Sonia Marsh's Blog, page 16

I Wished Him Dead

Forgiveness

“My Gutsy Story®” by Leslie Johansen Nack

 

Forgiving him was something I knew I needed to do. I couldn’t carry this weight around any longer. It was crushing me. But forgiving him was mile fifty and I was stuck on mile one. Hell, I was stuck on mile zero as I sat naked on the bathroom floor wrapped around the toilet seat waiting for the next convulsion. Mile one was a million miles away from me: publicly admitting I needed help, that I was slowly killing myself one line of cocaine, one drink, and one guy at a time, in an effort to avoid the sharp, stinging, dull, aching pain that pierced the very essence of me. I needed help. The clock read 6 am and I needed to get myself ready for work.

As I lay on the bathroom floor, I knew these days were numbered. I could feel it.  Either I was going to die, or I had to get help. Something needed to change in a big way. It had to. He’d been dead for five years, so why was I still running? Why couldn’t I stay in one place? I must be destined to be disconnected. Why did I keep thinking those people over there, the ones who were laughing and happy, were the answer for me? Why did I keep comparing my insides to their outsides and conclude I would finally be happy if they would just be my friends?

All night long I couldn’t stop listening to Take it to the Limit by the Eagles over and over again as I snorted line after line, poured myself wine from a gallon jug, glass after glass, in a sad pathetic state, all alone, trying to be quiet so my roommate wouldn’t hear me up for the entire night again, peeing in the Mexican ceramic pitcher so I didn’t have to walk to the bathroom across the creaky floor, claiming this song as my mantra:

You know I’ve always been a dreamer

Spent my life running ‘round

And it’s so hard to change

Can’t seem to settle down

But the dreams I’ve seen lately

Keep on turning out and burning out

And turning out the same

 

So put me on a highway

And show me a sign

And take it to the limit one more time

 

I should just hit the road; leave him behind, leave everything behind. The only problem: he always comes with me like a tape on continuous loop, “You’re stupid, worth nothing. Nobody will ever hire you. You’re doomed to fail.” When I slept, I dreamt about the eyes. The eyes were also his, staring me down, undressing me and wooing me.

I had been running for five years, and now, as I got ready to call my little sister and beg for help, I felt like a complete and utter failure as a person at the ripe old age of twenty-four.

Why can’t I be still? Regret? Self-loathing? No, self-hate. I am worthless. I hate myself. Nobody will ever love me. He’s right. I played Wasted Time over and over again, thousands of times, lying with my head up to the speaker the night before, the wine glass in my hand, a mirror in front of me with my last half gram:

            So you live from day to day,

            And you dream about tomorrow

            And the hours go by like minutes

            And the shadows come to stay

            So you take a little something

            To make them go away.

 

            I could have done so many things baby

            If I could only stop my mind

            From wondering what I left behind

            And from worrying about this wasted time.

 

My life was a waste. Oh God, maybe I killed him. I wished him dead so many thousands of times. I screamed it, whispered it, yelled it, and got on my knees and prayed for it with complete earnestness. My prayers were finally answered. I did this. I am responsible.

Oh God, I killed my father.

Maybe when enough people want you dead, when say, one thousand people wish it, you die. Maybe it’s a rule. Maybe family members’ prayers for death hold more weight than just regular, everyday people who wish you dead.  Monica and Karen wished him dead too, I’m sure of it. And Mom, of course she wished him dead. She’s been praying for his death for at least twenty-five years now. I’d only been praying for his death since I was thirteen. How does this work anyway? God was sick of hearing me whine and finally killed him.  Am I that powerful?

My life was empty, like a room that lost its air out the windows incredibly fast. Stillness. Now it’s getting ready to draw in new air.  That’s where I was in life: in between.  Something was going to happen.  Something big.  But the room was empty, silent, dead. I hated myself. I don’t deserve to be happy. How could I have sunk so low?  How did I become a cocaine addict?  Dad would be so disappointed.

“Bjorn Erling Johansen” Leslie’s dad

No!  He wasn’t really dead. He can’t be dead. He was faking it. Interpol and the CIA were behind all of this and they made him disappear for a while. Recovering stolen boats around the world was dangerous and he needed to hide. Yes, that must be it.  Tomorrow he’ll come around the corner in his cut-offs, brown floppy hat, feet spread apart just enough to make a stance, like the King of Siam, with that all-knowing bearded face, arms across his big belly, his blue hawk-eyes drilling holes in my skin. He wasn’t really dead. He couldn’t be. He stalked me my entire life. He was larger than life. He was my entire life until I escaped from him at sixteen, ran away in order to save myself from his predatory eyes, hands and mouth.

But now I needed to dress for work. The nightmare could wait, like it always did, for me to return and stoke the endless fires again.

