blood. No pain.
"It missed me. Not a scratch."
"You're one lucky drunk," Bennie said. "You fared better than my bar."
"Not so lucky, guys." Gary pointed at the shop. "You won't be salvaging
much from that mess, Marc. That big rock ruined you. What are the odds?"
Marcus felt something well up inside of him. It took a moment to realize
what it was. He bent and placed his hands on his knees. His shoulders
began to shake. His head bobbed.
"It's all right, dude." Gary put a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "Let it out. Ain't no one here gonna blame you for crying."
Marcus straightened, unable to hold back the emotion. A loud guffaw erupted from deep inside him.
"What're you laughin' at?" The bartender seemed offended. "Maybe you're drunker than I realized."
Another roaring laugh filled the night. Marcus wiped a tear from his
eyes. "Don't you bums get it?" He pointed at the burning remains of his
shop. "I'm rich, boys. I am rich."
September 29, 2010
Low carb/running update
Captain's Log, Stardate 09.29.2010
So those of you unfortunate lucky enough to hear all about my low carb diet last month are probably clamoring for an update, yes?
So after a month of going gluten free and low carb, I broke my gluten fast earlier in September and am now (relatively) normal carb.
Technically, according to the program booklet that comes with the supplements I'm taking—which I'm still taking, by the way—I should have slowly increased my carbs earlier this month, but because I had been running about 20 miles per week last month and I was feeling really tired, my nurse/counselor suggested I increase my carbs earlier than the program booklet said to.
I did some research and found out that most running articles suggest an extra intake of about 50-100g of carbs for every hour of running each day. I was running about 5-7 hours a week, so I calculated that translated into about 150-170g carbs per day. I'm trying to keep to that, although I admit it doesn't always happen. For me, low carb is very hard, to say the least!
I'm also a bit confused by my carb cravings. I've had some bad calorie days lately, due mostly to these fanatical carb cravings reminiscent of before I started these supplements and the modified diet. I was a bit scared that the insulin resistance had come back, because I was craving chips like a fiend.
But the weird thing is that after gorging on chips the past 3 days, today, the carb cravings are gone. Completely. It reminds me of what happened on day 17 of my modified diet where I had this intense carb craving and wasn't trusting my body, but Captain Caffeine reasoned that maybe I should listen to my body since I had been on the low carb diet for 2 weeks and the "fake" cravings (insulin resistance cravings) had been absent for most of that time. So I gave in to the carb craving and the next day the craving was gone.
It's so weird to be in this place where I might actually be able to trust my body. Strange.
So do the supplements work? I think so. My hormone-induced migraines are much reduced, and as mentioned above, my carb cravings seem normal as opposed to out of whack. I have lots of energy and I'm not sleeping as many hours as I had previously needed to sleep to feel refreshed. Want to try them? It's WomenToWomen.com. What's nice is that you can call their health advisor/counselor person with any questions you might have.
Anyway, my running has been fine and I feel fine (not tired and pretty full of energy), so I think my carb count of 150-170g/day has been good for me.
I'm still training for the Honolulu Marathon! I started doing the e-coaching from Jeff Galloway to get extra help with my training, and it's been really great. I can ask all kinds of stupid questions or questions specific to my training. For example, he suggested I run at noon on one of my shorter runs during the week to help prepare me for the heat. He said if I do that, it'll still feel hot in Hawaii, but I'll be okay (as opposed to collapsing from heat stroke, I guess).
This coming Sunday I run in the San Jose Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon! It's actually "only" 13 miles and I'm scheduled to run 20 that day, so Jeff told me to run an extra 6 miles after the half marathon! Isn't that crazy? And I totally don't mind! Aren't I crazy???? (Don't answer that.)
Have I lost weight? Um … a little. It's not melting off my body, despite the 20+ miles a week that I've been running.
However, the jeans I took with me to the American Christian Fiction Writers conference a couple weeks ago were so loose by the end of the trip that I could take them off without unbuttoning or unzipping them (yeah, and I was around Cheryl Wyatt's husband at the conference—good thing he didn't know or I'd have been a practical joke temptation he couldn't resist). And I didn't realize until I saw myself in the hotel room mirror, but the khakis I brought with me were actually a bit baggy. Last year they were a tiny bit snug, so I know I've lost at least a little weight.
