K. R. Hill's Blog, page 3

First Day of Love

 
Making a choice to stay in love seemed the intelligent thing to do. After the election I felt my mind was dirty with anger and distorted facts.  I wanted to find peace and truth.

  I believe that love is truth, and our natural state. I needed a way to release all the anger and fear within me. How could I do that? By sitting and staying, with my thoughts, in gratitude. Nothing else for 10 minutes.

   Over and over I simply named all the things I was grateful for.
 
And during the day left the television off, the radio as well. When I spoke to someone who went negative, I changed the conversation to positive, or walked away.

  As an adult, I am the gatekeeper of my mind. I am responsible for what enters my thoughts, so I began to pay attention. It was like being on a diet. Fear and anger was the belly fat I was carrying with me.

   I found the commercials on tv and radio were either trying to sell with fear or sex. They put forth the premise that I was not good enough.

  "Ha!" I was beginning to say. Not only was I trying to stay in gratitude, but I was shifting to the mental knowing that I am good enough. And, I'm abundant.

   I don't need a blonde on my arm, or a new Lexus in my garage, or a fabulous blender, to be happy. Because, I knew, happiness is not derived from possessions. It is derived from the messages I tell myself when I have those things.

   But, you see, I am the one giving myself those messages. So why not give myself the messages all the time, or any time, or when I want to, with or without the possessions.

  It is tremendously liberating to realize that we are in control of our happiness. We can't control the things that happen to us, but we always control how we react to them.

  Try a simple experiment to show you the power that is available to you: Think about how you felt when you were with the great love of your life. Imagine holding that person again, how you smiled and laughed, how you were walking on air. Continue imagining, remembering, until you feel fantastic.

   Now, understand that you do not need person to feel that way. Simply tell yourself you feel that way, that happy, that you are so wonderful that you deserve to feel that good. Play the memory if you need to. Soon your mood is elevated, and you're in the clouds. You did it. And, you can do it any time!

   That was how I tried to flow love all day. The first day.

   Was it easy? Heck no. I wanted to go to the junk food of woe is me, of believing that getting something or someone would better my life. It was my habit. That first day I'd be in joy and love consciously, and then shift to my old habit.

   But I had made a choice, and after a short time in fear in anger, I'd set down that delicious fear, and get back to my short list of ten things I was grateful for. That was my fall back list. I went to it when I needed it. It was my bag of washed and chopped veggies I carried with me to appease the cravings.

   I even went into gratitude as I lay in bed, and let that joy carry me into dreams. And the dreams were bursting with color and love.

   I hoped the next would be easier.

 



 

TREMENDOUS RISE IN SALES!!!!

THANK YOU! to all readers who have bought my book and made it rise tremendously in sales ranking on Amazon.

What a wonderful New Year surprise! I can not thank you enough.

Due to your support, it has risen drastically in sales.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ZLY2D8M

FREE EBOOKS!

FREE BOOKS!

Hello visitors, I am giving away my books.

If you would like to read two suspense novels, or a children's picture book, to read to your child, or an automotive how-to, or a short story of life in a Jimmy Buffet Caribbean village, please visit my Amazon page at:https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B005R1MKGE

Note: Writing is hard fricking work. If you take a copy, please be honest and leave a review on Amazon. That is why the books are being given away--to get reviews.

If you don't want to leave a review, don't take a book! 

Three days of LOVE

I've been wanting to try something: Pure love, consciously flowing feelings of love to all I see and think about--for three days. A mental cleanse.

How will it change me? Will it change me?

After a particularly vile presidential election, fear seems to have overtaken me. How better to right my boat than to fill it with love?

Fear is of the imagination. Love is in the here and now, and that is where I want to be, here and now, in the light.

Years of study and reading of Lynn Grabhorn, Maryanne Williamson, Napoleon Hill, Michael Beckwith, The Law of Attraction, and The Course in Miracles, have brought me here. I feel I am at a crossroads. My truth, my road, has to be with love.

How will I do this? By not speaking or thinking negatively. If I do I will try to immediately counter with a visualization of that person or situation being in goodness and fortune. It is easy to say and consider.

But? Can I do it?

Kindle Kid's Book Creator

Kindle Kid’s Book Creator—
For authors who are not aware of this new program, Amazon has a new system to help you publish children’s books. It is called Kindle Kid’s Book Creator,https://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?docId=1002979921
It is designed to make your ebook legible and nicely displayed on all readers. To do this they have added pop-up windows for text. Your image is displayed, and when the reader is given the option to display the pop-up where you have included your text for that page.
This, to my knowledge, greatly improves the reading experience for those viewing it on a mobile device.
I had a children’s book in the unpublished section of Kindle, due to formatting problems. When I learned of KKBC, I pulled it up and decided to publish it with the new program.
I watched several tutorials on YouTube, and read a bunch about it on blogs, with tips, etc.

