Kitty Honeycutt/Morrigan Austin's Blog, page 6
August 29, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, STEVE PIACENTE
Great Minds Think Twice About Bedroom Scenes
By Steve Piacente
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In my new novel Bootlicker, a reporter has a drink with a source. It begins innocently, but the spark between them touches off a hasty move from the barroom to the bedroom.
As author, do I stay outside, peek from the window, or jump right in there with the lusty couple? And, are reader expectations any different in the wake of Fifty Shades?
Yes or no, I have some rules, because navigating the line between sex and sexy can be tricky. The fact is that there’s an audience for both.
Some readers want front-row seats to every move and counter-move that take place between the sheets. Others are happy to wait downstairs and perhaps smile as telling sounds ring out from the upstairs bedroom.
The act – and the writing of the act – is intensely personal and subject to an interesting truism, that the more you practice, the better you get. That’s a fact and everyone knows it, even if speaking so candidly makes us squirm a little.
My first rule is, don’t indulge in sex scenes simply because you can. There must be a point, and the scene must reveal something you haven’t shown yet about the characters, and carry the story forward.
My second rule is, don’t lapse into porn, or worse, unintentionally funny porn, full of acrobatic acts and contraptions that are better left to professionals.
Think of all that can be revealed by a well-done sex scene: confidence, creativity, knowledge, skill, consideration, and patience, or - ouch - insecurity, ignorance, clumsiness, and selfishness.
What does the reader take away from a character who wants the lights left on, or who chooses the kitchen over the bedroom, or who gently slides a zipper instead of tearing it open?
All of us are born with powerful instincts to communicate and procreate. Bedroom or barstool, we know when someone’s faking it. To score, authors who venture into the bedroom must understand the difference between sex and sexy and make their choice – and their scenes – compelling, believable and purposeful.
Oh, and that reporter who slept with his source? I hope it was worth it, because he’s in some serious trouble.
Steve Piacente (@wordsprof) has been a professional writer since graduating from American University in 1976. In 2010, he self-published Bella, the story of a widow’s quest to uncover the truth about her husband’s death on an Afghan battlefield. The forthcoming Bootlicker (available Sept. 1) is the prequel. Steve started as a sportswriter at the Naples Daily News, switched to news at the Lakeland Ledger, and returned to D.C. in 1985 as Correspondent for the Tampa Tribune. In 1989, the native New Yorker moved to the same position for the Charleston (SC) Post & Courier. He is now deputy communications director at a federal agency in Washington, D.C., and teaches journalism classes at American University. Contact Steve at steve@getbella.com. Bella is available at http://amzn.to/catchingon
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
[image error]
Steve Piacente has been a professional writer for more than 35 years. The award-winning journalist started as a sportswriter for the Naples Daily News in Florida before switching to news reporting at the Lakeland Ledger.
His career brought him to Washington D.C., where years earlier he graduated with a communications degree from American University, to write as a correspondent for the Tampa Tribune and later the Charleston Post & Courier.
He went back to school to earn his masters in fiction from Johns Hopkins University, and later self published his first novel Bella, the story of a widow’s quest to uncover the truth about her husband’s death on an Afghan battlefield. In 2012, Piacente publishes its prequel titled Bootlicker.
Piacente was recognized by the National Press Club three years in a row for his fiction writing, and in 1990 was the club’s runner-up for the Robin Goldstein Award for Regional Reporting in Washington. He was selected as one of the “50 Great Writers You Should Be Reading” by The Authors Show after Bella’s release.
Originally from Brooklyn, Piacente grew up on Long Island and now lives in Rockville, Maryland with his wife. He began speechwriting for a federal agency in D.C. where today he heads the agency’s web, new media and graphics teams. He has taught journalism classes at American University for 15 years, and he writes as an expert on self-publishing for numerous websites.
Website: StevePiacente.com
ABOUT THE BOOK, "BOOTLICKER"
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An unholy union exists between a racist U.S. senator and the candidate poised to become South Carolina’s first black congressman since the Civil War.
The year is 1959, the setting, rural South Carolina. Poor, black teenager Ike Washington stumbles on a Klan lynching led by a white judge. Caught, he must choose: join the dead man or begin hustling black support the ambitious judge needs to advance. In trade, Ike is handed a life of comfort and power.
Decades later, as he is poised to become the first black SC congressman since Reconstruction, guiltwracked Ike winds up alone in the same forest, a long rope in his fist. Rookie reporter Dan Patragno uncovers the truth just before Election Day.
By Steve Piacente
[image error]
In my new novel Bootlicker, a reporter has a drink with a source. It begins innocently, but the spark between them touches off a hasty move from the barroom to the bedroom.
As author, do I stay outside, peek from the window, or jump right in there with the lusty couple? And, are reader expectations any different in the wake of Fifty Shades?
Yes or no, I have some rules, because navigating the line between sex and sexy can be tricky. The fact is that there’s an audience for both.
Some readers want front-row seats to every move and counter-move that take place between the sheets. Others are happy to wait downstairs and perhaps smile as telling sounds ring out from the upstairs bedroom.
The act – and the writing of the act – is intensely personal and subject to an interesting truism, that the more you practice, the better you get. That’s a fact and everyone knows it, even if speaking so candidly makes us squirm a little.
My first rule is, don’t indulge in sex scenes simply because you can. There must be a point, and the scene must reveal something you haven’t shown yet about the characters, and carry the story forward.
My second rule is, don’t lapse into porn, or worse, unintentionally funny porn, full of acrobatic acts and contraptions that are better left to professionals.
Think of all that can be revealed by a well-done sex scene: confidence, creativity, knowledge, skill, consideration, and patience, or - ouch - insecurity, ignorance, clumsiness, and selfishness.
What does the reader take away from a character who wants the lights left on, or who chooses the kitchen over the bedroom, or who gently slides a zipper instead of tearing it open?
All of us are born with powerful instincts to communicate and procreate. Bedroom or barstool, we know when someone’s faking it. To score, authors who venture into the bedroom must understand the difference between sex and sexy and make their choice – and their scenes – compelling, believable and purposeful.
Oh, and that reporter who slept with his source? I hope it was worth it, because he’s in some serious trouble.
Steve Piacente (@wordsprof) has been a professional writer since graduating from American University in 1976. In 2010, he self-published Bella, the story of a widow’s quest to uncover the truth about her husband’s death on an Afghan battlefield. The forthcoming Bootlicker (available Sept. 1) is the prequel. Steve started as a sportswriter at the Naples Daily News, switched to news at the Lakeland Ledger, and returned to D.C. in 1985 as Correspondent for the Tampa Tribune. In 1989, the native New Yorker moved to the same position for the Charleston (SC) Post & Courier. He is now deputy communications director at a federal agency in Washington, D.C., and teaches journalism classes at American University. Contact Steve at steve@getbella.com. Bella is available at http://amzn.to/catchingon
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
[image error]
Steve Piacente has been a professional writer for more than 35 years. The award-winning journalist started as a sportswriter for the Naples Daily News in Florida before switching to news reporting at the Lakeland Ledger.
His career brought him to Washington D.C., where years earlier he graduated with a communications degree from American University, to write as a correspondent for the Tampa Tribune and later the Charleston Post & Courier.
He went back to school to earn his masters in fiction from Johns Hopkins University, and later self published his first novel Bella, the story of a widow’s quest to uncover the truth about her husband’s death on an Afghan battlefield. In 2012, Piacente publishes its prequel titled Bootlicker.
Piacente was recognized by the National Press Club three years in a row for his fiction writing, and in 1990 was the club’s runner-up for the Robin Goldstein Award for Regional Reporting in Washington. He was selected as one of the “50 Great Writers You Should Be Reading” by The Authors Show after Bella’s release.
Originally from Brooklyn, Piacente grew up on Long Island and now lives in Rockville, Maryland with his wife. He began speechwriting for a federal agency in D.C. where today he heads the agency’s web, new media and graphics teams. He has taught journalism classes at American University for 15 years, and he writes as an expert on self-publishing for numerous websites.
Website: StevePiacente.com
ABOUT THE BOOK, "BOOTLICKER"
[image error]
An unholy union exists between a racist U.S. senator and the candidate poised to become South Carolina’s first black congressman since the Civil War.
The year is 1959, the setting, rural South Carolina. Poor, black teenager Ike Washington stumbles on a Klan lynching led by a white judge. Caught, he must choose: join the dead man or begin hustling black support the ambitious judge needs to advance. In trade, Ike is handed a life of comfort and power.
Decades later, as he is poised to become the first black SC congressman since Reconstruction, guiltwracked Ike winds up alone in the same forest, a long rope in his fist. Rookie reporter Dan Patragno uncovers the truth just before Election Day.
August 28, 2012
ENTER TO WIN!!
GREAT NEWS!
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Deby Adair of Unicorn Kisses in Australia has partnered with GMTA Independent Publishing to bring you the phenomenal “Wish Trilogy!” In honor of celebrating this partnership we will be giving away (5) copies of the “Wish Trilogy” in e-book starting on September 1st !
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This contest will run until the 12th of September at which time we will draw the names of the winners.
[image error] [image error]
To enter the contest you can sign up through the entry form here:
http://www.greatmindsliterarycommunit...
[image error]
Please be sure to fill out the form in full so we have the information needed to send you your copies. Also make sure to tell us the format you will need your copies in.
[image error]
CAN’T WAIT FOR THE CONTEST TO END TO FIND OUT IF YOU’RE A WINNER?
You can buy the Wish Trilogy on Amazon, Createspace, and Barnes & Noble! Just search for the books buy title:
Wish, Wish Again, and The Third Wish by Deby Adair!
[image error]
Deby Adair of Unicorn Kisses in Australia has partnered with GMTA Independent Publishing to bring you the phenomenal “Wish Trilogy!” In honor of celebrating this partnership we will be giving away (5) copies of the “Wish Trilogy” in e-book starting on September 1st !
[image error]
This contest will run until the 12th of September at which time we will draw the names of the winners.
[image error] [image error]
To enter the contest you can sign up through the entry form here:
http://www.greatmindsliterarycommunit...
[image error]
Please be sure to fill out the form in full so we have the information needed to send you your copies. Also make sure to tell us the format you will need your copies in.
[image error]
CAN’T WAIT FOR THE CONTEST TO END TO FIND OUT IF YOU’RE A WINNER?
You can buy the Wish Trilogy on Amazon, Createspace, and Barnes & Noble! Just search for the books buy title:
Wish, Wish Again, and The Third Wish by Deby Adair!
August 27, 2012
ONCE UPON A CASTLE! FREE ON AMAZON AUGUST 27 - 29!
Once Upon a Castle by Alan S. Blood, acclaimed children's novella is free starting today on Goodreads! Get it before this deal fades into the mist! :) http://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-a-Cas...
August 21, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, KASONNDRA LEIGH
Hacienda Moon
A Pathseekers Novel
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Love, obsession, and betrayal, the most powerful human emotions, are spun together in this gothic novel. Tandie Harrison is a police medium who has just suffered a divorce after losing both her psychic visions and her daughter in a car accident. When she leaves New York City to start a new life near her hometown, she moves into the alluring plantation house, Chelby Rose, and falls for its enigmatic caretaker, Eric Fontalvo. Their burgeoning affair ignites a century old curse, ensnaring them in a web of danger, deceit, and intrigue. Soon Tandie learns that in placid Bolivia, the worlds of the living and the dead are dangerously connected.
Hacienda Moon is a seductive tale of one woman’s journey to confront the demons of her past and find the courage to face her future. It is a mesmerizing novel that explores the deepest depths of human nature, and the characters will hold and haunt you long after you have read the final chapter.
[image error]
Praise for When Copper Suns Fall
“The author's style was fluid and there were lovely passages and lines throughout that I simply loved. The pacing flowed so well I felt like I was on a boat ride, grabbing onto the railings at times when the waves got too rocky until I was able to settle back and begin the ride all over again.”
—The Reader Girls Blog spot
About the Author
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KaSonndra Leigh lives in the City of Alchemy, North Carolina. She recently completed her Master of Fine Arts in creative writing and is now looking forward to playing CLUE with her two sons more often. She lives in an L-shaped house with a garden dedicated to her grandmother and where she has also created a secret library complete with fairies, Venetian plastered walls, and a desk made out of clear blue glass.
Excerpt from "Hacienda Moon":
Crowds, noise, loudspeakers, coffee smells: words that described Raleigh-Durham’s airport. There wasn’t much difference between New York’s JFK and North Carolina’s RDU. The noise and crowds were all the same in these places. An airport was still just another way of transporting someone from one life-changing situation to the next. And Tandie’s journey was about to begin again in a small town located about twenty minutes away from where she grew up.