SONIA MARSH SAYS:

Thank you for sharing your personal story and helping others who have been abused by their fathers. You made us wait to discover who you were talking about, which I found intriguing. I cannot wait to read your memoir and wish you all the best Leslie.

 

LESLIE JOHANSEN NACK  is currently working on her memoir. She is a graduate of UCLA with a B.A. degree in English Literature as well as being a member of the National Association of Memoir Writers and San Diego Writer’s Ink. She lives with her two children and husband of twenty-five years. You can visit Leslie at http://www.lesliejohansennack.com/

Please Join Leslie on the following social media platforms:

 

Where I hang out:   Facebook   Twitter   Pinterest
Instagram: @lesliejohansennack

Linked In: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/leslie-johansen-nack/76/58a/789


NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

How I Get Over Being Shy in Front of Audiences

Sonia Reading her 1st Chapter at Kean Coffee, in Tustin, California

In order to sell books and become a little bit “famous” in your community, writers have to speak in front of their audiences.

The problem is, what do you do if you’re shy and scared to speak in front of a group?

Well practice helps, we all know that, but what else can you do to feel at ease in front of a crowd of people staring at you.

SMILE and BE YOURSELF

Let’s face it, you’re sharing your story, only you know your story. Only you know what it took to write it.

Here are some tips I use to overcome shyness:

I say to myself, I’m here to make friends, not to sell books. If I do, great, if I don’t, so what, I’ve connected with new people.
I get there early and chat with my audience as they trickle in.
I shake hands and introduce myself to a few people in the audience before I speak.
I ask questions to find out if they are writers and ask them about their interests.
I try to be open, friendly and share something  about myself so they feel they can relate.

Last night I read the first chapter of my memoir:

Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of gutsy Living on a Tropical Island

Maddie Margarita organizes a wonderful monthly event called:  Lit Up: A Conversation with OC Writers and Readers.

“Another fun night at Lit Up! Thanks to Kean’s Coffee and to our talented authors Sonia Marsh PJ Colando and Lance Charnes – Author for rocking the house! Three very different stories told by three very different writers. It was outstanding!” – Maddie Margarita

PJ Colando and Maddie Margarita

 

If you’d like to participate, Please read below. You will get to read in front of an audience and practice your “public speaking” skills. It’s a ton of fun.

“We are accepting fiction and memoir submissions up to 3,000 words for the upcoming months so if you’re a writer and are interested – submission guidelines will be on purefictionleague.org within the next few days!”

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

A “Gutsy” 79-year-old drives a FV432 Armoured Personnel Carrier

Driving a Personnel Carrier

“My Gutsy Story®” by Barbara Charlene Barker

 I try to remember how I got so old. At each birthday I feel as if I am taking another step down the road to perdition. Some youthful diversion is needed.

Every Monday and Tuesday I volunteer at the police department and drive a police car  around the city to check on homes of vacationers. But anyone can do that. Originally, I wanted to jump out of an airplane, but my doctor said no, I have a crushed vertebra.

My son, Scott came up with a good idea.  He wanted to go to Bovington in England to ride in a tank and drive a personnel carrier. We both live in California, Scott lives in San Diego, and I live in Garden Grove. That would be quite a trip to become better acquainted with war machines. I said yes immediately. The event was being held at the Tank Museum. An application arrived; I wondered if they would accept me. I’m seventy-nine and I have diabetes.  I did not volunteer the fact that six years ago, I broke my hip and my elbow.

On May 9, 2014, we flew out of Los Angeles, (LAX) to Heathrow Airport, near London. We then took a train to Wool, a town close to the Tank Museum.  The day began with breakfast and distribution of black jumpsuits with the Tank Museum logo on the back. That was a good beginning; I like jumpsuits. Three teams of seven were formed; I was on the red team and the only woman there. A minder was assigned to each team. A minder is a classy name for babysitter. The minder provided encouragement, enthusiasm, and guidance.

Our team was assigned to drive the personnel carrier first. A van took us to the driving area on an army base. When we got there, the personnel carrier (FV432) was chugging smoke out of the top mounted pipe. The greenish-black FV432 weighs 25 tons, and can carry 10 soldiers. Its  top speed is 12 miles per hour, and it can travel 35 miles on one tank of gas.

(Video From YouTube, not from Barbara Charlene Barker)

My son, Scott, was one of the first drivers and he came back with thumbs up and a smile.

When it was my turn to drive, I was unable to raise my leg high enough to climb on top of the personnel carrier. I thought I had to give up, but the minder said to climb in the back door. Crawling over various objects to get to the driver’s seat, I ruined my Sketchers in the process. The minder explained how to use the gear shift, the stop button, the posts for turning right and left and other forgettable instruments. I had a helmet, a microphone, and headphones. I was ready to get moving.