I had a depressing shopping trip to TJ Maxx because I tried out tons of different pairs of jeans, but size 8 was too tight and size 10 was too big (I'm not yet in single digits yet!!!). So, I just bought a new pair of jeans and a new pair of khakis from Victoria's Secret—their stuff makes my butt not look quite so wide, plus they go by the measurement scale listed on their website and their sizes and fits are very consistent. Also, no vanity sizing at VS—I'm a "sung" fit into a VS size 10. I bought stuff on sale since I'm hopeful I'll continue to shrink and these'll be too big for me in a few months!
To justify the cost, I demonstrated to Captain Caffeine the jeans that I can pull down without unbuttoning or unzipping. He was pretty quick to tell me to buy new jeans. :)
So after a month of going gluten free and low carb, I broke my gluten fast earlier in September and am now (relatively) normal carb.
Technically, according to the program booklet that comes with the supplements I'm taking—which I'm still taking, by the way—I should have slowly increased my carbs earlier this month, but because I had been running about 20 miles per week last month and I was feeling really tired, my nurse/counselor suggested I increase my carbs earlier than the program booklet said to.
I did some research and found out that most running articles suggest an extra intake of about 50-100g of carbs for every hour of running each day. I was running about 5-7 hours a week, so I calculated that translated into about 150-170g carbs per day. I'm trying to keep to that, although I admit it doesn't always happen. For me, low carb is very hard, to say the least!
I'm also a bit confused by my carb cravings. I've had some bad calorie days lately, due mostly to these fanatical carb cravings reminiscent of before I started these supplements and the modified diet. I was a bit scared that the insulin resistance had come back, because I was craving chips like a fiend.
But the weird thing is that after gorging on chips the past 3 days, today, the carb cravings are gone. Completely. It reminds me of what happened on day 17 of my modified diet where I had this intense carb craving and wasn't trusting my body, but Captain Caffeine reasoned that maybe I should listen to my body since I had been on the low carb diet for 2 weeks and the "fake" cravings (insulin resistance cravings) had been absent for most of that time. So I gave in to the carb craving and the next day the craving was gone.
It's so weird to be in this place where I might actually be able to trust my body. Strange.
So do the supplements work? I think so. My hormone-induced migraines are much reduced, and as mentioned above, my carb cravings seem normal as opposed to out of whack. I have lots of energy and I'm not sleeping as many hours as I had previously needed to sleep to feel refreshed. Want to try them? It's WomenToWomen.com. What's nice is that you can call their health advisor/counselor person with any questions you might have.
Anyway, my running has been fine and I feel fine (not tired and pretty full of energy), so I think my carb count of 150-170g/day has been good for me.
I'm still training for the Honolulu Marathon! I started doing the e-coaching from Jeff Galloway to get extra help with my training, and it's been really great. I can ask all kinds of stupid questions or questions specific to my training. For example, he suggested I run at noon on one of my shorter runs during the week to help prepare me for the heat. He said if I do that, it'll still feel hot in Hawaii, but I'll be okay (as opposed to collapsing from heat stroke, I guess).
This coming Sunday I run in the San Jose Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon! It's actually "only" 13 miles and I'm scheduled to run 20 that day, so Jeff told me to run an extra 6 miles after the half marathon! Isn't that crazy? And I totally don't mind! Aren't I crazy???? (Don't answer that.)
Have I lost weight? Um … a little. It's not melting off my body, despite the 20+ miles a week that I've been running.
However, the jeans I took with me to the American Christian Fiction Writers conference a couple weeks ago were so loose by the end of the trip that I could take them off without unbuttoning or unzipping them (yeah, and I was around Cheryl Wyatt's husband at the conference—good thing he didn't know or I'd have been a practical joke temptation he couldn't resist). And I didn't realize until I saw myself in the hotel room mirror, but the khakis I brought with me were actually a bit baggy. Last year they were a tiny bit snug, so I know I've lost at least a little weight.
I had a depressing shopping trip to TJ Maxx because I tried out tons of different pairs of jeans, but size 8 was too tight and size 10 was too big (I'm not yet in single digits yet!!!). So, I just bought a new pair of jeans and a new pair of khakis from Victoria's Secret—their stuff makes my butt not look quite so wide, plus they go by the measurement scale listed on their website and their sizes and fits are very consistent. Also, no vanity sizing at VS—I'm a "sung" fit into a VS size 10. I bought stuff on sale since I'm hopeful I'll continue to shrink and these'll be too big for me in a few months!