Waiting at the conveyor carousel, she picked up her two bags and headed toward the rental-car section. With her head pounding from jet lag, Tandie took the keys from the woman behind the counter and mentally reviewed her driving route. Turning, she collided with a set of broad shoulders. Her handbag fell to the floor, scattering the contents.
Ready to offer a chunk of her tired mind, she opened her mouth to complain, but stopped right away. Her victim was a man. This wasn’t just any man, though. He stood just under six-feet-tall, and had gorgeous dark hair flopping over a ridiculously handsome face. Dressed in a dark-blue shirt and gray cargo pants, the man knelt down right away to help pick up Tandie’s things.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, collecting Tandie’s items, which included tampons and sanitary napkins of all things to drop.
Their eyes met and locked on one another. His hazel-green ones took in her features with one glance. Her stomach flipped as if she were a young girl flirting with a cute guy. And something hitched in her chest, teasing her with a vague memory.
His muscular frame made him seem as if he could crush Tandie’s dainty little bag with one good squeeze. His strong facial features, full lips, and dark olive skin made him look Hispanic.
Damn he’s sexy!
Tandie concentrated on returning her things to the bag. If she were quick, then maybe he wouldn’t see her embarrassing stuff. Too late. He’d already picked up her little green Always bag and placed it back in the satchel without even flinching.
Cringe and die, won’t you?
“I’m such an ox,” he said in a deep voice.
“You’re not the clumsy one. I should really watch where I’m going,” Tandie said, still too embarrassed to look at his face. She was aware of him staring at her, even though she couldn’t figure out why he was doing it. Tandie’s face flushed. Even her golden-brown skin must’ve turned crimson.
Standing up quickly, she stepped on the edge of her pants and stumbled backward. Her unintentional hero caught her with ease, steadying her body. What else would she add to her klutz list? She’d probably do something stupid like slip up and grab his crotch by accident next.
“Thanks. Again, I’m really sorry,” Tandie said and moved around him.
“Wait. Can I carry your bags for you? It’s the least I can do,” he said in a voice to match his looks.
“No. I’ll be fine, thanks,” Tandie said, walking toward the rental-car garage. Behind her, she felt him watching as she scurried away.
A Pathseekers Novel
[image error]
Love, obsession, and betrayal, the most powerful human emotions, are spun together in this gothic novel. Tandie Harrison is a police medium who has just suffered a divorce after losing both her psychic visions and her daughter in a car accident. When she leaves New York City to start a new life near her hometown, she moves into the alluring plantation house, Chelby Rose, and falls for its enigmatic caretaker, Eric Fontalvo. Their burgeoning affair ignites a century old curse, ensnaring them in a web of danger, deceit, and intrigue. Soon Tandie learns that in placid Bolivia, the worlds of the living and the dead are dangerously connected.
Hacienda Moon is a seductive tale of one woman’s journey to confront the demons of her past and find the courage to face her future. It is a mesmerizing novel that explores the deepest depths of human nature, and the characters will hold and haunt you long after you have read the final chapter.
[image error]
Praise for When Copper Suns Fall
“The author's style was fluid and there were lovely passages and lines throughout that I simply loved. The pacing flowed so well I felt like I was on a boat ride, grabbing onto the railings at times when the waves got too rocky until I was able to settle back and begin the ride all over again.”
—The Reader Girls Blog spot
About the Author
[image error]
KaSonndra Leigh lives in the City of Alchemy, North Carolina. She recently completed her Master of Fine Arts in creative writing and is now looking forward to playing CLUE with her two sons more often. She lives in an L-shaped house with a garden dedicated to her grandmother and where she has also created a secret library complete with fairies, Venetian plastered walls, and a desk made out of clear blue glass.
Excerpt from "Hacienda Moon":
Crowds, noise, loudspeakers, coffee smells: words that described Raleigh-Durham’s airport. There wasn’t much difference between New York’s JFK and North Carolina’s RDU. The noise and crowds were all the same in these places. An airport was still just another way of transporting someone from one life-changing situation to the next. And Tandie’s journey was about to begin again in a small town located about twenty minutes away from where she grew up.
Waiting at the conveyor carousel, she picked up her two bags and headed toward the rental-car section. With her head pounding from jet lag, Tandie took the keys from the woman behind the counter and mentally reviewed her driving route. Turning, she collided with a set of broad shoulders. Her handbag fell to the floor, scattering the contents.
Ready to offer a chunk of her tired mind, she opened her mouth to complain, but stopped right away. Her victim was a man. This wasn’t just any man, though. He stood just under six-feet-tall, and had gorgeous dark hair flopping over a ridiculously handsome face. Dressed in a dark-blue shirt and gray cargo pants, the man knelt down right away to help pick up Tandie’s things.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said, collecting Tandie’s items, which included tampons and sanitary napkins of all things to drop.
Their eyes met and locked on one another. His hazel-green ones took in her features with one glance. Her stomach flipped as if she were a young girl flirting with a cute guy. And something hitched in her chest, teasing her with a vague memory.
His muscular frame made him seem as if he could crush Tandie’s dainty little bag with one good squeeze. His strong facial features, full lips, and dark olive skin made him look Hispanic.
Damn he’s sexy!
Tandie concentrated on returning her things to the bag. If she were quick, then maybe he wouldn’t see her embarrassing stuff. Too late. He’d already picked up her little green Always bag and placed it back in the satchel without even flinching.
Cringe and die, won’t you?
“I’m such an ox,” he said in a deep voice.
“You’re not the clumsy one. I should really watch where I’m going,” Tandie said, still too embarrassed to look at his face. She was aware of him staring at her, even though she couldn’t figure out why he was doing it. Tandie’s face flushed. Even her golden-brown skin must’ve turned crimson.
Standing up quickly, she stepped on the edge of her pants and stumbled backward. Her unintentional hero caught her with ease, steadying her body. What else would she add to her klutz list? She’d probably do something stupid like slip up and grab his crotch by accident next.
“Thanks. Again, I’m really sorry,” Tandie said and moved around him.
“Wait. Can I carry your bags for you? It’s the least I can do,” he said in a voice to match his looks.
“No. I’ll be fine, thanks,” Tandie said, walking toward the rental-car garage. Behind her, she felt him watching as she scurried away.
August 20, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, ANNE ELIZABETH MOORE
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR OF "HIP HOP APSARA: GHOST PAST AND PRESENT"
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As I embark upon my blog tour for Hip Hop Apsara: Ghosts Past and Present, a new mass grave is discovered just outside of Siem Reap, Cambodia, the former seat of the Angkor Empire. The stunning 12th century temples at Angkor Wat, and the vast Khmer power they represented, were an inspiration to the Khmer Rouge, who in the 1970s hoped to return their country to a similar agrarian utopia, but instead enacted a brutal system of torture, starvation, abuse, and fear—killing between 1.7 and 2.2 million people in the process. Today every Cambodian in the entire nation of Cambodia is a survivor of these mass killings—even those who fled the country and have now returned lost close family members, friends, neighbors, a belief in justice.
It is a country where ghosts—unseen presences, untested consequences—are palpable. Their impact can be seen, the consequences have come about. There’s no questioning whether or not ghosts exist— the questions are why and how and what they want and what can be done to appease them.
But the Khmer Rouge weren’t holding their revolution in vacuum—they were responding in a very direct manner to a series of illegal campaign, including Nixon’s Operation Menu offensive, during which the US dropped several tens of thousands of tons of bombs on the poverty-stricken, neutral country. It’s not fair, you may be saying to yourself. And that is true.
The Khmer Rouge Tribunal, the Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia, an attempt some forty years later to seek formal justice against Khmer Rouge leaders, is ongoing, now, slowly. Beleaguered by corruption, apathy, and the disinterest of former members of the Khmer Rouge—including the prime minister himself—in opening up long-ignored avenues of inquiry, the tribunal lags.
So, too, do deaths by landmine, finally! This year! Down for the first time in as many decades as records have been kept of such things! Many, if not most, are also US-made, a regular reminder of the desire for revolution, even as the country’s former revolutionary leaders go on trial and deny their involvement.
Ghosts—what emerges when space is vacated, what we fear when we think we remain rational—these are real in Cambodia. I’ve attempted to document them in Hip Hop Apsara as an American in Cambodia, a small prayer for lost souls, an ardent wish for a beautiful future. I hope you find it as beautiful and meaningful as I do.
Anne Elizabeth Moore
Author Biography
Anne Elizabeth Moore is a Fulbright scholar, the Truthout columnist behind Ladydrawers:
Gender and Comics in the US, and the author of Cambodian Grrrl: Self-Publishing in Phnom
Penh (Cantankerous Titles, 2011), Unmarketable: Brandalism, Copyfighting, Mocketing, and
the Erosion of Integrity (The New Press, 2007, named a Best Book of the Year by Mother Jones)
and Hey Kidz, Buy This Book (Soft Skull, 2004). Co-editor and publisher of the now-defunct
Punk Planet, and founding editor of the Best American Comics series from Houghton Mifflin,
Moore teaches in the Visual Critical Studies and Art History departments at the School of the Art
Institute of Chicago.
She works with young women in Cambodia on independent media projects, and with people of
all ages and genders on media and gender justice work in the US. Her journalism focuses on the
international garment trade. Moore exhibits her work frequently as conceptual art, and has been
the subject of two documentary films. She has lectured around the world on independent media,
globalization, and women’s labor issues.
The multi-award-winning author has also written for N+1, Good, Snap Judgment, Bitch, the
Progressive, The Onion, Feministing, The Stranger, In These Times, The Boston Phoenix,
and Tin House. She has twice been noted in the Best American Non-Required Reading series.
She has appeared on CNN, WNUR, WFMU, WBEZ, Voice of America, and others. Her work
with young women in Southeast Asia has been featured in USA Today, Phnom Penh Post,
Entertainment Weekly, Time Out Chicago, Make/Shift, Today’s Chicago Woman, Windy City
Times, and Print Magazine, and on GritTV, Radio Australia, and NPR’s Worldview.
Moore recently mounted a solo exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago and
participated in Artisterium, Georgia’s annual art invitational. Her upcoming book, Hip Hop
Apsara: Ghosts Past and Present (Green Lantern Press, Aug. 28, 2012), is a lyrical essay in
pictures and words exploring the people of Cambodia’s most rampant economic development in
at least 1,200 years.
BOOK DETAILS
Hardcover, $20
ISBN: 978-1-4507-7526-7
Photo/Essay, 100 pages
Green Lantern Press, Aug. 28
The city of Phnom Penh, Cambodia hosts public dance lessons most nights on a newly
revitalized riverfront directly in front of prime minister Hun Sen’s urban home. Shortly before
dusk, much of the city gathers to bust a few Apsara moves and learn a couple choreographed hiphop
steps from a slew of attractive young men at the head of each group. Outside the bustling
capital city, the provinces come alive, too, as the nation’s only all-girl political rock group sets
up concerts that call into question the international garment trade, traditional gender roles, and
agriculture under globalization. Cambodia is changing: not what it once was, not yet what it will
be.
Following on the heels of Cambodian Grrrl: Self-Publishing in Phnom Penh, Anne Elizabeth
Moore compiled photographs that document Cambodia’s bustling nightlife, the nation’s
emerging middle class, and the ongoing struggle for social justice in the beautiful, war-ravaged
land.
A series of essays complement the imagery, investigating the relationship between public and
private space, mourning and memory, tradition and economic development. It is a document of a
nation caught between states of being, yet still deeply affecting.
Website: AnneElizabethMoore.com
@superanne
Anne Elizabeth Moore, Facebook
Anne Elizabeth Moore, Goodreads
[image error]
As I embark upon my blog tour for Hip Hop Apsara: Ghosts Past and Present, a new mass grave is discovered just outside of Siem Reap, Cambodia, the former seat of the Angkor Empire. The stunning 12th century temples at Angkor Wat, and the vast Khmer power they represented, were an inspiration to the Khmer Rouge, who in the 1970s hoped to return their country to a similar agrarian utopia, but instead enacted a brutal system of torture, starvation, abuse, and fear—killing between 1.7 and 2.2 million people in the process. Today every Cambodian in the entire nation of Cambodia is a survivor of these mass killings—even those who fled the country and have now returned lost close family members, friends, neighbors, a belief in justice.
It is a country where ghosts—unseen presences, untested consequences—are palpable. Their impact can be seen, the consequences have come about. There’s no questioning whether or not ghosts exist— the questions are why and how and what they want and what can be done to appease them.