Right from the start, I had trouble staying in the middle of the road. My minder yelled, “Left! Left! Left!” His tone grew more fervent as I veered towards the ditch. Sweat rolled down my face and arms. I just missed the ditch, but something worse appeared at the bottom of the hill: a river.

“Do we have to go through that?” I asked.

“Of course,” he replied. And so we did. Fortunately the river bed was shallow, and I continued driving over thickets of undergrowth and rain puddles.

My twenty- minute drive seemed like hours, and the minder said, “Good job.” After all, I did manage to stay out of the ditch.

The tanks were next on the agenda. The museum had rolling stairs to assist the climb up the tank. I got to the top of the tank, but I looked down at the distance from the tank turret to the tank seat and I said no.  You had to jump down about five feet. I was afraid for my crushed vertebra. But they took several pictures of me standing on the tank.

Next we had a tour of the museum. They have over 500 tanks. My favorite was ‘Little Willie’ a World War I tank with the tread over the top of the turret.   One display was a trolley car that was covered with camouflage to look like a tank. I’m not sure if that fooled the enemy or not.   By then it was almost 2:00 p.m. and time for tea, goodie bags and awards.

When my name was called for the “best driver” certificate, I thought I’d misheard, and continued filling my plate with scones. Was my hearing getting worse?

The museum docent asked me to come forward and accept my award. I was shocked, especially after my minder told me I didn’t know my right from my left. Since I completed my journey, they said I was eligible for the award.

This adventure has given me a new, youthful outlook at 79 and ¼ years old, and perhaps one day, the local police will let me help them with their newly purchased tank.

I hope to motivate people my age to follow their heart and head straight towards their own “gutsy” adventure.

BARBARA CHARLENE BARKER:  As a volunteer, I have been driving a police car around the city for the past ten years . My assignments include checking homes of vacationers, hotel parking lot surveillance, and manufacturing safety.  In May, 2014, I was elected to the post of Assembly person for the California Senior Legislature.  I serve as vice chair for the Budget Oversight Committee for the Garden Grove School District. After I retired as a teacher and administrator, I worked as a part-time professor for Chapman University (13 years) and UCI ( 7 years.)

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Barbara, you look too young to be 79, and being active seems to be what makes you stay young. You are an inspiration to all of us. keep doing what you love. Perhaps you should join the Peace Corps next.

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

Winner of the July 2014 “My Gutsy Story®” Contest

Inge Bird

This May we had FOUR OUTSTANDING  “My Gutsy Story®” authors. Some of these stories will be included in our 3rd “My Gutsy Story®” Anthology, published in 2015.  Thank you to all four authors. Your stories are all WINNERS.

Our first place goes to Inge Bird who won 1st Place for her “My Gutsy Story®” about how “I Became the Man I Always Wanted to Marry”

Inge Bird

Rita Gardner

2nd Place goes to Rita Gardner about, “Time to Bring Family Secrets and Stories to Life.”

Rita Gardner

 

 

3rd Place goes to Patrice Garrett about “Finding Heaven.”

Patrice Garrett

 

Patrice Garrett

4th Place goes to Java Davis about “A Life Changing Moment.”

 

  Thank you to all four authors. Your stories are all WINNERS.

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

“Hang Gliding With My Son”- My Gutsy Story® by Maralys Wills

“High, Wide, and Terrified”  

“My Gutsy Story®”- Maralys Wills

 

IT WAS THE LAST thing in the world I ever expected to do–fly a hang glider off an eleven-hundred-foot cliff, even with my son Bobby as pilot.  A hundred times since then I’ve asked myself what came over me that morning in our rented living-room in Hawaii when I broke down and said, “Okay, Bobby–I guess I’ll do it.”

The idea had seemed ludicrous at first . . . Bobby hovering my husband and me and asking us to fly tandem with him, and Rob pointing out that even he and his brother Chris had only tried the cliff once. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rob said, and I said, “I can’t possibly do this, Bobby. I was born scared. I’m a devout coward.”

“Well, think about it.”

I did think about it . . . and for reasons I’ll never understand I finally said I’d fly with him.

Bobby grinned and said, “You’ll be glad, Mom.”

Next morning we stood on the cliff side-by-side in the awful wind, Bobby and I, waiting . . . our senses assaulted by the insistent flapping of the sail.

We delayed until the right moment to walk toward the cliff, I quietly trembling inside. What in God’s name was I doing there?

Bobby gave me a sideways glance.  “Ready, Mom?”

I did not break down and laugh hysterically and ask if he was kidding.

Slowly we started forward. The tandem seat was one long metal piece, meaning when Bobby walked, I walked.  Together we gripped the aluminum control bar, together we moved our legs–in my case, wooden–together we faced Chris, who waited for us at cliff’s edge like a minister waits for a bridal couple. Chris reached out and grabbed our cables.