To justify the cost, I demonstrated to Captain Caffeine the jeans that I can pull down without unbuttoning or unzipping. He was pretty quick to tell me to buy new jeans. :)
September 28, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - Judgment Day by Wanda Dyson
Camy here: Wanda has a wonderful gift for telling gripping stories! Plus she's a really great person, too! Pick up this book--you won't regret it!
This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
Judgment Day WaterBrook Press (September 21, 2010)
by Wanda Dyson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Wanda Dyson – "a shining example of what Christian fiction is becoming..." (Christian Fiction Review). She's been called a "natural" and a "master of pacing," but her fans know that whether it's police thrillers, suspense, or bringing a true story to life, Wanda knows how to take her readers on a journey they'll never forget.
Wanda is a multipublished suspense author, currently writing for Random House/Waterbrook. Her one attempt at a nonfiction book was picked for an exclusive release on Oprah. In addition to writing full time, she is also the appointment coordinator for the CCWC, Great Philadelphia Christian Writers, and ACFW conferences.
Wanda lives in Western Maryland on a 125 acre farm with a menagerie of animals and when she's not writing critically acclaimed suspense, or away at conferences, you can find her zipping across the fields on a 4-wheeler with Maya, her German Shepherd, or plodding along at a more leisurely pace on her horse, Nanza.
With the release of her newest hit, Judgment Day, Wanda is heading back to the keyboard to start on her next high-octane thriller, The Vigilante.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Sensational journalism has never been so deadly.
The weekly cable news show Judgment Day with Suzanne Kidwell promises to expose businessmen, religious leaders, and politicians for the lies they tell. Suzanne positions herself as a champion of ethics and morality with a backbone of steel—until a revelation of her shoddy investigation tactics and creative fact embellishing put her in hot water with her employers, putting her credibility in question and threatening her professional ambitions.
Bitter and angry, Suzanne returns home one day to find an entrepreneur she is investigating, John Edward Sterling, unconscious on her living room floor. Before the night is over, Sterling is dead, she has his blood on her hands, and the police are arresting her for murder. She needs help to prove her innocence, but her only hope, private investigator Marcus Crisp, is also her ex-fiancé–the man she betrayed in college.
Marcus and his partner Alexandria Fisher-Hawthorne reluctantly agree to take the case, but they won't cut Suzanne any slack. Exposing her lack of ethics and the lives she's destroyed in her fight for ratings does little to make them think Suzanne is innocent. But as Marcus digs into the mire of secrets surrounding her enemies, he unveils an alliance well-worth killing for. Now all he has to do is keep Suzanne and Alex alive long enough to prove it.
Watch the book trailer:
Excerpt of chapter one:
Prologue
Baltimore, Md
Running away from home had sounded like the best idea ever when she was planning it, but now that sixteen-year-old Britney Abbott was tired, hungry, and out of money, it felt more like the biggest mistake of her life. She climbed down off the bus, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and wondered where she was going to sleep for the night.
If only her mother hadn't married that jerk. He was so strict. According to Ronnie, Britney couldn't date, couldn't stay over at a friend's for the night, and she had to be in the house no later than seven every evening. None of her friends had to live like that.
Last Saturday night her mom and Ronnie went out to dinner, leaving her home alone with the usual litany of instructions: You cannot have anyone over. You will do your homework. You will be in bed by ten. You will not spend the evening on the phone with your friends. And you will not—I repeat not—leave this house; I am going to call and if you aren't here to answer the phone, you will be grounded for a month.
Fifteen minutes after they left, Ronnie-the-Predictable called. She answered the phone. An hour and a half later, she was gone.
She looked around at the crowds dispersing in several directions. The smell of diesel fuel overwhelmed her empty stomach and it growled in protest. Everything looked the way she felt—worn-out, dirty, and depressed.
"Hey, you okay?" A girl stood against the wall near the exit from the bus station. Torn jeans, pink T-shirt, high top sneakers, leather jacket, and numerous rings and studs from ear to nose to lip.
"Yeah, I'm cool."
"You look hungry. I was just going over to Mickey D's. You wanna come?"
"No money."
"It's okay. I think I can buy you a hamburger and some fries."