But the Khmer Rouge weren’t holding their revolution in vacuum—they were responding in a very direct manner to a series of illegal campaign, including Nixon’s Operation Menu offensive, during which the US dropped several tens of thousands of tons of bombs on the poverty-stricken, neutral country. It’s not fair, you may be saying to yourself. And that is true.
The Khmer Rouge Tribunal, the Extraordinary Chambers of the Courts of Cambodia, an attempt some forty years later to seek formal justice against Khmer Rouge leaders, is ongoing, now, slowly. Beleaguered by corruption, apathy, and the disinterest of former members of the Khmer Rouge—including the prime minister himself—in opening up long-ignored avenues of inquiry, the tribunal lags.
So, too, do deaths by landmine, finally! This year! Down for the first time in as many decades as records have been kept of such things! Many, if not most, are also US-made, a regular reminder of the desire for revolution, even as the country’s former revolutionary leaders go on trial and deny their involvement.
Ghosts—what emerges when space is vacated, what we fear when we think we remain rational—these are real in Cambodia. I’ve attempted to document them in Hip Hop Apsara as an American in Cambodia, a small prayer for lost souls, an ardent wish for a beautiful future. I hope you find it as beautiful and meaningful as I do.
Anne Elizabeth Moore
Author Biography
Anne Elizabeth Moore is a Fulbright scholar, the Truthout columnist behind Ladydrawers:
Gender and Comics in the US, and the author of Cambodian Grrrl: Self-Publishing in Phnom
Penh (Cantankerous Titles, 2011), Unmarketable: Brandalism, Copyfighting, Mocketing, and
the Erosion of Integrity (The New Press, 2007, named a Best Book of the Year by Mother Jones)
and Hey Kidz, Buy This Book (Soft Skull, 2004). Co-editor and publisher of the now-defunct
Punk Planet, and founding editor of the Best American Comics series from Houghton Mifflin,
Moore teaches in the Visual Critical Studies and Art History departments at the School of the Art
Institute of Chicago.
She works with young women in Cambodia on independent media projects, and with people of
all ages and genders on media and gender justice work in the US. Her journalism focuses on the
international garment trade. Moore exhibits her work frequently as conceptual art, and has been
the subject of two documentary films. She has lectured around the world on independent media,
globalization, and women’s labor issues.
The multi-award-winning author has also written for N+1, Good, Snap Judgment, Bitch, the
Progressive, The Onion, Feministing, The Stranger, In These Times, The Boston Phoenix,
and Tin House. She has twice been noted in the Best American Non-Required Reading series.
She has appeared on CNN, WNUR, WFMU, WBEZ, Voice of America, and others. Her work
with young women in Southeast Asia has been featured in USA Today, Phnom Penh Post,
Entertainment Weekly, Time Out Chicago, Make/Shift, Today’s Chicago Woman, Windy City
Times, and Print Magazine, and on GritTV, Radio Australia, and NPR’s Worldview.
Moore recently mounted a solo exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Chicago and
participated in Artisterium, Georgia’s annual art invitational. Her upcoming book, Hip Hop
Apsara: Ghosts Past and Present (Green Lantern Press, Aug. 28, 2012), is a lyrical essay in
pictures and words exploring the people of Cambodia’s most rampant economic development in
at least 1,200 years.
BOOK DETAILS
Hardcover, $20
ISBN: 978-1-4507-7526-7
Photo/Essay, 100 pages
Green Lantern Press, Aug. 28
The city of Phnom Penh, Cambodia hosts public dance lessons most nights on a newly
revitalized riverfront directly in front of prime minister Hun Sen’s urban home. Shortly before
dusk, much of the city gathers to bust a few Apsara moves and learn a couple choreographed hiphop
steps from a slew of attractive young men at the head of each group. Outside the bustling
capital city, the provinces come alive, too, as the nation’s only all-girl political rock group sets
up concerts that call into question the international garment trade, traditional gender roles, and
agriculture under globalization. Cambodia is changing: not what it once was, not yet what it will
be.
Following on the heels of Cambodian Grrrl: Self-Publishing in Phnom Penh, Anne Elizabeth
Moore compiled photographs that document Cambodia’s bustling nightlife, the nation’s
emerging middle class, and the ongoing struggle for social justice in the beautiful, war-ravaged
land.
A series of essays complement the imagery, investigating the relationship between public and
private space, mourning and memory, tradition and economic development. It is a document of a
nation caught between states of being, yet still deeply affecting.
Website: AnneElizabethMoore.com
@superanne
Anne Elizabeth Moore, Facebook
Anne Elizabeth Moore, Goodreads
August 16, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, HASKELL G. EDWARDS
Immigration and Adaptation Book Summary
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Adaptation is a must. But how does one go about doing this? It takes great planning, finances, and courage to leave one's homeland; but then finding support and comfort or anything of familiarity in a new land presents a whole new set of challenges. The stress is overwhelming. How do you gain the happiness and success you dreamed of attaining in the new land?
Immigration and Adaptation is here to help you navigate through these challenges. With the information herein, immigrants coming to North America will be prepared to identify and resolve social, family, and personal challenges with confidence. Mr. Edwards' vast professional experience with diverse immigrant families, as well as his own personal journey and genuinely encouraging approach, not only help immigrant families adapt to new surroundings, but grow stronger together in their journey.
This book includes:
- A family wellness test
- Step-by-step guidelines
- Real-life examples
- Inspirational stories
- Family, parenting, and spousal exercises
- Illustrations
- Single-parenting advice
Immigration and Adaptation also includes tips on: building self-confidence, resolving conflicts, tuning communication skills, networking and building social supports, budgeting, parenting, enhancing spousal relationships, helping teenagers adjust, communicating effectively, and more.
[image error]
Excerpt Link (Chapter 1):
http://www.myauthorwebsite.net/hask.....
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. Bio:
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. has vast professional experience for more than forty years as pastor, administrator, family therapist, and director of a family therapy center. His extensive experience gained from working with immigrant families in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic setting, as well as his own personal journey and genuinely encouraging approach, positions him not only to help immigrant families adapt to new surroundings, but grow stronger together in their journey.
He has successfully held immigrant seminars, workshops, and lectures throughout North America. Now a retired pastor, he continues to help immigrant families of a wide cultural heritage transition into their new homeland.
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. Web Site:
http://www.myauthorwebsite.net/haskel...
Langdon Street Press Web Site:
http://langdonstreetpress.com/
Tribute Books Blog Tours Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Trib.....
Immigration and Adaptation blog tour site:
http://immigration-and-adaptation.blo...
Paperback
Publisher: Langdon Street Press
Price: $16.95
ISBN: 9781936782239
Pages: 272
Release: September 15, 2011
Amazon buy link: ($16.95)
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1936782235.....
Barnes & Noble buy link: ($16.95)
http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin.....
Books-A-Million buy link: ($16.95)
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Immi.....
Ebook PDF ($8.99)
https://secure.mybookorders.com/ord.....
[image error]
Adaptation is a must. But how does one go about doing this? It takes great planning, finances, and courage to leave one's homeland; but then finding support and comfort or anything of familiarity in a new land presents a whole new set of challenges. The stress is overwhelming. How do you gain the happiness and success you dreamed of attaining in the new land?
Immigration and Adaptation is here to help you navigate through these challenges. With the information herein, immigrants coming to North America will be prepared to identify and resolve social, family, and personal challenges with confidence. Mr. Edwards' vast professional experience with diverse immigrant families, as well as his own personal journey and genuinely encouraging approach, not only help immigrant families adapt to new surroundings, but grow stronger together in their journey.
This book includes:
- A family wellness test
- Step-by-step guidelines
- Real-life examples
- Inspirational stories
- Family, parenting, and spousal exercises
- Illustrations
- Single-parenting advice
Immigration and Adaptation also includes tips on: building self-confidence, resolving conflicts, tuning communication skills, networking and building social supports, budgeting, parenting, enhancing spousal relationships, helping teenagers adjust, communicating effectively, and more.
[image error]
Excerpt Link (Chapter 1):
http://www.myauthorwebsite.net/hask.....
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. Bio:
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. has vast professional experience for more than forty years as pastor, administrator, family therapist, and director of a family therapy center. His extensive experience gained from working with immigrant families in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic setting, as well as his own personal journey and genuinely encouraging approach, positions him not only to help immigrant families adapt to new surroundings, but grow stronger together in their journey.
He has successfully held immigrant seminars, workshops, and lectures throughout North America. Now a retired pastor, he continues to help immigrant families of a wide cultural heritage transition into their new homeland.
Haskell G. Edwards, D. Min. Web Site:
http://www.myauthorwebsite.net/haskel...
Langdon Street Press Web Site:
http://langdonstreetpress.com/
Tribute Books Blog Tours Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Trib.....
Immigration and Adaptation blog tour site:
http://immigration-and-adaptation.blo...
Paperback
Publisher: Langdon Street Press
Price: $16.95
ISBN: 9781936782239
Pages: 272
Release: September 15, 2011
Amazon buy link: ($16.95)
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1936782235.....
Barnes & Noble buy link: ($16.95)
http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin.....
Books-A-Million buy link: ($16.95)
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Immi.....
Ebook PDF ($8.99)
https://secure.mybookorders.com/ord.....
August 14, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, LEANNE HERRERA (DEDICATED TO HER GRANDDAUGHTER)
Today's guest post is dedicated to a serious cause. One of my newest Authors, Leanne Herrera has a granddaughter with severe Cerebral Palsy and is currently in ICU. Leanne has recently released her first book through GMTA and 75% of all proceeds go toward helping her granddaughter get the care she needs. Below is a story about this beautiful little 2 year old and the life she has had thus far.
Thank you for reading.
Kitty Bullard / GMTA Independent Publishing
This is a story about my granddaughter.
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When my oldest was nearly 17 years old she got pregnant. Her pregnancy was not easy. During a routine ultrasound they discovered that there was something wrong with the baby. My daughter was 20 weeks pregnant and the baby had a stroke. They took her in for a amnio and could not understand what the problem was, but gave the baby her mothers platelet’s in hopes that it would help the stroke stop. A few weeks later, they did another ultrasound and discovered that she had now had 3 strokes. By the time my daughter was 37 weeks pregnant, the baby had, had so many strokes they had lost count. They also discovered that my daughters skin could not stretch anymore without fear of it tearing and decided to induce.
Sabrina was born September 8th 2010. The doctors had told us to prepare her funeral, because they feared she would not live beyond birth and that if she did she would be without emotions or any abilities at all. She came out screaming.
By the time she was 2 months old she had been through 2 brain surgeries because she has hydrocephalus. She was on medication for seizures and was medicated for that. She has spent a lot of time with doctors and therapists over the last 23 months. Her list of illnesses is long. She has; hydrocephalus, epilepsy, failure to thrive, tremors, cerebral palsy, chronic UTI’s, Mthfr, and severe reflux.
In June of 2012, we awoke to a blue Sabrina. She was not able to breathe on her own. She was taken to the emergency room and they placed her on a respirator. On mother’s they asked my daughter how she felt about pulling the plug on Sabrina. It was the worst mother’s day ever to say the least. After a few weeks of being in the hospital, she was able to come home. She is still on a machine called a bpap at night but is on room air during the day.
She now has new accessories that have to be taken everywhere she goes. She has a portable oxygen machine, a breathing treatment machine, a suction machine, and a portable bpap machine. They have to go everywhere with her. This makes it hard on my daughter who is not even 5 feet tall. If you can imagine her trying to cart around all of that equipment around in a regular stroller.
We have discussed her needs with a therapist and have come to the conclusion that we just cannot afford all the things that Sabrina needs even with Medicaid’s help. We are looking into several organizations that are willing to help but even they cannot afford to help us completely. My daughter is still in school and only gets SSD for Sabrina.
Currently Sabrina is in respiratory failure and decisions on behalf of the family have to be made regarding her welfare. Please keep us in your prayers.
Leanne Herrera (The Grandmother) is a new GMTA Author with a book currently released called “Mirror Bound” 75% of the proceeds for all purchased copies of this book will be going to the fund for Sabrina to help her get the care she needs. You can purchase on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Bound-eb...
So we need your help please. If you can help in anyway, even just to leave a message you can leave one on her face book page at https://www.facebook.com/?ref=logo#!/... or you can donate to her through paypal at https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webs..... you can also visit her site at http://www.tohelpsabrina.org/
Thank you
Leanne Herrera
Thank you for reading.
Kitty Bullard / GMTA Independent Publishing
This is a story about my granddaughter.