I looked over Chris’s head at the sky and my mind went blank. It was as though I were going into surgery and this was the final moment of consciousness before I surrendered to the anesthetic. A vast calm settled over me.  Fear vanished. From now on my fate was in another’s hands.  If I died, I died.

I heard Bobby’s voice say, “Now!” and my eyes focused momentarily just as Chris’s fingers released the wires.

Then everything was gone.

It happened so fast I didn’t react to our takeoff, didn’t feel anything except an acute awareness of Chris disappearing from the cliff.

Then my perceptions changed, and I realized we were rising, though nothing told me so, only that the world was dropping away and silence had taken over.

We’d been up only a minute or two when precariousness struck home. Besides my legs dangling in space, there was nothing to lean back against, nothing to rest my feet on, nowhere to put my hands. In fact there was nothing, anywhere, for security, just that narrow seat the width of a Kleenex box and the seat belt sitting across my lap. I tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to topple backwards into eternity.

My hands . . . what did one do with the hands? I dared not grip the control bar, because Bobby had to steer. There were only the yellow nylon ropes supporting the seat, very thin and not too handy. Tentatively I rested my hands on the control bar and sat as motionless as a picture.

The moments passed. Instead of growing calmer I grew  steadily more tense. The kite was now so high I could hardly find the cliff where we’d launched, much less see anybody. I felt cut off. Alone. Precarious. Barely supported. It was the ultimate insecurity.

A wave of terror swept over me, and I could feel myself going white. In a voice I could barely control I asked, “Bobby, can we go down now?”

He turned to me in surprise. “Why, Mom?  We just got here.”

I shrugged: one does not go into the subject of panic while dangling at two thousand feet.

But Bobby was sensitive to my mood.  “You’ll be okay, Mom, relax. It’s smooth up here. Can’t you tell how smooth it is?”

Well, actually I couldn’t, as I’d never done this before. I hated to dash him by saying smooth meant nothing, that down was what I wanted. Instead I said, “There’s a plane, Bobby, and it’s below us!”

“Sure.” He grinned. “Lots of ‘em are below us.”

“But that’s not safe!”

“It is if you’re not in their way.” He smiled. “I can see, you know.”

Funny, I couldn’t. I was blind to everything except my immediate, perilous environment. From the first I’d felt it necessary to sit absolutely still. If I took shallow breaths I might not weigh so much.

My face betrayed me; Bobby kept looking at me sideways. “Look at those big waves! There, Mom, over there, that’s the beach we’re looking for. Makapuu. Do you see Makapuu?”

I looked and said I thought so, though from two thousand feet all the waves and all the beaches looked alike. Anyway, I couldn’t forget where I was long enough to care. In an airplane, with seat, seat belt, backrest, floor, walls, and windows I can study the coastline. Dangling by a thread above the clouds, I am not concerned with landmarks, I’m concerned with reaching the ground.

I hated to bring up a tired subject.  “Can we come down, now?” and I heard my own voice and thought, Good heavens, I sound like a child! I glanced at him and thought, This is his world, and I am the child and it’s affected everything. How conversation changes when the roles are reversed!

“We’re already headed down,” Bobby said. “Look back, Mom. You’ll see we’re below the cliffs.”

I looked and it was true. The cliffs now loomed above us. Daring to glance below, I saw that houses, trees, cars, the beach had taken on near life-size proportions, and I felt better, as if I were once more part of the world.

Then even this changed and I felt more than better, in  fact, strangely euphoric. The feeling was joy, a wild, carefree kind of joy, and it burst forth like a living dream. I realized I was here, living those moments of breathless flying we’ve all known in dreams.

It was me!  And I was flying!

I couldn’t get enough of it . . . floating over tree and chimney, feeling all-powerful, all magical. I wanted to shout, Hey, everybody! Look up!  Look up, it’s me, I’m flying!

But it ended so quickly . . .

Suddenly we were over the beach and coming in fast.

In urgent tones Bobby said, “Listen, Mom, push the bar out when I tell you.”  A pause.  “Okay! Now!”

We moved into a large, graceful turn. Abruptly the kite stopped flying about four feet up and we hung momentarily, suspended as if by a giant hand.  Then we dropped on our bottoms in the sand.

“Sorry about that,” Bobby murmured, embarrassed.  “I stalled kinda high.”

From my sprawled position on the beach I looked at him and smiled. We were too high? Really? I hadn’t noticed.

We unbuckled our seat belts, and I picked myself off the sand and brushed at my clothes. Then, without knowing I was going to do it, I threw my arms around Bobby and hugged him, and words poured out, a whole flood of them.  “You were wonderful, Bobby, incredible, the best.”

He drew back and gave me a strange look.