Britney was hungry enough to be tempted and wary enough to wonder why the girl would make such an offer. "Me?"
"Yeah." The girl walked over. "My name's Kathi. I came to Washington about five months ago. A friend of mine was supposed to be on the bus but either her parents caught her trying to run away or she changed her mind."
"You're a runaway?"
Kathi laughed as she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Look around, girl. There are lots of us. We come to DC to get away. Some stay, some move on to Chicago or New York."
Britney felt relieved to know she wasn't alone. "Okay. I'll take a hamburger. Thanks."
Kathi linked her arm in Britney's and led her down the street toward the Golden Arches. "What's your name?"
"Britney."
"Well, let's get you something to eat and then you can crash at my place."
They chatted as they ate their food and drank their sodas, and with each passing minute, Britney liked Kathi more. She might look a little tough, but Britney supposed that living on the streets, you had to be. Her appearance aside, Kathi seemed friendly and generous.
They were about a block past McDonald's when a woozy feeling interrupted their conversation. When she stumbled, Kathi steadied her. "You okay?"
"Just lightheaded."
"Tired more than likely. It's not far to my place."
But Britney's body felt heavier with each step. She struggled to stay awake. She had never felt this way before in her entire life. Not even after staying up for two straight days studying for a math test.
"I don't feel so good."
"We're almost there," Kathi told her. "Just down this way."
Britney didn't like the dark alley or the dark van parked there with the motor running, but she couldn't find the strength to resist Kathi's pull on her arm.
As they passed the van, the side door opened and a man stepped out. "Too bad she's such a looker."
"Yeah, well," Kathi replied. "You get what I can find."
The man picked up Britney and tossed her into the van. Britney tried to call out, tried to resist, but she could no longer control her arms or legs. She could only lay there and let the fear grow and build until the scream inside felt like an explosion in her head.
The man duct-taped her arms and legs. Then he placed a piece over her mouth. "Don't worry, kid. This will be over real soon."
Chapter 1
Outside Washington DC
Suzanne Kidwell shoved her tape recorder in the cop's face, smiling up at him as if he were the hero in her own personal story. "We have two girls missing now and both were students at Longview High. Are you looking at the faculty and staff at the school?"
The officer puffed a bit, squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chest as he hiked up his utility belt. "You have to understand that we haven't finished our investigation, but I can tell you that we found pornography on the principal's computer. I'd say we're just hours away from arresting him."
She lightly traced a glossy red nail down his forearm. "I knew I came to the right man. You have that air of authority and competence. And I'll bet you were the one who sent those detectives in the right direction, too."
He dropped his head in one of those "aw shucks, ma'am" moves. "Well, I did tell them that he had been arrested about ten years ago for assault."
"And they made a man like that the principal. What is this world coming to?" Before he could comment, she hit him with another. "Has he told you yet what he did with the girls?"
"Not yet. He's still insisting he's innocent, but it's just a matter of time before we get a confession out of him."
"Thank you so much, Officer. You're a hero. Those girls would be dead without you."
He blushed hard as she hurried off, lobbing him another dazzling smile as she calculated her timetable. It was nearly four and she had to be ready and on the air at six, scooping every other network in the city.
###
At the station, she ran up the stairs to the second floor and jogged down to Frank's office. "Is he in?" she asked his secretary.
"Sure. Go on in."
If there was a dark spot anywhere in her job at all, it was Frank Dawson. The man delighted in hassling her. Professional jealousy, no doubt. She knocked on his doorjamb. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Like Frank, the room was heavy on shine and light on substance. Awards and diplomas covered all the walls. Pictures of Frank with politicians, presidents, and the wealthy, beautiful, and powerful were displayed prominently on all the bookshelves. His desk dominated the center of the room, covered in paperwork, tapes, and files.
"Sure."
Suzanne took a deep breath, clutched her notes, and strode into his office. "You know the two local girls that went missing recently?"
He glanced up at the clock, a subtle reminder that she should be getting dressed and into makeup. "I think so."
"Well, I've been doing some digging and they have a suspect."
"And this is your business exactly why?"
"Because I scooped everyone else. I talked to one of the officers working the case and he told me that they have a suspect, they're interrogating him now, and they expect to announce his arrest momentarily."
"And what does this have to do with me?"