[image error]
When my oldest was nearly 17 years old she got pregnant. Her pregnancy was not easy. During a routine ultrasound they discovered that there was something wrong with the baby. My daughter was 20 weeks pregnant and the baby had a stroke. They took her in for a amnio and could not understand what the problem was, but gave the baby her mothers platelet’s in hopes that it would help the stroke stop. A few weeks later, they did another ultrasound and discovered that she had now had 3 strokes. By the time my daughter was 37 weeks pregnant, the baby had, had so many strokes they had lost count. They also discovered that my daughters skin could not stretch anymore without fear of it tearing and decided to induce.
Sabrina was born September 8th 2010. The doctors had told us to prepare her funeral, because they feared she would not live beyond birth and that if she did she would be without emotions or any abilities at all. She came out screaming.
By the time she was 2 months old she had been through 2 brain surgeries because she has hydrocephalus. She was on medication for seizures and was medicated for that. She has spent a lot of time with doctors and therapists over the last 23 months. Her list of illnesses is long. She has; hydrocephalus, epilepsy, failure to thrive, tremors, cerebral palsy, chronic UTI’s, Mthfr, and severe reflux.
In June of 2012, we awoke to a blue Sabrina. She was not able to breathe on her own. She was taken to the emergency room and they placed her on a respirator. On mother’s they asked my daughter how she felt about pulling the plug on Sabrina. It was the worst mother’s day ever to say the least. After a few weeks of being in the hospital, she was able to come home. She is still on a machine called a bpap at night but is on room air during the day.
She now has new accessories that have to be taken everywhere she goes. She has a portable oxygen machine, a breathing treatment machine, a suction machine, and a portable bpap machine. They have to go everywhere with her. This makes it hard on my daughter who is not even 5 feet tall. If you can imagine her trying to cart around all of that equipment around in a regular stroller.
We have discussed her needs with a therapist and have come to the conclusion that we just cannot afford all the things that Sabrina needs even with Medicaid’s help. We are looking into several organizations that are willing to help but even they cannot afford to help us completely. My daughter is still in school and only gets SSD for Sabrina.
Currently Sabrina is in respiratory failure and decisions on behalf of the family have to be made regarding her welfare. Please keep us in your prayers.
Leanne Herrera (The Grandmother) is a new GMTA Author with a book currently released called “Mirror Bound” 75% of the proceeds for all purchased copies of this book will be going to the fund for Sabrina to help her get the care she needs. You can purchase on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mirror-Bound-eb...
So we need your help please. If you can help in anyway, even just to leave a message you can leave one on her face book page at https://www.facebook.com/?ref=logo#!/... or you can donate to her through paypal at https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webs..... you can also visit her site at http://www.tohelpsabrina.org/
Thank you
Leanne Herrera
August 13, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, BRENDA STANLEY
Guest Post by Brenda Stanley
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The Color of Snow has been described as dark or mysterious. I feel most of my writing fits this description because I enjoy looking at the strange and unusual things in life. My novel will definitely make some people uncomfortable. I like to look at situations and issues and try to figure out how people will react. For years I was a crime reporter, so I enjoy investigating stories and learning about the parts of life most people try to hide. When I wrote The Color of Snow, I was working on a story about a young girl who went missing years ago and has never been found. I started thinking about what would happen if she were to suddenly show up now. I loved putting myself in Sophie’s shoes and seeing things for the first time.
Sophie’s relationship with Damien is both intense and tempered. Her father has raised her to believe that she will destroy anyone who truly loves her, so she is torn between her love for Damien and her fear of causing him harm.
The story changes between what is going on with Sophie and what happened in her parent’s past that brought her to where she is. I wanted readers to experience the often isolated feeling of living in a vast rural area, but also the mental confinement of a small town.
Mental illness, teen pregnancy, religious intolerance, and racism are all big parts of The Color of Snow. I like my characters to face challenges and see them grow from them. It is not only the conflicts with the other characters that keeps the story going, but also those within the person’s own mind.
I wanted Sophie to be unusually beautiful so that people treated her strangely and therefore made her feel even more alien when she is first discovered. She has transformed from a tragic kidnapping victim to a mythical ghost from the past and this makes her transition into her new life even more difficult.
My ties to the Mormon Church go back to my great-great grandparents. I was raised in the teachings of the Mormon religion and even though I am no longer a member, I have many friends and family who are still very active in the church. My descriptions of the Mormon culture are how I view it and how I feel someone who has never been exposed to it might see it. I think there are a lot of people who are curious about the Mormon religion and have misconceptions. I feel I’ve been both candid and fair in my portrayal.
The Color of Snow Excerpt
Malad, Idaho, early spring 2009
Spring had spread across the fields and pastures. Cottonwood trees fluttered their newly sprouted greenery, and purple asters covered the rolling hills. The snow had melted and Stephanie and I started taking the horses on rides up the valley. It was incredibly liberating to roam and wander without fear.
There was a trail leading from the foothills up into the forest, and once we were in the midst of the wild spruce and lofty pines, the noises of cars and life around the ranch disappeared. The sound of hooves on early spring dirt was solid and steady. The breeze was still crisp, but the sun reached down and warmed our shoulders. For almost an hour we rode in silence. We both were in awe of the day and the splendor that was ours alone to enjoy.
At the top of the hill, the trail opened up to a small plateau and a blue mountain lake. I gasped at the incredible beauty of it. I smiled at Stephanie and she nodded in acknowledgement. Her eyes were bright and her freckles seemed to glow in the sunshine. The horse she rode was a black mare my grandfather was going to sell. Stephanie loved the white diamond-shaped patch on her forehead, and scolded him for even thinking about selling Black Bean. My horse was an old buckskin gelding named Clyde. He lumbered along and rarely went faster than a slow trot, but for a beginner like me he was perfect.
Stephanie turned her horse down the hill and toward the lake. “Do you want to go swimming?” she called back.
“I don’t know how,” I answered.
She giggled as she reached the water’s edge. “You don’t need to. The horses do it all.” Her hair was pulled into two short pigtails and they bounced with each step of her horse.
I waited and watched as she urged Black Bean into the water and out into the lake. As the water got deeper, the splashes became larger around its legs as it pushed forward, and soon they were floating along smoothly.
“Come on!” she yelled, waving me in. She had her legs pulled up on the sides, trying to avoid getting completely soaked. They were pale and freckled like her face, and seemed to make up most of her body. Stephanie wasn’t much taller than I, but her legs and arms were long and made her look gangly and even thinner than she was. She waved so hard she almost fell off the horse, and started laughing as she steadied herself.
It looked like fun, but I was terrified. The water was immense and dark. The largest amount of water I had ever been in was my own bathtub. I wondered what would happen if I fell off in the middle. Stephanie and Black Bean were in the center of the lake and they looked like a serene harmonious duo.
I gave Clyde a slight nudge and he walked to the shoreline. The water lapped as I waited and watched Stephanie continue to beckon. She looked like she was having a marvelous time and wasn’t worried in the least. I patted Clyde and prodded him with the heels of my sneakers. He seemed unconcerned as he clopped loudly into the water. I took a deep breath and told myself to keep looking forward and it would be okay. Clyde had no hesitation, which helped ease my fear.
The sun beat down on us and made splashes of water light up as Clyde moved forward into the water. The splatters that hit my exposed skin were freezing and made me realize how cold it would be if I did fall in. I fixed my eyes on the opposite shoreline and put my faith in Clyde. The horse had a wide back, and as we got deeper into the lake, I curled my legs back the way Stephanie did and clung to his mane. We were riding bareback that day, because Stephanie didn’t want to spend time putting on saddles.
I held my breath as we got further away from the shore and closer to the very center of the lake. At one point I looked down, staring deep into the abyss. There was no bottom, and I felt my stomach turn, knowing I would surely die if I left Clyde’s back.
As the horse rhythmically propelled us along, I began to feel a sense of buoyancy and freedom. When we crossed the center point and were on our way to the other shore, my confidence turned to elation. I started to breathe again and smiled at what I had accomplished. I sat up straight, closed my eyes and imagined I was flying, gliding along on my winged unicorn, soaring through clouds and racing the wind. When I opened my eyes, I giggled at my foolish imagination, but couldn’t help beaming at what an amazing adventure it was.
When the horse’s hooves made contact with the lake bottom and we started to emerge from the water, I wanted to burst from relief and joy. “That was the most wonderful thing ever!”
Stephanie was sitting on a large tree limb that had fallen while her horse munched on fresh new grass beside her. “I didn’t think you’d do it. I’m proud of you.”
“It was so scary, but then it was so amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it, because that’s how we’re getting back.”
We led the horses to a shaded area and tied them loosely to a tree so they could rest and graze. Stephanie leaned back against a tree and looked out at the incredible view of mountain-lined lake and clear blue sky.
“This is where I go when I can’t stand life anymore. The first time I came here, I tried to kill myself. I stole my dad’s gun and had it all planned out. Then I sat here and looked around at all this and thought...who would care? I’m nothing and no one would miss me, so why do it? That’s when I decided to live for me. I do what makes me happy now and screw the rest of them.”
“You were going to kill yourself. Why?”
Stephanie took a deep, labored sigh. “I didn’t see the point in living. My mom was dead and my dad married that crazy bitch.” She shrugged. “I don’t really fit in anywhere. Even at school, the kids hate me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe that. There is no reason to hate you.”
Stephanie scoffed. “You say that because you don’t know any better. You don’t know what normal is. That’s why we get along. I’m a freak, but you’ve never had any friends, so you don’t know how weird I am.” She smiled.
“I’ve had friends,” I protested.
“Really? I thought you were kept alone at that house all the time.”
I nodded.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “So, did your dad kidnap kids and bring them home for you play with?”
My eyes went large, but then Stephanie laughed and I realized she was joking. I paused for a moment, trying to pick my words carefully.
“Don’t worry about me telling anyone. Remember, we’re best friends, so you should be able to tell me anything. I’ve never told anyone that I was going to kill myself.”
I looked at her with a mixture of love and concern. “I had two friends. I met them when I was eleven. Their mother worked with my father and they came to our house one day. That’s how they knew I lived there. They lived over the hill from us and they came over while Papa was at work and we played in my yard.” I stopped and smiled at the memory.
“You had to hide them from your father. Why?”
“He was afraid that if people knew I was home alone all day, they would come and take me away.”
“Didn’t it drive you crazy to be alone all the time?”
I shrugged. “Not really. When I met Donny and Damien I was much happier. I didn’t know what it was like to have friends before I met them, so I didn’t realize what I was missing.”
She studied me. “Isn’t Damien the kid your dad shot? Why’d he shoot him? Did he catch him with you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him that you two were friends and that it was no big deal?"
“I tried to convince him, but...there is a lot you don’t understand.”
Stephanie gave me a disappointed curl of her lip. “And I won’t be able to understand if you keep everything a secret.”
I stayed silent.
“Sophie, I’ve already told you something that I never told anyone. I trust you because we’re friends. That is what friends do. They trust each other and they tell each other things. Do you think I won’t believe you?”
“No, it’s not that. And I do trust you, but there are things that will sound strange, and I don’t want you to think I’m a monster.”
She laughed. “You are the opposite of a monster. You’re friendly and kind. People would love to be near you.”
I ran the word through my head several times. I wondered if the statement had validity, because if it did, it explained some of the things Papa told me that seemed unimaginable.
“So, what is this big dark secret? You say your father didn’t kidnap you or treat you badly, so why did he keep you locked up in that house hidden away from the world?”
I thought it was inconceivable that the two of us were best friends. Stephanie had just confessed that she had almost ended her life and now I was about to tell her how I had ended my mother’s and one of my friends. My fears of being ostracized and treated like a disease were still at the surface, but the thought of releasing some of the weight with a person I trusted was like having a balloon inflating inside me ready to burst. I felt my secret was slowly killing me, and the only way I could get relief was to talk about it. I was still scared that once it was out, it would sprout wings and fly out of control.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to swear you’ll never tell anyone else.”
“I swear. I swear on my stepmother’s grave,” she giggled.
I looked at her, worried that she wasn’t in the right mind frame to hear what I had to say. My face must have showed it, because Stephanie quickly lost her smile and leaned forward. She put her hand on my shoulder. “God, Soph, I was just kidding. You look like I just cursed her dead.”
I gasped and put my hand to my mouth. I felt an icy chill go down my back and my heart jumped.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s what you said. That is why I had to hide all those years.”
“What I said? How could that be? I wasn’t even around.”