Then I downloaded the program, after resizing all my images, according to their guidelines. Great!
The program is very simple. So, I was frustrated when I could not make it work.
I consider myself reasonably computer literate. I can format a novel and work with Photoshop. But try as I did, for two frustrating weeks, I could not get the program to accept my text.
I was able to upload all my images as pages for the ebook. And, I loaded each pop-up with text. But, when I clicked SAVE, and checked the pop-ups, several were blank.Panic.
I watched more vids about the program, read more articles. I went to Amazon and read their recommendations.
I must have tried to create the book seven times. I typed the text into each pop-up. I copy/pasted it in—several times. Days passed. Two weeks passed. I was consumed.
Finally, I tipped my king. I gave up. I was beaten.
I will say there are certainly many authors out there who have used KKBC with great success. I would love to hear from you.

Note: By writing the above post, I got curious again and could not let the sleeping dog of my failed attempt at KKBC alone. 

I went at it from another angle. I placed my text on a blank page, in a pop-up, for each illustration. That way the viewer can look at the drawing, then go to the corresponding text. 

It worked like a charm, but I wrote the text in size 14 font, and that was a mistake. I will have to upload a new adjusted copy once it goes live. At least #18 so the reader does not have to enlarge the text on their device. Oh well. krh

A New Christmas--At Home Depot

A New ChristmasKevin R. Hill
   It was the day before Christmas and I was stuck with an eight hour shift at Home Depot, or Home Cheapo, as the laborers in the parking lot called it. I hate it. Why I was still working there.
   My Little Hitler boss, a bean pole of a lesbian, with tatts across her neck, met me and right away assigned an aisle for me to straighten. I mean I wasn’t even on the floor yet, and she found me. She must have been waiting for me.
   Man, I wanted to tell her what I thought of her. But I just nodded as she dished out my chore.
   That’s what a job is, right? They pay us to pretend we care about the work.
   I was on my knees in the tool corral, surrounded by power tools, wondering if the tweeker up the aisle was going to run out with Milwaukee combo kit, and add some excitement to my day.
   Then the man spoke behind me. “Excuse me sir, can I barrow a hammer and some nails?”
   I laughed and climbed to my feet. “I’m sorry, buddy, but we don’t—
   It was his smile that silenced me. He stood about six foot four, with wide shoulders and jailhouse tatts on his hands.
   “The guys in the Christmas tree lot gave us these pieces of wood to make a stand for our tree.” He held up two pieces of wood.
   I’ll tell you. I help a lot of people during a shift. But this guy stopped me in my tracks. His eyes had the look of a soldier after a horrible battle. This guy had nothing left, but was asking, so softly, for help.
   Beside him stood a Somoan woman and three boys. One of them carried a three foot tall tree that was dropping needles on the floor. The branches on one side were bare, but that boy held it like it was life raft.
   Something touched me. I don’t care what you say. As I looked at that family I knew that tree was what made them gather. It was something they shared. It wasn’t something to be controlled with Home Depot’s stupid rules.
   I took the wood strips from the man. “That’s a nice tree. Let’s lay it down right here and I’ll see about making a stand for it.”
   The boy looked at his father. “In the aisle?”
   The father smiled and nodded.       Several customers stood about waiting for help, but I rushed away and grabbed a framing hammer off the shelf, along with a box of nails. Home Depot could afford it.
   Most of the kids I see with family are busy laughing and playing and running around the aisles. But these three boys stood silently and watched as I crossed the planks into an X, and hammered.
   When I finished, the smallest boy, about five years old, picked up the tree and let it stand. A little smile came to his lips as he touched it.
   “We want to thank you, Sir,” said the man.
   I raised my hand to shake his.  But the man caught my forearm in a firm grip. “Thank you,” he whispered.
   The boys walked away with the tree. Behind them walked the man and woman. But they stopped before leaving the tool corral, and the woman hugged him and buried her head in his chest.

   That was why I was here, working at the Depot. 

Precious Village

I want to have my new book, Yucatan Timeout, published in time for Christmas. That means writing at a tremendous pace. I've never done that, but am curious as to whether by writing so fast I will be taking the intellect out of the equation, and allowing myself to write from the heart.

That would be wonderful, because it was a magical village I found, so full of love, where the telephone wires crackled in the rain, and families, holding toddlers, strolled the sandy square in the evening.

There are so many precious stories I witnessed: The new Pizzeria, where the pizza always tasted of mold, and the friends who, rushing into Cancun to sell time-share, paused for the morning ritual of cracking an egg into their car radiator to plug leaks. I remember how their wise old parrot would call to anyone who knocked on their door, and greet them in the woman's voice. "Come on in," it would say, with a perfect Texas drawl. 