She stared at him for a long moment. "I want to go on the air with this late breaking news."
He scratched his chin. "Your show is already scheduled, Suzanne. Corruption in the horse industry."
"I know that, and I can still do that. I just need five minutes at the end of the show to cover this. We've got the scoop! How can we not run with it?"
Waving a hand, he said, "Fine. Go with it. I sure hope you have all the facts."
"I have them straight from the mouth of the police. How much more do you want?"
"Fine. Do it."
Grinning, she rushed back down to wardrobe and makeup in record time, entering the studio with mere minutes to spare.
Suzanne looked over at one of the assistants. "Where's my microphone?"
As someone rushed to get her mic'ed up, the director walked in. "We have a job to do people; let's get to it. We're on the air in two."
She straightened her jacket as the assistant adjusted the small microphone clipped to her lapel. "It's fine. Move."
The cameraman finished the countdown with his fingers. Three…two…one. She fixed her expression.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." Suzanne turned slightly. "I'm Suzanne Kidwell. And this is Judgment Day."
Suzanne took a deep breath while the station ran the introduction, taking a moment to straighten the notes in front of her and sip her water.
When the director pointed at her, she launched into the ongoing corruption and abuses endangering horse owners.
The camera shifted for a close-up. "And before I close tonight, I want to give you a late-breaking report. Just like you, I've been horrified by the tragic disappearance of teens here in the tri-state area. But what made me truly sit up and take notice was that within the last two weeks, two young girls—seventeen-year-old Jennifer Link, and sixteen-year-old Britney Abbott—were reported as runaways. Same neighborhood, same school, both runaways?
"Now maybe that could happen, but I was skeptical. I did some digging. And I'm happy to report that the police have arrested Peter Fryer, the principal of Longview High School."
Suzanne changed her expression from a touch of sorrow mixed with concern to outrage. "I spoke to the lead officer and he told me that evidence against the principal included child pornography on Fryer's computer. In spite of being arrested ten years ago for assault, Peter Fryer was hired on as the principal of Longview just four years ago. He is still denying any involvement, but the police assured me they have their man. I will keep you posted."
She angled her body. "As long as people out there that you trust are betraying that trust, they will face their Judgment Day with Suzanne Kidwell. Good night, America. I'll see you next week."
As soon as she got the signal that she was clear, she pulled off her mic and stood up, grabbing her water as left the studio.
She rushed down the hall and when she reached her office, she sank down into her chair and kicked off her shoes. She barely had time to curl her toes in the carpet before her phone rang.
She picked it up. "Great job, Suzanne." It was Frank.
"Thanks, boss. I knew you'd be happy."
"The phones are ringing off the hook. The other stations are scrambling to catch up to us."
Smiling, she leaned back. "They'll be eating our dust for a while now."
"You'll stay on this?"
"All the way to conviction."
This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
Judgment Day WaterBrook Press (September 21, 2010)
by Wanda Dyson
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Wanda Dyson – "a shining example of what Christian fiction is becoming..." (Christian Fiction Review). She's been called a "natural" and a "master of pacing," but her fans know that whether it's police thrillers, suspense, or bringing a true story to life, Wanda knows how to take her readers on a journey they'll never forget.Wanda is a multipublished suspense author, currently writing for Random House/Waterbrook. Her one attempt at a nonfiction book was picked for an exclusive release on Oprah. In addition to writing full time, she is also the appointment coordinator for the CCWC, Great Philadelphia Christian Writers, and ACFW conferences.
Wanda lives in Western Maryland on a 125 acre farm with a menagerie of animals and when she's not writing critically acclaimed suspense, or away at conferences, you can find her zipping across the fields on a 4-wheeler with Maya, her German Shepherd, or plodding along at a more leisurely pace on her horse, Nanza.
With the release of her newest hit, Judgment Day, Wanda is heading back to the keyboard to start on her next high-octane thriller, The Vigilante.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Sensational journalism has never been so deadly.The weekly cable news show Judgment Day with Suzanne Kidwell promises to expose businessmen, religious leaders, and politicians for the lies they tell. Suzanne positions herself as a champion of ethics and morality with a backbone of steel—until a revelation of her shoddy investigation tactics and creative fact embellishing put her in hot water with her employers, putting her credibility in question and threatening her professional ambitions.