I was speechless and stunned. Just hearing the word made me dizzy. I put my face in my hands and rocked back and forth, trying to steady my nerves and my thoughts.
“Sophie, what’s wrong with you? You’re not making any sense. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
I stopped rocking, and looked up at her. “I’m so afraid to say anything.”
“You have no reason to be afraid. I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re my only friend!” She smiled. “You’ll go crazy if you keep it all inside.”
“But what if you don’t want to be friends after I tell you?”
“That’s crazy.” She sat up on her knees and squared her body to mine. She held my shoulders and made me look at her. “Here, think about this. Imagine I’m the one telling you this big secret. If that were the case, would we still be friends? Sophie?”
I realized I had drifted off. I blinked as I came back and smiled. I had no reservations about how I would react if she were the one telling it. Stephanie would be my friend regardless of her secrets and I knew that she felt the same. So with the same strength I had mustered to lead my horse into a deep dark lake, I pushed forward and decided to reveal what had shaped my entire life. It would either knock me into a cold, deep abyss, or I would cross it and end up gaining the confidence I needed to take even more risks in my life. I was willing to take that chance. I suddenly realized that I had no idea where to start. It struck me as funny, and I stopped and smiled to myself.
“You’re a tease!” she yelled. “Come on, out with it.”
“I don’t know where to start. There is so much to tell.”
She leaned back against the tree and put her arms behind her head. “We have all day. They don’t expect us until dinner and I brought food in my backpack. Spill it!”
I took a deep breath. “There is something terrible that happened a long time ago and it’s the reason Papa and I had to hide all those years.”
“Did he kill someone?” she asked, both horrified and intrigued.
“No,” I said firmly. “It’s not something we did, but something that was done to us.”
Stephanie lowered an eyebrow. “What?”
“A curse.”
Her eyes shot wide open, but she gave me a sideways grin. “A curse?”
“Yes. We had to hide away because Papa says we are a threat to the people who love us.”
She cocked her head to the side. “How?”
I looked at the ground and felt my face flush. “I’m not sure, but some of them have died.”
Stephanie reeled back. “They died? How?”
I shrugged. “Papa says it’s the reason my mother died and Donny. He says we’re the reason.”
Stephanie shook her head. “You said he didn’t kill anyone.”
“It’s not us. It’s the curse that kills them.”
“How did they die?”
“Donny died when a dirt cave collapsed on him.” I felt a heavy lump in my stomach. “I don’t know how my mother died. Papa never talks about it.”
“Sounds to me like your father gave you a line to keep you in line. There is no such thing as a curse.”
I felt rejected and embarrassed. It had taken every ounce of trust I could muster to tell her and now she brushed it off. “Yes there is.”
She furrowed her brows. “Did you push that kid into the cave?”
I shook my head. “No!”
Stephanie sat up straight. “Do you think that other kid was shot because of this curse, too?”
I lowered my eyes. “Yes.”
She sat in silence, looking as if she was deep in thought. Several times she began to talk and then stopped. She stood up and walked in a circle. “That doesn’t make sense. If you say the curse kills people who love you, then why am I still alive? And what about your grandparents? Why aren’t we all dead?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes it scares me. I don’t want to hurt people, but I don’t want to be alone. Papa was trying to explain it, but then we got caught. I’ve tried to figure it out, but without Papa, I can’t. There’s more to it, and he’s the only one who knows.”
“Who put the curse on you?” I shrugged.
“Papa said it was done a long time ago, before I was born.”
Stephanie lowered her brow. “If you weren’t even born, why would anyone want to curse you?”
“It was placed on our family for something Papa did. He said it was done out of anger. He said he didn’t believe it at first, but when my mother was killed, he knew we had to hide or more bad things would happen. He said if anyone found out about the curse, I would be taken away. He hid us away for our own good. He didn’t want the curse to hurt anyone else. I didn’t know about it until after Donny died. Papa felt it was his fault for not warning me sooner.”
Stephanie looked at me in awe. She hadn’t moved a muscle or changed her facial expression in the slightest, as though my story had struck her dumb. I started feeling awkward and worried that I had said too much, but before regret set in, she took a seat beside me and put an arm around my shoulder. “So, what are you going to do? If you think you’re cursed and you’re putting other people at risk, how are you going to live?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“That’s crazy, Sophie. There is no such thing. I think he told you that just to keep you from running off. He knew that if people saw you they’d find out who you were. That would threaten him.” She scratched her head; pulling at the hair in one of her pigtails, making it crooked. “He makes it sound very convincing.” She sat back with a start. “He must have seen the newspaper article that ran the sketch. That’s why he took all the mirrors out of your house. He didn’t want you to discover who you really are. On the other hand, this is so strange, because if he really thought you were cursed, a lot of this stuff he did makes sense. That’s totally wild.”
I thought about the mirrors. I remembered the expression on Damien’s face when he realized all the mirrors in my house had been taken down or destroyed. I still had aversions to them, and rarely gave in to the temptation. They were everywhere at my grandparents’ home, but I did my best to avoid them, knowing that God watched and judged what I did.
“When I tell you that I love you, does it scare you?” she asked.
I contemplated her question, knowing I had thought about it many times before. “It used to, but for some reason I’m not worried anymore.”
“I think I know why.”
“Tell me.”
“Sophie, I don’t believe in curses or superstitions. I think the more you’re out in the normal world, you’ll realize all the stuff you’ve been told is not real. There is no such thing. All this stuff you father told you isn’t the truth. You’re not cursed.”
What she said completely deflated me. I had trusted her with my deepest, darkest realities and now she said that what I harbored and lived with my entire life was just a lie.
“You’ll never be happy if you live in fear like this. You’ll have an awful life if you never let anyone love you. I think it’s terrible what he did. He’s the one that’s cursed you with stupid superstitions. It’s not real. There is no such thing as a curse.”
I was shocked at what she said and felt the need to scoot away, fearing God would strike her down with a bolt of lightning. “You don’t believe in God?”
“No. And I don’t believe that how I live my life will determine how I spend my death. I believe that you do the right things for this life, not for some afterlife. Everyone around here is so worried about what’s going to happen to them when they die. It’s stupid. When my mom died, people actually told me that God needed her in heaven and that’s why he took her home.” She gave a disgusted smirk. “Why would God take someone’s mother away? My mom died because cancer cells overtook her body. It had nothing to do with God, and it had nothing to do with curses or prayers or any other hocus-pocus that everyone tries to fill your head with.”
I was still uneasy.
“You were worried about telling me your secret because you thought I would be afraid of you. And it turns out, you should be afraid of me.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a bad influence. That’s why I’m not allowed at the school. I asked questions and talked about things that made everyone nervous. The other kids told their parents that I didn’t believe in God and that I attacked their precious religion. That’s the reason I no longer go to school.” She smiled and pulled me close. “I’m worse than you. You may lure them in with your beauty and then kill them off, but I threaten their beliefs and their chances at eternal life. We make quite a pair.”
Being close to her was a comfort, even though I was still concerned about what she said. I cared about her and felt her statements against God would come back to haunt her.
“I know you aren’t just going to believe everything I say. It’s all been drilled into your head for so long, it will be hard to change what you believe, but I want to show you something that will hopefully help you get over all this. We’re going to do an experiment so I can prove that there is no such thing as a curse.”
I didn’t like the idea and was apprehensive.
“You don’t have a choice,” she said, with a defiant lift of her eyebrow. “You are my best friend, my only friend in this world. I love you as if you were my sister. Nothing fatal has happened to me yet and nothing will. I’ll prove to you that you are not cursed.”
I felt funny having her tempt fate for me.
“I was planning on killing myself anyway, so this isn’t a big sacrifice. Quit looking like that,” she chided. Stephanie put her finger to her mouth and feigned deep deliberation. “Hmm. If you have the power to kill people, then let’s work on how we can use it to bump off my stepmother!” She fell back against the soft forest floor in wicked laughter.
“Stephanie!”
She giggled with delight.
I couldn’t help but smile, even though she had made me out as toxic. She had heard what had kept me hidden and silent for years and was still my best friend. She had accepted what I said. She made light of it in a way that made me feel like nothing I told her would scare her away. Stephanie was intriguing and confusing, but I had no reservations that she was loyal and trustworthy. I had given her the secret of what I feared and what had formed my life. She had the power to destroy my world by exposing my enigma, yet I felt assured she would guard it, regardless of her own doubts about its truth.
She stopped laughing and leaned over to her backpack. She pulled out a bag of chips and a bottle of soda, and offered them to me. I took a handful of chips and we sat in silence for a while as we passed the bottle back and forth. “I think you saved me.”
I looked at her strangely, smiled, and shook my head.
She smiled back. “You did. Now the hard part is going to be saving you.”
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The Color of Snow Summary
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Can a troubled young girl reenter society after living in isolation?
When a beautiful 16-year-old girl named Sophie is found sequestered in a cage-like room in a rundown house in the desolate hills of Arbon Valley, Idaho, the entire community is shocked to learn she is the legendary Callidora--a baby girl who was kidnapped from her crib almost seventeen years ago and canonized in missing posters with portraits of what the fabled girl might resemble. Authorities soon learn that the cage was there to protect people from Sophie, because her biological father believes she is cursed.
Sophie is discovered after the man she knows as Papa, shoots and injures Damien, a young man who is trying to rescue her. Now, unsocialized and thrust into the world, and into a family she has never met, Sophie must decide whether she should accept her Papa’s claims that she is cursed and he was only trying to protect others, or trust the new people in her life who have their own agendas. Guided by a wise cousin, Sophie realizes that her most heartbreaking challenge is to decide if her love for Damien will destroy him like her Papa claims, or free her from past demons that haunt her mind.
Brenda Stanley's Bio:
Brenda Stanley is the former news anchor at her NBC affiliate KPVI in Eastern Iadho. Her writing has been recognized by the Scripps Howard Foundation, the Hearst Journalism Awards, the Idaho Press Club and the Society for Professional Journalists. She is a graduate of Dixie College in St. George, Utah, and the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. Brenda lived for two years in Ballard, Utah, within the Fort Duchesne reservation where the novel is set. She and her husband live on a small ranch near the Snake River with their horses and dogs.
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The Color of Snow has been described as dark or mysterious. I feel most of my writing fits this description because I enjoy looking at the strange and unusual things in life. My novel will definitely make some people uncomfortable. I like to look at situations and issues and try to figure out how people will react. For years I was a crime reporter, so I enjoy investigating stories and learning about the parts of life most people try to hide. When I wrote The Color of Snow, I was working on a story about a young girl who went missing years ago and has never been found. I started thinking about what would happen if she were to suddenly show up now. I loved putting myself in Sophie’s shoes and seeing things for the first time.
Sophie’s relationship with Damien is both intense and tempered. Her father has raised her to believe that she will destroy anyone who truly loves her, so she is torn between her love for Damien and her fear of causing him harm.
The story changes between what is going on with Sophie and what happened in her parent’s past that brought her to where she is. I wanted readers to experience the often isolated feeling of living in a vast rural area, but also the mental confinement of a small town.
Mental illness, teen pregnancy, religious intolerance, and racism are all big parts of The Color of Snow. I like my characters to face challenges and see them grow from them. It is not only the conflicts with the other characters that keeps the story going, but also those within the person’s own mind.
I wanted Sophie to be unusually beautiful so that people treated her strangely and therefore made her feel even more alien when she is first discovered. She has transformed from a tragic kidnapping victim to a mythical ghost from the past and this makes her transition into her new life even more difficult.
My ties to the Mormon Church go back to my great-great grandparents. I was raised in the teachings of the Mormon religion and even though I am no longer a member, I have many friends and family who are still very active in the church. My descriptions of the Mormon culture are how I view it and how I feel someone who has never been exposed to it might see it. I think there are a lot of people who are curious about the Mormon religion and have misconceptions. I feel I’ve been both candid and fair in my portrayal.
The Color of Snow Excerpt
Malad, Idaho, early spring 2009
Spring had spread across the fields and pastures. Cottonwood trees fluttered their newly sprouted greenery, and purple asters covered the rolling hills. The snow had melted and Stephanie and I started taking the horses on rides up the valley. It was incredibly liberating to roam and wander without fear.
There was a trail leading from the foothills up into the forest, and once we were in the midst of the wild spruce and lofty pines, the noises of cars and life around the ranch disappeared. The sound of hooves on early spring dirt was solid and steady. The breeze was still crisp, but the sun reached down and warmed our shoulders. For almost an hour we rode in silence. We both were in awe of the day and the splendor that was ours alone to enjoy.