“Thanks for taking me. You were right to talk me into it. I’m glad I went, it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done.” I was babbling out of control.

He stared at me, incredulous. All this coming from someone who moments before had been speechless with fear, begging to come down. Absently he patted my shoulder.  “Yeah, Mom,” he mumbled, “you’re welcome.” Then he began folding up the kite, but he kept stealing little puzzled looks.

The odd thing was, I meant every word.  He’d been terrific. The definitive pilot. A master. The experience had been a highlight of my life. Because of him I’d lived through unbearable panic and survived with most of my dignity intact. It was an experience few people like me would ever have, and I was insanely grateful to be one of the few.

One last thought lingered in my head, though, an idea I dared not express, which Bobby would never know as long as we both should live: I’d done it and I was glad. But now I never had to do it again!

 

MARALYS WILLS, named as Teacher of the Year, Maralys Wills has been teaching novel-writing for 25 years. Publications include 14 books in a variety of genres. Among her fictions: four romance novels (Harlequin and Silhouette), and SCATTERPATH, a techno-thriller about airplane sabotage. Eight nonfictions include, Manbirds (Prentice-Hall), four memoirs, a treatise on addiction, and two books on writing: Damn The Rejections, Full Speed Ahead, and Buy a Trumpet and Blow Your Own Horn: Turning Books Into Buck. Memoir, Higher Than Eagles gathered 5 movie options, (including from Disney), while two memoirs earned national awards. “Damn” won its category in two national competitions.

SONIA MARSH SAYS: I know Maralys Wills from a writers’ group I attend, and can attest that she fits the “Gutsy” woman award in every way.

Please check out her books on her site: Maralys.com and on Amazon.

Click on cover to purchase on Amazon

 

 

VOTE for your favorite JULY 2014 “My Gutsy Story®” ON THE RIGHT SIDEBAR.

You have from now until  August 13th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on August 14th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors. 

READ ALL STORIES HERE

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

Choosing a Book Cover That Sells

Some of you know that I take great pride in my book covers, and don’t like to skimp on quality.

 

My Gutsy Story® Anthology # 2: Inspirational Short Stories About Taking Chances and Changing Your Life

I love the professional work done by Michele DeFilippo and Ronda Rawlins at 1106 Design. This year, I almost decided to SAVE MONEY and go with a cheaper design for our 2nd  Anthology in the series, but I just couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to skimp on quality.

Why?

Because I believe book design experts know more about book covers,and what sells a book than I do. Here’s a post I wrote on how to choose a book cover that sells based on  the first Anthology in the series:

My Gutsy Story® Anthology: True Stories of Love, Courage and Adventure From Around the World

has won 4 Awards, including the prestigious:

My Gutsy Story® Anthology: True Stories of Love, Courage and Adventure From Around the World, has been named a 2013 Benjamin Franklin Award Silver Honoree Winner.

Is the cover important?

I just found a blog post on this topic by Cathi Stevenson on “What Sells a Book.”

She mentions an interesting case of where a book cover was redesigned, and it actually became a big hit after that. (see the quote from her post below.)

“In the March 2006 meeting of the Association of American Publishers, Marcella Smith, director of small press relations for Barnes and Noble, discussed the remake of the cover for The Little Book That Beats the Market (Wiley, 2005).

In the March 24, issue of Publisher’s Weekly Daily, Smith is quoted as saying the original book jacket was pale blue and featured a dollar sign. After discussing the cover with buyers, the publisher decided to change the book jacket to a more classic dark blue with white lettering, which they felt better suited a traditional business audience. It became a hit and the jacket was credited with the book’s increased popularity.”

 

Stevenson explains that most indie authors aren’t in brick and mortar bookstores, but sell online. So she then goes on to ask the question:

 

“So, do online covers matter? I’d have to say yes. First of all, it’s quite easy to weed out books that are self-published when the cover is obviously amateurish. One can only assume if there was no effort put into professional design, then there probably wasn’t much effort invested in editing, or layout or even research and story development. The cover is a necessary bit of polish, like a well-pressed suit.

Since covers are often only displayed at one or two inches online, a book cover is pretty much at the mercy of good advertising techniques to get the click-through on a page filled with similar books. An easily-read title and strong use of color are going to play a role.”–Cathi Stevenson

Stevenson stresses how a good blog and a professional product is going to help the indie author sell his 2nd book.

 

Look at our 1st Anthology cover (top cover) and decide which of the 2nd covers (below the butterfly cover) we should go with for our 2nd Anthology to be published this Fall.

Our already published Anthology # 1

Would you buy this one? # 1

Our already published Anthology # 1

Would you buy this one? #2

PLEASE  HELP ME  BY VOTING FOR THE COVER THAT WOULD MAKE YOU BUY THE BOOK.