Bitter and angry, Suzanne returns home one day to find an entrepreneur she is investigating, John Edward Sterling, unconscious on her living room floor. Before the night is over, Sterling is dead, she has his blood on her hands, and the police are arresting her for murder. She needs help to prove her innocence, but her only hope, private investigator Marcus Crisp, is also her ex-fiancé–the man she betrayed in college.
Marcus and his partner Alexandria Fisher-Hawthorne reluctantly agree to take the case, but they won't cut Suzanne any slack. Exposing her lack of ethics and the lives she's destroyed in her fight for ratings does little to make them think Suzanne is innocent. But as Marcus digs into the mire of secrets surrounding her enemies, he unveils an alliance well-worth killing for. Now all he has to do is keep Suzanne and Alex alive long enough to prove it.
Watch the book trailer:
Excerpt of chapter one:
Prologue
Baltimore, Md
Running away from home had sounded like the best idea ever when she was planning it, but now that sixteen-year-old Britney Abbott was tired, hungry, and out of money, it felt more like the biggest mistake of her life. She climbed down off the bus, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and wondered where she was going to sleep for the night.
If only her mother hadn't married that jerk. He was so strict. According to Ronnie, Britney couldn't date, couldn't stay over at a friend's for the night, and she had to be in the house no later than seven every evening. None of her friends had to live like that.
Last Saturday night her mom and Ronnie went out to dinner, leaving her home alone with the usual litany of instructions: You cannot have anyone over. You will do your homework. You will be in bed by ten. You will not spend the evening on the phone with your friends. And you will not—I repeat not—leave this house; I am going to call and if you aren't here to answer the phone, you will be grounded for a month.
Fifteen minutes after they left, Ronnie-the-Predictable called. She answered the phone. An hour and a half later, she was gone.
She looked around at the crowds dispersing in several directions. The smell of diesel fuel overwhelmed her empty stomach and it growled in protest. Everything looked the way she felt—worn-out, dirty, and depressed.
"Hey, you okay?" A girl stood against the wall near the exit from the bus station. Torn jeans, pink T-shirt, high top sneakers, leather jacket, and numerous rings and studs from ear to nose to lip.
"Yeah, I'm cool."
"You look hungry. I was just going over to Mickey D's. You wanna come?"
"No money."
"It's okay. I think I can buy you a hamburger and some fries."
Britney was hungry enough to be tempted and wary enough to wonder why the girl would make such an offer. "Me?"
"Yeah." The girl walked over. "My name's Kathi. I came to Washington about five months ago. A friend of mine was supposed to be on the bus but either her parents caught her trying to run away or she changed her mind."
"You're a runaway?"
Kathi laughed as she shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Look around, girl. There are lots of us. We come to DC to get away. Some stay, some move on to Chicago or New York."
Britney felt relieved to know she wasn't alone. "Okay. I'll take a hamburger. Thanks."
Kathi linked her arm in Britney's and led her down the street toward the Golden Arches. "What's your name?"
"Britney."
"Well, let's get you something to eat and then you can crash at my place."
They chatted as they ate their food and drank their sodas, and with each passing minute, Britney liked Kathi more. She might look a little tough, but Britney supposed that living on the streets, you had to be. Her appearance aside, Kathi seemed friendly and generous.
They were about a block past McDonald's when a woozy feeling interrupted their conversation. When she stumbled, Kathi steadied her. "You okay?"
"Just lightheaded."
"Tired more than likely. It's not far to my place."
But Britney's body felt heavier with each step. She struggled to stay awake. She had never felt this way before in her entire life. Not even after staying up for two straight days studying for a math test.
"I don't feel so good."
"We're almost there," Kathi told her. "Just down this way."
Britney didn't like the dark alley or the dark van parked there with the motor running, but she couldn't find the strength to resist Kathi's pull on her arm.
As they passed the van, the side door opened and a man stepped out. "Too bad she's such a looker."
"Yeah, well," Kathi replied. "You get what I can find."
The man picked up Britney and tossed her into the van. Britney tried to call out, tried to resist, but she could no longer control her arms or legs. She could only lay there and let the fear grow and build until the scream inside felt like an explosion in her head.
The man duct-taped her arms and legs. Then he placed a piece over her mouth. "Don't worry, kid. This will be over real soon."