At the top of the hill, the trail opened up to a small plateau and a blue mountain lake. I gasped at the incredible beauty of it. I smiled at Stephanie and she nodded in acknowledgement. Her eyes were bright and her freckles seemed to glow in the sunshine. The horse she rode was a black mare my grandfather was going to sell. Stephanie loved the white diamond-shaped patch on her forehead, and scolded him for even thinking about selling Black Bean. My horse was an old buckskin gelding named Clyde. He lumbered along and rarely went faster than a slow trot, but for a beginner like me he was perfect.
Stephanie turned her horse down the hill and toward the lake. “Do you want to go swimming?” she called back.
“I don’t know how,” I answered.
She giggled as she reached the water’s edge. “You don’t need to. The horses do it all.” Her hair was pulled into two short pigtails and they bounced with each step of her horse.
I waited and watched as she urged Black Bean into the water and out into the lake. As the water got deeper, the splashes became larger around its legs as it pushed forward, and soon they were floating along smoothly.
“Come on!” she yelled, waving me in. She had her legs pulled up on the sides, trying to avoid getting completely soaked. They were pale and freckled like her face, and seemed to make up most of her body. Stephanie wasn’t much taller than I, but her legs and arms were long and made her look gangly and even thinner than she was. She waved so hard she almost fell off the horse, and started laughing as she steadied herself.
It looked like fun, but I was terrified. The water was immense and dark. The largest amount of water I had ever been in was my own bathtub. I wondered what would happen if I fell off in the middle. Stephanie and Black Bean were in the center of the lake and they looked like a serene harmonious duo.
I gave Clyde a slight nudge and he walked to the shoreline. The water lapped as I waited and watched Stephanie continue to beckon. She looked like she was having a marvelous time and wasn’t worried in the least. I patted Clyde and prodded him with the heels of my sneakers. He seemed unconcerned as he clopped loudly into the water. I took a deep breath and told myself to keep looking forward and it would be okay. Clyde had no hesitation, which helped ease my fear.
The sun beat down on us and made splashes of water light up as Clyde moved forward into the water. The splatters that hit my exposed skin were freezing and made me realize how cold it would be if I did fall in. I fixed my eyes on the opposite shoreline and put my faith in Clyde. The horse had a wide back, and as we got deeper into the lake, I curled my legs back the way Stephanie did and clung to his mane. We were riding bareback that day, because Stephanie didn’t want to spend time putting on saddles.
I held my breath as we got further away from the shore and closer to the very center of the lake. At one point I looked down, staring deep into the abyss. There was no bottom, and I felt my stomach turn, knowing I would surely die if I left Clyde’s back.
As the horse rhythmically propelled us along, I began to feel a sense of buoyancy and freedom. When we crossed the center point and were on our way to the other shore, my confidence turned to elation. I started to breathe again and smiled at what I had accomplished. I sat up straight, closed my eyes and imagined I was flying, gliding along on my winged unicorn, soaring through clouds and racing the wind. When I opened my eyes, I giggled at my foolish imagination, but couldn’t help beaming at what an amazing adventure it was.
When the horse’s hooves made contact with the lake bottom and we started to emerge from the water, I wanted to burst from relief and joy. “That was the most wonderful thing ever!”
Stephanie was sitting on a large tree limb that had fallen while her horse munched on fresh new grass beside her. “I didn’t think you’d do it. I’m proud of you.”
“It was so scary, but then it was so amazing.”
“I’m glad you liked it, because that’s how we’re getting back.”
We led the horses to a shaded area and tied them loosely to a tree so they could rest and graze. Stephanie leaned back against a tree and looked out at the incredible view of mountain-lined lake and clear blue sky.
“This is where I go when I can’t stand life anymore. The first time I came here, I tried to kill myself. I stole my dad’s gun and had it all planned out. Then I sat here and looked around at all this and thought...who would care? I’m nothing and no one would miss me, so why do it? That’s when I decided to live for me. I do what makes me happy now and screw the rest of them.”
“You were going to kill yourself. Why?”
Stephanie took a deep, labored sigh. “I didn’t see the point in living. My mom was dead and my dad married that crazy bitch.” She shrugged. “I don’t really fit in anywhere. Even at school, the kids hate me.”
I shook my head. “I don’t believe that. There is no reason to hate you.”
Stephanie scoffed. “You say that because you don’t know any better. You don’t know what normal is. That’s why we get along. I’m a freak, but you’ve never had any friends, so you don’t know how weird I am.” She smiled.
“I’ve had friends,” I protested.
“Really? I thought you were kept alone at that house all the time.”
I nodded.
Stephanie raised an eyebrow. “So, did your dad kidnap kids and bring them home for you play with?”
My eyes went large, but then Stephanie laughed and I realized she was joking. I paused for a moment, trying to pick my words carefully.
“Don’t worry about me telling anyone. Remember, we’re best friends, so you should be able to tell me anything. I’ve never told anyone that I was going to kill myself.”
I looked at her with a mixture of love and concern. “I had two friends. I met them when I was eleven. Their mother worked with my father and they came to our house one day. That’s how they knew I lived there. They lived over the hill from us and they came over while Papa was at work and we played in my yard.” I stopped and smiled at the memory.
“You had to hide them from your father. Why?”
“He was afraid that if people knew I was home alone all day, they would come and take me away.”
“Didn’t it drive you crazy to be alone all the time?”
I shrugged. “Not really. When I met Donny and Damien I was much happier. I didn’t know what it was like to have friends before I met them, so I didn’t realize what I was missing.”
She studied me. “Isn’t Damien the kid your dad shot? Why’d he shoot him? Did he catch him with you?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you just tell him that you two were friends and that it was no big deal?"
“I tried to convince him, but...there is a lot you don’t understand.”
Stephanie gave me a disappointed curl of her lip. “And I won’t be able to understand if you keep everything a secret.”
I stayed silent.
“Sophie, I’ve already told you something that I never told anyone. I trust you because we’re friends. That is what friends do. They trust each other and they tell each other things. Do you think I won’t believe you?”
“No, it’s not that. And I do trust you, but there are things that will sound strange, and I don’t want you to think I’m a monster.”
She laughed. “You are the opposite of a monster. You’re friendly and kind. People would love to be near you.”
I ran the word through my head several times. I wondered if the statement had validity, because if it did, it explained some of the things Papa told me that seemed unimaginable.
“So, what is this big dark secret? You say your father didn’t kidnap you or treat you badly, so why did he keep you locked up in that house hidden away from the world?”
I thought it was inconceivable that the two of us were best friends. Stephanie had just confessed that she had almost ended her life and now I was about to tell her how I had ended my mother’s and one of my friends. My fears of being ostracized and treated like a disease were still at the surface, but the thought of releasing some of the weight with a person I trusted was like having a balloon inflating inside me ready to burst. I felt my secret was slowly killing me, and the only way I could get relief was to talk about it. I was still scared that once it was out, it would sprout wings and fly out of control.
“I’ll tell you, but you have to swear you’ll never tell anyone else.”
“I swear. I swear on my stepmother’s grave,” she giggled.
I looked at her, worried that she wasn’t in the right mind frame to hear what I had to say. My face must have showed it, because Stephanie quickly lost her smile and leaned forward. She put her hand on my shoulder. “God, Soph, I was just kidding. You look like I just cursed her dead.”
I gasped and put my hand to my mouth. I felt an icy chill go down my back and my heart jumped.
“What?” she asked.
“It’s what you said. That is why I had to hide all those years.”
“What I said? How could that be? I wasn’t even around.”
I was speechless and stunned. Just hearing the word made me dizzy. I put my face in my hands and rocked back and forth, trying to steady my nerves and my thoughts.
“Sophie, what’s wrong with you? You’re not making any sense. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
I stopped rocking, and looked up at her. “I’m so afraid to say anything.”
“You have no reason to be afraid. I’m not going to tell anyone. You’re my only friend!” She smiled. “You’ll go crazy if you keep it all inside.”
“But what if you don’t want to be friends after I tell you?”
“That’s crazy.” She sat up on her knees and squared her body to mine. She held my shoulders and made me look at her. “Here, think about this. Imagine I’m the one telling you this big secret. If that were the case, would we still be friends? Sophie?”
I realized I had drifted off. I blinked as I came back and smiled. I had no reservations about how I would react if she were the one telling it. Stephanie would be my friend regardless of her secrets and I knew that she felt the same. So with the same strength I had mustered to lead my horse into a deep dark lake, I pushed forward and decided to reveal what had shaped my entire life. It would either knock me into a cold, deep abyss, or I would cross it and end up gaining the confidence I needed to take even more risks in my life. I was willing to take that chance. I suddenly realized that I had no idea where to start. It struck me as funny, and I stopped and smiled to myself.
“You’re a tease!” she yelled. “Come on, out with it.”
“I don’t know where to start. There is so much to tell.”
She leaned back against the tree and put her arms behind her head. “We have all day. They don’t expect us until dinner and I brought food in my backpack. Spill it!”
I took a deep breath. “There is something terrible that happened a long time ago and it’s the reason Papa and I had to hide all those years.”
“Did he kill someone?” she asked, both horrified and intrigued.
“No,” I said firmly. “It’s not something we did, but something that was done to us.”
Stephanie lowered an eyebrow. “What?”
“A curse.”
Her eyes shot wide open, but she gave me a sideways grin. “A curse?”
“Yes. We had to hide away because Papa says we are a threat to the people who love us.”
She cocked her head to the side. “How?”
I looked at the ground and felt my face flush. “I’m not sure, but some of them have died.”
Stephanie reeled back. “They died? How?”
I shrugged. “Papa says it’s the reason my mother died and Donny. He says we’re the reason.”
Stephanie shook her head. “You said he didn’t kill anyone.”
“It’s not us. It’s the curse that kills them.”
“How did they die?”
“Donny died when a dirt cave collapsed on him.” I felt a heavy lump in my stomach. “I don’t know how my mother died. Papa never talks about it.”
“Sounds to me like your father gave you a line to keep you in line. There is no such thing as a curse.”
I felt rejected and embarrassed. It had taken every ounce of trust I could muster to tell her and now she brushed it off. “Yes there is.”
She furrowed her brows. “Did you push that kid into the cave?”
I shook my head. “No!”
Stephanie sat up straight. “Do you think that other kid was shot because of this curse, too?”
I lowered my eyes. “Yes.”
She sat in silence, looking as if she was deep in thought. Several times she began to talk and then stopped. She stood up and walked in a circle. “That doesn’t make sense. If you say the curse kills people who love you, then why am I still alive? And what about your grandparents? Why aren’t we all dead?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes it scares me. I don’t want to hurt people, but I don’t want to be alone. Papa was trying to explain it, but then we got caught. I’ve tried to figure it out, but without Papa, I can’t. There’s more to it, and he’s the only one who knows.”
“Who put the curse on you?” I shrugged.
“Papa said it was done a long time ago, before I was born.”
Stephanie lowered her brow. “If you weren’t even born, why would anyone want to curse you?”
“It was placed on our family for something Papa did. He said it was done out of anger. He said he didn’t believe it at first, but when my mother was killed, he knew we had to hide or more bad things would happen. He said if anyone found out about the curse, I would be taken away. He hid us away for our own good. He didn’t want the curse to hurt anyone else. I didn’t know about it until after Donny died. Papa felt it was his fault for not warning me sooner.”
Stephanie looked at me in awe. She hadn’t moved a muscle or changed her facial expression in the slightest, as though my story had struck her dumb. I started feeling awkward and worried that I had said too much, but before regret set in, she took a seat beside me and put an arm around my shoulder. “So, what are you going to do? If you think you’re cursed and you’re putting other people at risk, how are you going to live?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“That’s crazy, Sophie. There is no such thing. I think he told you that just to keep you from running off. He knew that if people saw you they’d find out who you were. That would threaten him.” She scratched her head; pulling at the hair in one of her pigtails, making it crooked. “He makes it sound very convincing.” She sat back with a start. “He must have seen the newspaper article that ran the sketch. That’s why he took all the mirrors out of your house. He didn’t want you to discover who you really are. On the other hand, this is so strange, because if he really thought you were cursed, a lot of this stuff he did makes sense. That’s totally wild.”
I thought about the mirrors. I remembered the expression on Damien’s face when he realized all the mirrors in my house had been taken down or destroyed. I still had aversions to them, and rarely gave in to the temptation. They were everywhere at my grandparents’ home, but I did my best to avoid them, knowing that God watched and judged what I did.
“When I tell you that I love you, does it scare you?” she asked.
I contemplated her question, knowing I had thought about it many times before. “It used to, but for some reason I’m not worried anymore.”