I should add a note to parrot owners: A parrot is a recording device. Knowing that, it is best to not have sex where the bird can hear, or you may be surprised by what it repeats at dinner parties!

Beyond the simple everyday life, I am trying to tell a story about how I put my life back together after a divorce. If I can show the way, with love and truth, of how I used meditation and forgiveness to rebuild, show how walking those simple streets, with the Caribbean on one side, the jungle on the other, allowed me to journey inward, without city distractions, then I will truly be a writer.

MURDER, COOKING AND SEDUCTION IN CANCUN!!

I'm giving away a free ebook!

If you'd like a copy, follow the link to Amazon and download your book.




https://giveaway.amazon.com/p/c84bdc410bef588b

If you miss out on that giveaway, try this one:

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"Oh, and as always, writers survive by getting reviews that help other customers make up their mind about our work. Please be considerate and post a quick review on Amazon."


Review here:                             https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00ZLY2D8M/ref=cm_cr_ryp_prd_ttl_sol_0

Crazy Trump on Danish Bus

I had to post this video. I hope you get a good laugh.

https://media.giphy.com/media/3oz8xFA...

The Great Adventure!

For a decade I hitch hiked across Europe. In Switzerland I picked apples at the foot of the breathtaking Alps. In Germany I lived in a tent beside the Rhine, and taught English at the Berlitz School.

Cause for deportation?But that wasn't enough. My back pack took me to a kibbutz in Israel, where I ran a bar, and was ultimately told to leave the country after I cut down a tree for Christmas. How could I have known it was a diplomatic gift from Australia, and one of only three in the country?

After Israel, that back pack carried me to Africa, where I hitch hiked, and paid to ride atop supply trucks. Through Egypt, Sudan, and into Kenya I went, searching.

In Kenya I was offered a position writing for a newspaper. This article convinced me that African journalism wasn't for me.
Granted, it was a slow news day in Kenya. I understand there was a deadline for copy, but this article should not have made a high school newspaper, let alone a national magazine.

I had been given a sign.

At certain times situations arose that allowed me to see how I had changed. I remember arriving in Kenya after weeks of travel atop trucks in Sudan, eating around campfires, squatting in the dirt with the driver and truck boys, eating with my hands from a pot. In Kenya, at the first restaurant I saw, I ordered breakfast. The waitress set my food on the table and hurried away to bring cutlery. In a moment she returned with a knife and fork, but I was eating with my hands. I froze because of the woman's shocked expression.

I remember refusing to enter a hospital because a man was sweeping blood out the front door.

How powerful and strange it felt to be in desolate Sudan one day, filling a water bottle in the White Nile, looking out for crocodiles, and then to be in Scandinavia the following day. The contrast, the difference in culture, language, terrain, climate, people, mentality, was almost too much to bear. Culture shock struck me hard.

I had lived wild and free for months, always moving, traveling, surviving on rock hard dates and water that smelled of purification tablets, for weeks, clinging to ropes as I slept, the truck bouncing and shaking. In the span of one day, I was standing on hill in Denmark, snow falling, the entire world silent, as flakes melted on my face.

Africa changed me. Part of me is still there, captured in sweaty little police station where I was forced to watch a fat policeman beat an eight-year-old boy.

It captured another part of me on a dusty road in Sudan. The truck I was riding on slowed. Through the dust I could see something ahead. Another truck, carrying passengers atop, had driven off the road and tipped over. Injured people lay strewn about. Some were trapped, half crushed. Victims moaned and cried for help as we passed.

Part of me remained there, screaming for my driver to stop until my voice broke.

I tried to stay in Scandinavia. But I was different. When I spoke to friends and described Africa, or Israel, my tales met a look of disbelief. The pain that look brought, always accompanied my silence.

For months I could hear the faint calling of my pack, like the voice of a sexy, tempting ex lover, sitting at the end of the bar, her presence arousing sweet fantasies.


This time my pack, my longing, my searching, carried me to Yucatan, the land of the Maya. There, in a forgotten fishing village, I found an abandoned house, shoveled out the sand of hurricanes past, strung up a hammock, and moved in.

I found the shell of a spear gun buried in the sand. Using metal found in the street--a car antenna--and parts bought in Cancun, I rebuilt the gun. Soon I was swimming to the reef, shooting lobster and the best snapper in the world.

Travel articles appeared. On a portable, manual typewriter, I pounded out a novel.

Writing opened a new chapter of my life. It became my therapy, my drug. When taken daily I no longer needed to roam. I was creating adventures on paper.