Chapter 1
Outside Washington DC
Suzanne Kidwell shoved her tape recorder in the cop's face, smiling up at him as if he were the hero in her own personal story. "We have two girls missing now and both were students at Longview High. Are you looking at the faculty and staff at the school?"
The officer puffed a bit, squaring his shoulders and thrusting out his chest as he hiked up his utility belt. "You have to understand that we haven't finished our investigation, but I can tell you that we found pornography on the principal's computer. I'd say we're just hours away from arresting him."
She lightly traced a glossy red nail down his forearm. "I knew I came to the right man. You have that air of authority and competence. And I'll bet you were the one who sent those detectives in the right direction, too."
He dropped his head in one of those "aw shucks, ma'am" moves. "Well, I did tell them that he had been arrested about ten years ago for assault."
"And they made a man like that the principal. What is this world coming to?" Before he could comment, she hit him with another. "Has he told you yet what he did with the girls?"
"Not yet. He's still insisting he's innocent, but it's just a matter of time before we get a confession out of him."
"Thank you so much, Officer. You're a hero. Those girls would be dead without you."
He blushed hard as she hurried off, lobbing him another dazzling smile as she calculated her timetable. It was nearly four and she had to be ready and on the air at six, scooping every other network in the city.
###
At the station, she ran up the stairs to the second floor and jogged down to Frank's office. "Is he in?" she asked his secretary.
"Sure. Go on in."
If there was a dark spot anywhere in her job at all, it was Frank Dawson. The man delighted in hassling her. Professional jealousy, no doubt. She knocked on his doorjamb. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"
Like Frank, the room was heavy on shine and light on substance. Awards and diplomas covered all the walls. Pictures of Frank with politicians, presidents, and the wealthy, beautiful, and powerful were displayed prominently on all the bookshelves. His desk dominated the center of the room, covered in paperwork, tapes, and files.
"Sure."
Suzanne took a deep breath, clutched her notes, and strode into his office. "You know the two local girls that went missing recently?"
He glanced up at the clock, a subtle reminder that she should be getting dressed and into makeup. "I think so."
"Well, I've been doing some digging and they have a suspect."
"And this is your business exactly why?"
"Because I scooped everyone else. I talked to one of the officers working the case and he told me that they have a suspect, they're interrogating him now, and they expect to announce his arrest momentarily."
"And what does this have to do with me?"
She stared at him for a long moment. "I want to go on the air with this late breaking news."
He scratched his chin. "Your show is already scheduled, Suzanne. Corruption in the horse industry."
"I know that, and I can still do that. I just need five minutes at the end of the show to cover this. We've got the scoop! How can we not run with it?"
Waving a hand, he said, "Fine. Go with it. I sure hope you have all the facts."
"I have them straight from the mouth of the police. How much more do you want?"
"Fine. Do it."
Grinning, she rushed back down to wardrobe and makeup in record time, entering the studio with mere minutes to spare.
Suzanne looked over at one of the assistants. "Where's my microphone?"
As someone rushed to get her mic'ed up, the director walked in. "We have a job to do people; let's get to it. We're on the air in two."
She straightened her jacket as the assistant adjusted the small microphone clipped to her lapel. "It's fine. Move."
The cameraman finished the countdown with his fingers. Three…two…one. She fixed her expression.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." Suzanne turned slightly. "I'm Suzanne Kidwell. And this is Judgment Day."
Suzanne took a deep breath while the station ran the introduction, taking a moment to straighten the notes in front of her and sip her water.
When the director pointed at her, she launched into the ongoing corruption and abuses endangering horse owners.
The camera shifted for a close-up. "And before I close tonight, I want to give you a late-breaking report. Just like you, I've been horrified by the tragic disappearance of teens here in the tri-state area. But what made me truly sit up and take notice was that within the last two weeks, two young girls—seventeen-year-old Jennifer Link, and sixteen-year-old Britney Abbott—were reported as runaways. Same neighborhood, same school, both runaways?
"Now maybe that could happen, but I was skeptical. I did some digging. And I'm happy to report that the police have arrested Peter Fryer, the principal of Longview High School."
Suzanne changed her expression from a touch of sorrow mixed with concern to outrage. "I spoke to the lead officer and he told me that evidence against the principal included child pornography on Fryer's computer. In spite of being arrested ten years ago for assault, Peter Fryer was hired on as the principal of Longview just four years ago. He is still denying any involvement, but the police assured me they have their man. I will keep you posted."