“I think I know why.”
“Tell me.”
“Sophie, I don’t believe in curses or superstitions. I think the more you’re out in the normal world, you’ll realize all the stuff you’ve been told is not real. There is no such thing. All this stuff you father told you isn’t the truth. You’re not cursed.”
What she said completely deflated me. I had trusted her with my deepest, darkest realities and now she said that what I harbored and lived with my entire life was just a lie.
“You’ll never be happy if you live in fear like this. You’ll have an awful life if you never let anyone love you. I think it’s terrible what he did. He’s the one that’s cursed you with stupid superstitions. It’s not real. There is no such thing as a curse.”
I was shocked at what she said and felt the need to scoot away, fearing God would strike her down with a bolt of lightning. “You don’t believe in God?”
“No. And I don’t believe that how I live my life will determine how I spend my death. I believe that you do the right things for this life, not for some afterlife. Everyone around here is so worried about what’s going to happen to them when they die. It’s stupid. When my mom died, people actually told me that God needed her in heaven and that’s why he took her home.” She gave a disgusted smirk. “Why would God take someone’s mother away? My mom died because cancer cells overtook her body. It had nothing to do with God, and it had nothing to do with curses or prayers or any other hocus-pocus that everyone tries to fill your head with.”
I was still uneasy.
“You were worried about telling me your secret because you thought I would be afraid of you. And it turns out, you should be afraid of me.”
“Why?”
“Because I am a bad influence. That’s why I’m not allowed at the school. I asked questions and talked about things that made everyone nervous. The other kids told their parents that I didn’t believe in God and that I attacked their precious religion. That’s the reason I no longer go to school.” She smiled and pulled me close. “I’m worse than you. You may lure them in with your beauty and then kill them off, but I threaten their beliefs and their chances at eternal life. We make quite a pair.”
Being close to her was a comfort, even though I was still concerned about what she said. I cared about her and felt her statements against God would come back to haunt her.
“I know you aren’t just going to believe everything I say. It’s all been drilled into your head for so long, it will be hard to change what you believe, but I want to show you something that will hopefully help you get over all this. We’re going to do an experiment so I can prove that there is no such thing as a curse.”
I didn’t like the idea and was apprehensive.
“You don’t have a choice,” she said, with a defiant lift of her eyebrow. “You are my best friend, my only friend in this world. I love you as if you were my sister. Nothing fatal has happened to me yet and nothing will. I’ll prove to you that you are not cursed.”
I felt funny having her tempt fate for me.
“I was planning on killing myself anyway, so this isn’t a big sacrifice. Quit looking like that,” she chided. Stephanie put her finger to her mouth and feigned deep deliberation. “Hmm. If you have the power to kill people, then let’s work on how we can use it to bump off my stepmother!” She fell back against the soft forest floor in wicked laughter.
“Stephanie!”
She giggled with delight.
I couldn’t help but smile, even though she had made me out as toxic. She had heard what had kept me hidden and silent for years and was still my best friend. She had accepted what I said. She made light of it in a way that made me feel like nothing I told her would scare her away. Stephanie was intriguing and confusing, but I had no reservations that she was loyal and trustworthy. I had given her the secret of what I feared and what had formed my life. She had the power to destroy my world by exposing my enigma, yet I felt assured she would guard it, regardless of her own doubts about its truth.
She stopped laughing and leaned over to her backpack. She pulled out a bag of chips and a bottle of soda, and offered them to me. I took a handful of chips and we sat in silence for a while as we passed the bottle back and forth. “I think you saved me.”
I looked at her strangely, smiled, and shook my head.
She smiled back. “You did. Now the hard part is going to be saving you.”
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The Color of Snow Summary
[image error]
Can a troubled young girl reenter society after living in isolation?
When a beautiful 16-year-old girl named Sophie is found sequestered in a cage-like room in a rundown house in the desolate hills of Arbon Valley, Idaho, the entire community is shocked to learn she is the legendary Callidora--a baby girl who was kidnapped from her crib almost seventeen years ago and canonized in missing posters with portraits of what the fabled girl might resemble. Authorities soon learn that the cage was there to protect people from Sophie, because her biological father believes she is cursed.
Sophie is discovered after the man she knows as Papa, shoots and injures Damien, a young man who is trying to rescue her. Now, unsocialized and thrust into the world, and into a family she has never met, Sophie must decide whether she should accept her Papa’s claims that she is cursed and he was only trying to protect others, or trust the new people in her life who have their own agendas. Guided by a wise cousin, Sophie realizes that her most heartbreaking challenge is to decide if her love for Damien will destroy him like her Papa claims, or free her from past demons that haunt her mind.
Brenda Stanley's Bio:
Brenda Stanley is the former news anchor at her NBC affiliate KPVI in Eastern Iadho. Her writing has been recognized by the Scripps Howard Foundation, the Hearst Journalism Awards, the Idaho Press Club and the Society for Professional Journalists. She is a graduate of Dixie College in St. George, Utah, and the University of Utah in Salt Lake City. Brenda lived for two years in Ballard, Utah, within the Fort Duchesne reservation where the novel is set. She and her husband live on a small ranch near the Snake River with their horses and dogs.
eBook
ISBN: 9780983741893
ISBN: 9781476172309
Pages: 413
Release: June 1, 2012
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August 12, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, JOANNE TROPPELLO
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR OF, "BELLA LUCIA" AND MANY OTHER NOVELS, JOANNE TROPPELLO
[image error]
Joanne Troppello is an author of romantic suspense novels. She has published three books: Shadowed Remembrances, Mr. Shipley’s Governess and Bella Lucia. Currently, she is working on her new writing project, The Paradise Redeemed Series. Joanne is married and loves spending time with her husband and family. She enjoys interacting with readers at The Mustard Seed Blog.
Author Contact Links
Joanne's Blog: The Mustard Seed
Find Joanne on Facebook
Find Joanne on Twitter
Brand your name, don’t promote your book
That’s a strong statement, I know, but I wanted to capture your attention.
Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, Dean Koontz, Nora Roberts, Michael Crichton, James Patterson, Anne Rice, Mary Higgins Clark…we all know those names or at least a good portion of them. So what’s my point? Just that…we know their names; we don’t all remember the names of their books.
Your fans are not going to always be able to spout off the titles of all your books, but if they like your work and if you’ve become popular, they will remember your name. If they know your name, they can easily find you online or in the bookstores. When they find your website, then they can look up your books. When they go to the bookstores, they can find your specific titles.
As an author, hopefully you will continually be writing more books. Your readers may not always know your current works, but they’ll keep track of what you’re working on and when your new releases come out. So, how do you (and I), as up and coming authors waiting for the day you’ll be on the best seller lists, brand your name and market yourselves as authors?
That question being put out there, you still, of course, need to work hard on marketing each of your books, but the way to really become popular is to market your name.
One of the best ways to brand yourself is to have a website. You always need to have an online presence; that includes branding yourself in the social media networks. Another good idea is that you should always try to write articles in your trade, and post them in free online writing networks. Usually, you just need to register and then you can begin posting articles; sometimes certain sites will need to review your articles first. These sites will allow readers to link to your profile, where they can follow a link to your website. Other online article posting sites allow you to list a byline with a direct link to your website.
You must remember that you are your greatest fan and you need to take advantage of that fact and promote yourself wherever you go. Of course, some people may feel this is taking you down to ego-land, but there are ways to promote yourself and your work without seeming to be overbearing. I don’t usually like to be in the center of attention, but as my husband mentioned the other day, I’m an author now and I’d better get used to it.
Join writers groups and other writing associations and always attach your byline in everything that you write and have your “elevator speech” prepared and ready to use at all times. So what’s an elevator speech? It’s a short pitch on something you’re trying to market and since you’re trying to market yourself, be prepared to tell people that you are an author and when your next book is going to be released. Be ready to hand out a business card or at least be able to give out your website.
Blogging is another way to brand your name. You always want your readers, potential readers and the press to go to your website. You can do this by offering them something. How do you do that? You need to provide good content that is always updated. That’s why it’s good to have a blog directly on your website or if you have it through another online service, to at least have the blog link prominently displayed on your site. You can even create a newsletter. This will be a bit more time consuming than writing a daily or weekly blog, but it is something that you can think about as you get farther along in your writing career.
Don’t forget to keep on promoting your name. You are your biggest fan! Make your marketing count!
Currently, I’m enjoying the release of my newest book, Bella Lucia, and I’m busy making the rounds in my blog tour; however, I need to remember to take my own advice and continue branding my name each day. I’d love to hear your thoughts and what steps you’ve found helpful in your own writing career.
[image error]
Joanne Troppello is an author of romantic suspense novels. She has published three books: Shadowed Remembrances, Mr. Shipley’s Governess and Bella Lucia. Currently, she is working on her new writing project, The Paradise Redeemed Series. Joanne is married and loves spending time with her husband and family. She enjoys interacting with readers at The Mustard Seed Blog.
Author Contact Links
Joanne's Blog: The Mustard Seed
Find Joanne on Facebook
Find Joanne on Twitter
Brand your name, don’t promote your book
That’s a strong statement, I know, but I wanted to capture your attention.
Stephen King, J. K. Rowling, Dean Koontz, Nora Roberts, Michael Crichton, James Patterson, Anne Rice, Mary Higgins Clark…we all know those names or at least a good portion of them. So what’s my point? Just that…we know their names; we don’t all remember the names of their books.
Your fans are not going to always be able to spout off the titles of all your books, but if they like your work and if you’ve become popular, they will remember your name. If they know your name, they can easily find you online or in the bookstores. When they find your website, then they can look up your books. When they go to the bookstores, they can find your specific titles.
As an author, hopefully you will continually be writing more books. Your readers may not always know your current works, but they’ll keep track of what you’re working on and when your new releases come out. So, how do you (and I), as up and coming authors waiting for the day you’ll be on the best seller lists, brand your name and market yourselves as authors?
That question being put out there, you still, of course, need to work hard on marketing each of your books, but the way to really become popular is to market your name.
One of the best ways to brand yourself is to have a website. You always need to have an online presence; that includes branding yourself in the social media networks. Another good idea is that you should always try to write articles in your trade, and post them in free online writing networks. Usually, you just need to register and then you can begin posting articles; sometimes certain sites will need to review your articles first. These sites will allow readers to link to your profile, where they can follow a link to your website. Other online article posting sites allow you to list a byline with a direct link to your website.
You must remember that you are your greatest fan and you need to take advantage of that fact and promote yourself wherever you go. Of course, some people may feel this is taking you down to ego-land, but there are ways to promote yourself and your work without seeming to be overbearing. I don’t usually like to be in the center of attention, but as my husband mentioned the other day, I’m an author now and I’d better get used to it.
Join writers groups and other writing associations and always attach your byline in everything that you write and have your “elevator speech” prepared and ready to use at all times. So what’s an elevator speech? It’s a short pitch on something you’re trying to market and since you’re trying to market yourself, be prepared to tell people that you are an author and when your next book is going to be released. Be ready to hand out a business card or at least be able to give out your website.
Blogging is another way to brand your name. You always want your readers, potential readers and the press to go to your website. You can do this by offering them something. How do you do that? You need to provide good content that is always updated. That’s why it’s good to have a blog directly on your website or if you have it through another online service, to at least have the blog link prominently displayed on your site. You can even create a newsletter. This will be a bit more time consuming than writing a daily or weekly blog, but it is something that you can think about as you get farther along in your writing career.
Don’t forget to keep on promoting your name. You are your biggest fan! Make your marketing count!
Currently, I’m enjoying the release of my newest book, Bella Lucia, and I’m busy making the rounds in my blog tour; however, I need to remember to take my own advice and continue branding my name each day. I’d love to hear your thoughts and what steps you’ve found helpful in your own writing career.
August 11, 2012
GUEST POST WITH AUTHOR, CHARLES D. MARTIN
Author’s Perspective
[image error]
While I have written other books, this was my first venture into the fiction space. I was fortunate to have excellent advice, an outstanding book designer and good technical support from copy editors/production proofers (although I must admit that the latter was like going through a 12-hour colonoscopy). I have really enjoyed the process; the ability to create characters, to take them through a journey of life’s experiences & adventures and, in the process, explore some aspect on the human condition or of the human experience. The encounters between men and women are an especially rich area for our entertainment, enlightenment and amusement.
What is this book about?
Simply stated it is about: audacious women taking on powerful men … and winning.