(PLEASE WRITE YOUR ANSWER IN THE COMMENTS SECTION BELOW AND SHARE WITH FRIENDS)

ANSWER # 1 RED COVER

ANSWER # 2 PALM TREE COVER

 

VOTE for your favorite JULY 2014 “My Gutsy Story®” ON THE RIGHT SIDEBAR.

You have from now until  August 13th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on August 14th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors. 

READ ALL STORIES HERE

 

My “Gutsy” Journey to the Dalai Lama’s Potala Palace-Lhasa Tibet

 

 

The Guts to Travel to the Roof of the World

  “My Gutsy Story®” by Gisela Hausmann

At the age of thirteen I met Heinrich Harrer, confidant and tutor to the Dalai Lama, and author of “Seven Years in Tibet.” After a fascinating slide presentation Harrer signed my copy of his book. Deeply impressed with what I had seen I decided that I would visit the then-forbidden city of Lhasa.

Eleven years later I saw an opportunity to do so. In 1986 I was working in the Austrian movie industry. No movie would be made over the Christmas holidays. Granted it was an icy winter but I had a six-week break and $2,500 stashed away. As they say, “You have to work with what you’ve got.” I decided to cross Russia with the Trans-Siberian Railroad and try to make it into Tibet. There was no telling if I would succeed, alone, without a tourist group.

Since the Chinese invasion of Tibet, the Chinese often banned foreigners. Icy weather conditions also determined whether planes could land in Lhasa, the capital of Tibet, located at 12,000 feet in elevation. But I was determined and started my trip on December 21, 1986.

On January 13, 1987 I arrived in Lhasa. I was fortunate, as everything worked out, including the weather. Very few tourists were in town and I really felt like I was visiting a Tibet not much different from Harrer’s Tibet.

Buddhism was omnipresent. Even the rocky cliffs were painted, depicting Buddha on a lotus flower. Prayer flags were flying everywhere. Tibetan pilgrims were visiting the Jokhang Temple, renowned center for Buddhist pilgrimage. Potala Palace, iconic symbol of Tibet and sacred place to Tibetans, towered over the city. During Winter Lhasa was a mesmerizing city in a barren landscape full of breathtaking spiritual energy.

Nothing could take away from that. Flying into Lhasa I overcame about 10,000 feet of elevation in only two hours. Lhasa’s airport was about 50 miles outside of town, and passengers had to take an old bus to get to the city. The roads were bad, and I was shaken around for three hours. Many of the locals traveled with their screeching chickens cooped up in cages. After one hour on the bus, altitude sickness set in. My knees felt like pudding, and my head like a beehive. When I finally arrived in town I could barely take one step. There were no taxis or buses; everybody walked.

I was forced to carry my forty pounds of luggage, and after numerous stops to catch my breath, I finally reached a hotel. The first thing I noticed in my room was a gaping half inch hole under the window sill. There was no heating despite a night time temperature of 16 degrees Fahrenheit. I decided to sleep fully dressed and used the second mattress as an additional cover.

The following morning I awoke to murmurs outside my door. I figured something special had to be going on out there. I jumped out of bed, grabbed my camera and opened the door. There it was; the picture which would be ingrained in my mind forever.

I saw the white Potala Palace on the hill. The magnificent symbol of Buddhist religion and spirituality towered over the needy buildings in the foreground. The early morning sun’s rays transformed Potala’s white walls into a glowing red, making it look as though it were engulfed in red flames. A dark gray cloud loomed behind it, as though painted on a backdrop of beautiful blue morning sky. I lifted my camera just in time and clicked. I had captured the symbol for religion and culture in Tibet, while a dark cloud hovered over its intense burning, yet peaceful beauty.

Potala Palace

I was determined to make the most out of my three-day stay. Like most tourists I downed aspirins as a blood thinner to fight altitude sickness. I lived off dough-cakes baked on a street vendor’s red glowing cast iron oven and Yak-butter tea. On my last day I found the strength to climb the thirteen storey walk up to the Potala Palace.The Dalai Lama’s former quarters were the most serene rooms I had ever encountered. Real time no longer seemed real, but measured by the clacker of metallic prayer mills.

When I left Tibet, I traveled through China to Hong-Kong. The difference between Tibet’s bare vulnerability and Hong Kong’s pulsating life was surreal. Still, I did not realize what I had managed to do by chance.

The years passed. In 2006 China opened the Qinghai-Tibet Railway, a previously unthinkable engineering feat. Nobody knew that this was even possible. Over 80% of the 709-mile-long section between Golmud and Lhasa lies at an elevation of over 13,000 feet. This railway eliminated all the difficulties of travel to Tibet. The Chinese turned Tibet into a business opportunity. There are now souvenir shops and a four lane boulevard right in front of the Potala Palace where I had walked by foot, on a dirt road.