She angled her body. "As long as people out there that you trust are betraying that trust, they will face their Judgment Day with Suzanne Kidwell. Good night, America. I'll see you next week."
As soon as she got the signal that she was clear, she pulled off her mic and stood up, grabbing her water as left the studio.
She rushed down the hall and when she reached her office, she sank down into her chair and kicked off her shoes. She barely had time to curl her toes in the carpet before her phone rang.
She picked it up. "Great job, Suzanne." It was Frank.
"Thanks, boss. I knew you'd be happy."
"The phones are ringing off the hook. The other stations are scrambling to catch up to us."
Smiling, she leaned back. "They'll be eating our dust for a while now."
"You'll stay on this?"
"All the way to conviction."
September 27, 2010
Formula for Danger - the book that never was
Captain's Log, Stardate 09.27.2010
I'm over at the Girls, God, and the Good Life blog today with a Formula for Danger bonus post:
Click here to read the rest of the post!
I'm over at the Girls, God, and the Good Life blog today with a Formula for Danger bonus post:
Camy here! My latest release is Formula for Danger, a romantic suspense starring dermatologist researcher Rachel Grant and set in the beautiful vineyards of Sonoma, California. But did you know this was almost a very different story?
Click here to read the rest of the post!
September 24, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - The Secret of the Shroud by Pamela Ewen
The Secret of The ShroudB&H Books (September 1, 2010)
by
Pamela Ewen
A frightened apostle in AD 33, a tragic child in the 1950s, and a slick, twenty-first century church leader are all linked by the secret of the Shroud of Turin, the purported burial cloth of Jesus-and by something more.
Wesley Bright, a corrupt, media-savvy clergyman, is out to destroy the Christian church of the God who abandoned him in his boyhood. Likable and entertaining, Bright keeps his motives well hidden. B...
September 21, 2010
Street Team book list excerpt - In Every Heartbeat by Kim Vogel Sawyer
This week, the
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
In Every Heartbeat Bethany House (September 1, 2010)
by Kim Vogel Sawyer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kim Vogel Sawyer is the author of fifteen novels, including several CBA and ECPA bestsellers. Her books have won the ACFW Book of the Year Award, the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, and the Inspirational Readers Choice Award. Kim is active in her church, where she leads women's fellowship and participates in both voice a...
Christian Fiction Blog Alliance
is introducing
In Every Heartbeat Bethany House (September 1, 2010)
by Kim Vogel Sawyer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kim Vogel Sawyer is the author of fifteen novels, including several CBA and ECPA bestsellers. Her books have won the ACFW Book of the Year Award, the Gayle Wilson Award of Excellence, and the Inspirational Readers Choice Award. Kim is active in her church, where she leads women's fellowship and participates in both voice a...
A Hope Undaunted giveaway
It's a Giveaway Extravaganza! Kindle Giveaway, Facebook Party and Book Bomb - OH MY!
Visit the Roaring 20's with Julie Lessman in the Technology and Romance KINDLE Giveaway! Julie's latest series has just 'shimmied' it's way onto the scene with book 1 in The Winds of Change series, A Hope Undaunted!
Find out more about the book, Julie here.
Enter The Technology and Romance KINDLE Giveaway!
One Grand Prize winner will receive a KINDLE preloaded with Julie Lessman's latest title. The ...
Visit the Roaring 20's with Julie Lessman in the Technology and Romance KINDLE Giveaway! Julie's latest series has just 'shimmied' it's way onto the scene with book 1 in The Winds of Change series, A Hope Undaunted!
Find out more about the book, Julie here.
Enter The Technology and Romance KINDLE Giveaway!
One Grand Prize winner will receive a KINDLE preloaded with Julie Lessman's latest title. The ...
A Friend in the Storm giveaway
Cheryl Ricker is hosting this great contest over at her website during the blog tour for A Friend in the Storm
, Zondervan's latest innovative gift book of quotes, Scripture and poetry that leads to lasting hope!Since this book covers matters of the heart, Cheryl wants to hear from YOUR heart! In the midst of any type of loss, grief or crisis, A Friend in the Storm
takes you on a healing journey where you experience Christ's love in a fresh, memorable way. Now she invites you to submit an or...