My wife and I are art collectors. In our collection is a set of six etchings by Picasso of the Greek comedy, Lysistrada (441 B.C.). It is an early comment on the power that women have over men. To end the war between Athens and Sparta the women of the two city-states ban together to deny men sexual pleasures until they stop fighting.
Down through the ages writers have created stories about this aspect of the human experience. Delilah rendered Samson powerless; the enchantress, Kirke, lured Greek sailors on the rocks in Homer’s Odyssey; Cleopatra possessed Mark Anthony. And so, the story continues in our every day lives.
The dynamics, the interplay, between men and women is one of the most fascinating aspects of the human condition. For me it was enjoyable to visit this aspect of life, perhaps exaggerated by the contrast between an audacious female (Nadia my leading character), and the powerful men she encounters. In Nadia we have a fragile feline creature, seemingly easy prey for the ever-powerful alpha males … but stealth-like she has a sting like a diamond-back rattler.
The genders, male and female, are so different. It is enjoyable and enlightening to think about the unique attributes of each and how they interact with each other. All of us males are intrigued philosophically with what we observe in the potency of women’s power over us and how they employ those powers. Certainly, women have the wisdom to wield their powers in a clandestine manner. Women are not overt; they are subtle and intuitive in how they manipulate events to suit their goals. Men are obvious; superficial; objective in their thinking patterns … what you see is what you get. There is no mystery in men’s behavior; there is a great deal in women’s.
Mother Nature made women smaller in stature than men. It gave men additional size, strength and the aggressive behavior traits to be good hunters. Throughout history their physical superiority has put men in a position of dominance. Women were dependent on them as the provider in a family unit. Thus, men have had the ability to force their will upon women. In the modern era, all that has changed. Yet, at the end of the day, what still drives female and male behavior is very primal and unchanging. In my novel, I chose to celebrate “woman power” in an amusing, adventurous way. Furthermore, through Olga’s views we look into this aspect of the human condition in a philosophical context.
In constructing Nadia’s character, I looked into the dark world of Russian orphanages. My research took me into that world through the eyes of a friend that visited many of those orphanages in the course of a three-week church mission to Russia. I was dismayed by what I learned. They are desperate places as described in the novel. Children in these institutions have little hope in life. Life on the streets for the gypsy children is even worst. With such a terrible beginning to her life, I chose to give her a genetic gift; very high intelligence. This becomes a big asset to her when she escapes from her dreadful circumstances. However, while her “IQ” is high, her “EQ” (emotional quotient) is low; with her early life deprivation from affection, family or young love, she struggles with her emotional development.
My inspiration for Olga’s character came from two sources. Firstly, a few years ago, while attending a State dinner at the US Embassy in Madrid, I met Aline Griffith (The Spy Wore Red, 1987) a fascinating woman that had been a CIA agent behind enemy lines during WWII. Her life story was amazing. Then, in August, 2011 just as I was beginning to write the novel, I read about the real life story of Nancy Wake, an agent in the British Special Operations forces during WWII. Her story is also remarkable and has been posted elsewhere on this website.
In the novel, the story takes us through Nadia’s encounters with men; her assignments. We experience the suspense of these missions and see her win through her finesse and feline prowess. All this is presented against a landscape of the highlife of her male “targets” (great destination hotels, grand villas and big yachts that provide the reader with a vicarious travel experience to places that they may never see). Readers also learn about a number of interesting things (the America’s Cup, Costa Smeralda, the emerging threat of a cyber-attack on the US and many other interesting things).
A basic aspect of the encounter between men and women is in their sexual interaction. On the advice of my lady (preview) readers, I have added some spicy scenes. These are not your ordinary “soap opera” type encounters. I have attempted to add sexual tension and to orchestrate something unusual between the characters. Nowhere is this more interesting than in the scene between Russoff and Nadia. She deeply fears him and is not immediately attracted to him. Yet, his masculine ruggedness and power inflame an unexpected carnal desire and nature takes its course. Mixing these contradicting emotions, fear and desire, makes for memorable scene.
Synopsis
BOOK DETAILS
Hardcover, $23.95
ISBN: 978-0-9851984-0-4
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9851984-2-8
Fiction/Suspense, 246 pages
Chaney-Hall Publishing Group
August 2012
Provocateur explores that aspect of the human experience that surrounds the age-old contest
between men and women. It is the story of Nadia, a young Russian woman who comes to
America through a mail-order-bride program. She becomes employed in an enterprise operated
by an ex-CIA agent named Olga, whose agency, through clever missions, extracts large amounts
of money from wealthy men.
In her “assignments” Nadia must get the best of powerful men that are at the top of the male
order.
Nadia, born an orphan, rises out of a life of poverty and despair, where she had no experience
with affection, to face her struggles and take on the challenges of her “profession.” She is a
complex, enigmatic woman of superior intelligence who must “win” through her finesse and
feminine prowess.
AUTHOR WEBSITE: www.ProvocateurBook.com
FACEBOOK: Provocateur-Book
TWITTER: @ProvocateurBook
GOODREADS: Charles_D_Martin
Charles D. Martin
Author Biography
“I love writing about strong, intelligent, independent women … they are
sexy and fun.”
Charles D. Martin grew up in a small Ohio town. His parents
were poor, but by working two jobs, he was able to put himself
through college – he studied 5 majors (physics, mathematics,
chemistry, electrical engineering and business) at Ohio State
University.
Martin has been fortunate to enjoy much success in life. He had a
distinguished career in venture capital and private equity,
founding two highly successful investment firms that he
managed during the decades of the 1980s and 1990s. Currently he runs a hedge fund, Mont
Pelerin Capital, LLC, and serves on the investment committees of prominent universities.
Martin has extensive background in finance and technology, and has travelled to the exotic
locations featured in his debut novel Provocateur (August 2012). However, the novel itself
is more about the intrigue in the story and the alpha female that takes on dominant males and
conquers them.
Martin lives with his wife Twyla in a coastal town south of Los Angeles, California.
AUTHOR WEBSITE: www.ProvocateurBook.com
FACEBOOK: Provocateur-Book
TWITTER: @ProvocateurBook
GOODREADS: Charles_D_Martin
[image error]
While I have written other books, this was my first venture into the fiction space. I was fortunate to have excellent advice, an outstanding book designer and good technical support from copy editors/production proofers (although I must admit that the latter was like going through a 12-hour colonoscopy). I have really enjoyed the process; the ability to create characters, to take them through a journey of life’s experiences & adventures and, in the process, explore some aspect on the human condition or of the human experience. The encounters between men and women are an especially rich area for our entertainment, enlightenment and amusement.
What is this book about?
Simply stated it is about: audacious women taking on powerful men … and winning.
My wife and I are art collectors. In our collection is a set of six etchings by Picasso of the Greek comedy, Lysistrada (441 B.C.). It is an early comment on the power that women have over men. To end the war between Athens and Sparta the women of the two city-states ban together to deny men sexual pleasures until they stop fighting.
Down through the ages writers have created stories about this aspect of the human experience. Delilah rendered Samson powerless; the enchantress, Kirke, lured Greek sailors on the rocks in Homer’s Odyssey; Cleopatra possessed Mark Anthony. And so, the story continues in our every day lives.
The dynamics, the interplay, between men and women is one of the most fascinating aspects of the human condition. For me it was enjoyable to visit this aspect of life, perhaps exaggerated by the contrast between an audacious female (Nadia my leading character), and the powerful men she encounters. In Nadia we have a fragile feline creature, seemingly easy prey for the ever-powerful alpha males … but stealth-like she has a sting like a diamond-back rattler.
The genders, male and female, are so different. It is enjoyable and enlightening to think about the unique attributes of each and how they interact with each other. All of us males are intrigued philosophically with what we observe in the potency of women’s power over us and how they employ those powers. Certainly, women have the wisdom to wield their powers in a clandestine manner. Women are not overt; they are subtle and intuitive in how they manipulate events to suit their goals. Men are obvious; superficial; objective in their thinking patterns … what you see is what you get. There is no mystery in men’s behavior; there is a great deal in women’s.
Mother Nature made women smaller in stature than men. It gave men additional size, strength and the aggressive behavior traits to be good hunters. Throughout history their physical superiority has put men in a position of dominance. Women were dependent on them as the provider in a family unit. Thus, men have had the ability to force their will upon women. In the modern era, all that has changed. Yet, at the end of the day, what still drives female and male behavior is very primal and unchanging. In my novel, I chose to celebrate “woman power” in an amusing, adventurous way. Furthermore, through Olga’s views we look into this aspect of the human condition in a philosophical context.
In constructing Nadia’s character, I looked into the dark world of Russian orphanages. My research took me into that world through the eyes of a friend that visited many of those orphanages in the course of a three-week church mission to Russia. I was dismayed by what I learned. They are desperate places as described in the novel. Children in these institutions have little hope in life. Life on the streets for the gypsy children is even worst. With such a terrible beginning to her life, I chose to give her a genetic gift; very high intelligence. This becomes a big asset to her when she escapes from her dreadful circumstances. However, while her “IQ” is high, her “EQ” (emotional quotient) is low; with her early life deprivation from affection, family or young love, she struggles with her emotional development.
My inspiration for Olga’s character came from two sources. Firstly, a few years ago, while attending a State dinner at the US Embassy in Madrid, I met Aline Griffith (The Spy Wore Red, 1987) a fascinating woman that had been a CIA agent behind enemy lines during WWII. Her life story was amazing. Then, in August, 2011 just as I was beginning to write the novel, I read about the real life story of Nancy Wake, an agent in the British Special Operations forces during WWII. Her story is also remarkable and has been posted elsewhere on this website.
In the novel, the story takes us through Nadia’s encounters with men; her assignments. We experience the suspense of these missions and see her win through her finesse and feline prowess. All this is presented against a landscape of the highlife of her male “targets” (great destination hotels, grand villas and big yachts that provide the reader with a vicarious travel experience to places that they may never see). Readers also learn about a number of interesting things (the America’s Cup, Costa Smeralda, the emerging threat of a cyber-attack on the US and many other interesting things).
A basic aspect of the encounter between men and women is in their sexual interaction. On the advice of my lady (preview) readers, I have added some spicy scenes. These are not your ordinary “soap opera” type encounters. I have attempted to add sexual tension and to orchestrate something unusual between the characters. Nowhere is this more interesting than in the scene between Russoff and Nadia. She deeply fears him and is not immediately attracted to him. Yet, his masculine ruggedness and power inflame an unexpected carnal desire and nature takes its course. Mixing these contradicting emotions, fear and desire, makes for memorable scene.
Synopsis
BOOK DETAILS
Hardcover, $23.95
ISBN: 978-0-9851984-0-4
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9851984-2-8
Fiction/Suspense, 246 pages
Chaney-Hall Publishing Group
August 2012
Provocateur explores that aspect of the human experience that surrounds the age-old contest
between men and women. It is the story of Nadia, a young Russian woman who comes to
America through a mail-order-bride program. She becomes employed in an enterprise operated
by an ex-CIA agent named Olga, whose agency, through clever missions, extracts large amounts
of money from wealthy men.
In her “assignments” Nadia must get the best of powerful men that are at the top of the male
order.
Nadia, born an orphan, rises out of a life of poverty and despair, where she had no experience
with affection, to face her struggles and take on the challenges of her “profession.” She is a
complex, enigmatic woman of superior intelligence who must “win” through her finesse and
feminine prowess.
AUTHOR WEBSITE: www.ProvocateurBook.com
FACEBOOK: Provocateur-Book
TWITTER: @ProvocateurBook
GOODREADS: Charles_D_Martin
Charles D. Martin
Author Biography
“I love writing about strong, intelligent, independent women … they are
sexy and fun.”
Charles D. Martin grew up in a small Ohio town. His parents
were poor, but by working two jobs, he was able to put himself
through college – he studied 5 majors (physics, mathematics,
chemistry, electrical engineering and business) at Ohio State
University.
Martin has been fortunate to enjoy much success in life. He had a
distinguished career in venture capital and private equity,
founding two highly successful investment firms that he
managed during the decades of the 1980s and 1990s. Currently he runs a hedge fund, Mont
Pelerin Capital, LLC, and serves on the investment committees of prominent universities.
Martin has extensive background in finance and technology, and has travelled to the exotic
locations featured in his debut novel Provocateur (August 2012). However, the novel itself
is more about the intrigue in the story and the alpha female that takes on dominant males and
conquers them.
Martin lives with his wife Twyla in a coastal town south of Los Angeles, California.
AUTHOR WEBSITE: www.ProvocateurBook.com
FACEBOOK: Provocateur-Book
TWITTER: @ProvocateurBook
GOODREADS: Charles_D_Martin