There is no perfect time to do what we feel we must. All we can do is line everything up, do our best, then capture the moment. I am forever grateful for that picture etched in my mind that foresaw Tibet’s changing.

©2014 by Gisela Hausmann, abridged version of story IS TIMING OF THE ESSENCE?, published in “Naked Determination, 41 Stories About Overcoming Fear”

GISELA HAUSMANN BIO: Born to be an adventurer, Gisela Hausmann, is a globe trotter, former movie producer, aerial photo specialist, vintage house renovation, and award-winning author. A unique mixture out of wild risk-taker and careful planner, she has globe-trotted almost 100,000 kilometers on three continents, including to the locations of her favorite books: Doctor Zhivago’s Russia, Heinrich Harrer’s Tibet, and Genghis Khan’s Mongolia. Gisela Hausmann graduated with a master’s degree from the University of Vienna. She now lives with her cats Artemis and Yin-Yang in Greenville, SC. Please find more information and pictures about her work on her website: www.giselahausmann.com

SONIA MARSH SAYS: Thank you for taking us on a spiritual and historical journey through your Gutsy adventure to Tibet.

 

Follow Gisela on:

Twitter: at @Naked_Determina

Facebook: 

Blog: http://nakeddetermination.blogspot.com/

Google+: http://plus.google.com/103171286110985123907/posts

 Gisela Hausmann’s book on Amazon:

Click on cover to go to Amazon

VOTE for your favorite JULY 2014 “My Gutsy Story®” ON THE RIGHT SIDEBAR. 

You have from now until  August 13th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on August 14th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors. 

READ ALL STORIES HERE

 

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“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

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 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

Vote Now For Your Favorite July 2014 “My Gutsy Story®”

 

VOTE for your favorite JULY 2014 “My Gutsy Story®” ON THE RIGHT SIDEBAR. 

You have from now until  August 13th to vote on the sidebar, (only one vote per person) and the winner will be announced on August 14th, and will select a prize from our generous sponsors.

Our 1st “My Gutsy Story®” is by Patrice Garrett “Finding Heaven.”

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

I have always had a fear of horses, mainly because I am not used to being around them. Your “My Gutsy Story®,” showed me that:

“Horses mirror the fears, thoughts and resolve of their riders; they decipher nuance and interpret body language. Mine have taught me patience, honesty, leadership, and conscious riding. My acquired saddle skills also inform how I walk life’s road. I’ve learned there’s no faking it. I live with intention.”

Our 2nd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Ingrid Bird, “I Became the Man I Always Wanted to Marry.”

SONIA MARSH SAYS: 

You are one “gutsy” woman Inge, and I love your style, and proactive approach to life. The statement you made says it all:

“ I became the man I always wanted to marry.”

You are amazing, and I admire what you have done with your life.

 

Our 3rd “My Gutsy Story®” is by Java Davis “A Life Changing Moment.”

SONIA MARSH SAYS:  “What a terrible tragedy and this must have been a life-changing moment for you.”

 

 

 

Our 4th “My Gutsy Story®” is by Rita Gardner, ” Time to Bring Family Secrets and Stories to Light.”

SONIA MARSH SAYS: I had the pleasure of reading Rita’s memoir and was intrigued by her island life and how she captured the vivid details of her childhood in a remote part of the Dominican Republic.

 

NOW ACCEPTING SUBMISSIONS
Get Published in our 3rd
“My Gutsy Story®”Anthology in 2015

 

SUBMISSION GUIDELINES HERE

 

Click on cover to go to Amazon

 2013 Benjamin Franklin Honoree Winner

2014 International Book Awards FINALIST

2014 WINNER of the PARIS BOOK FESTIVAL

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

 

Time to Bring Family Secrets and Stories to Light

Perilous Footing on the Path Home 

 “My Gutsy Story®” by Rita Gardner

 

The old ferry boat was ready to board. It lurched on frayed ropes each time a wave shoved the dilapidated vessel close enough for another passenger to be hauled aboard. I asked myself for the hundredth time if I was just plain crazy. An old woman covered in a black shawl crossed herself as she was handed across, and the boatman caught her just before she could slip. From the dock, men threw battered luggage, one live pig, and household belongings onto the deck. Piercing sunlight bounced on wave tops and sweat dripped from my armpits.

I’d just arrived at the harbor near my childhood home in the Dominican Republic. Having spent two weeks visiting the village I’d not seen for years, I was now on a mission to find a writer I’d never met on the far shore of the Samana peninsula. My vague instructions were to get to the village of Samana and find a ride eastward 12 kilometers, and then to ask anyone to lead me to “Don Alejandro.” I’d not crossed this bay for over thirty-five years. The dock was wet with gaps that made any foothold challenging. Heart pounding, I hoisted my backpack and prayed for safety.

Edge of Samana Bay

Only two months before I was sitting in a dentist’s waiting room in California thumbing through Travel Holiday, escaping into worlds far away. I encountered an article by Alastair Reid that propelled me into this journey. The story was about the very same bay I was now crossing. Titled “My Several Selves,” it was about being at home wherever you are. On staff at The New Yorker, Reid lives in New York but for many years he wintered in a simple dwelling on Samana hillside, writing and translating works by Pablo Neruda, Jorge Luis Borges, and other noted authors.

I went home that day and wrote a letter to him about how I hoped to meet him when I next traveled to the island. His handwritten reply arrived the next month saying he’d be delighted to see me. He had no telephone on the island, but reassured me he’d likely be there all winter.

And so I traveled that December to my childhood home, site of my expat family’s coconut farm on an isolated beach, and a country we’d left decades ago.I was welcomed home with typical Dominican exuberance. One day I walked the path to my family’s former house, still owned by the same man who bought it ages ago. Now used infrequently as a backcountry retreat, it was all locked up, shrunken and lonely.

The next day I decided to journey across the bay and try to find Alastair Reid in his winter lair. So here I was, hanging on to a broken rail as the ferry plunged drunkenly along. When the boat landed on the far shore I found transport on the back of a motor scooter. The driver didn’t know Reid (known locally as Don Alejandro), but for 50 centavos he drove me anyway. After a while we stopped a farmer at the side of the road and asked if he knew Don Alejandro. “Ah, si.” he nodded, “it’s very near.” He pointed to a clearing to a simple one-room structure, open on one side. I waved away the scooter uncertainly and hiked through the woods as if I knew what I was doing.

Barefoot and dressed in faded khaki shorts, Alastair Reid greeted me as if he’d known I’d pick that day and time to show up in his clearing. We talked for hours, about writing, about the lure of this island despite its troubled political history. When it was time to leave, he presented me with a book and walked me up to the road until a crowded pickup came by. I crammed myself into the back, avoiding a squirming pig, trussed and unhappily serving as someone’s seat. In Samana, I found a small inn and settled in to read. The tattered volume, written by an American in 1958,was titled Trujillo, Little Caesar of the Caribbean. It was published when I was 12 and living in Miches. An account of Generalisimo Trujillo and his reign of terror, it never would have been allowed in the Dominican Republic during Trujillo’s rule. I felt I was reading forbidden material. For all our years on the island, our lives depended on not ever speaking ill of the dictator. This book was an entry into what I wasn’t allowed to think about for all those years.

I read until my eyes hurt, trying to reconcile the factual portrayal of one country’s nightmare with my parents’ decision to raise a family under such a government. At midnight, needing a break, I walked down to the harbor. A light breeze tickled the coconut palms into slow dancing silhouettes. Across the bay to the southeast a faint light glowed—Miches. I pulled the night around me like a warm shawl and hugged myself at the memory of countless evenings like this when I was a child. The next morning I caught the ferry.

Beach near Miches, Samana Bay

On my last day in Miches, I was drawn back to my old house for a final look. A crowd of emotions welled up and I cried for longer than I can remember. I understood only dimly that this trip was just the first step on a longer journey to reconcile my own disparate selves. And now I was to begin a new journey, much more dangerous than crossing a bay in storm-tossed waters. It was now time to bring family secrets and stories to light, and just maybe, find some peace about the meaning of home.

 

Fast forward to 2014: I’m thrilled to have completed my memoir, titled “The Coconut Latitudes: Secrets, Storms and Survival in the Caribbean.” Publish date: September 2014 by She Writes Press, Berkeley, CA.

Bio:

Rita M. Gardner grew up on her expatriate family’s coconut farm in the Dominican Republic. Home-schooled as a child, she began writing, reading and painting at an early age. She now lives in California where she follows her passions – writing, traveling, hiking, and photography. Her published essays, articles, poems, and photographs have appeared in literary journals and travel magazines. Her memoir “The Coconut Latitudes” debuts September 2014 . Rita continues to dream in Spanish and dance the Dominican merengue; her favorite color is Caribbean blue. www.ritamgardner.com

Amazon link : http://amzn.to/1jJ5qg6

Click on cover to purchase on Amazon

 

 

Twitter link: Please follow @ritamgardner

Facebook link: Please (like) Rita M Gardner https://www.facebook.com/ritamgardner

SONIA MARSH SAYS: I had the pleasure of reading Rita’s memoir and was intrigued by her island life and how she captured the vivid details of her childhood in a remote part of the Dominican Republic.

VOTE FOR YOUR  FAVORITE JULY “My Gutsy Story®” STARTS ON JULY 31st AND ENDS ON AUGUST 13th.

THE WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON AUGUST 14th.

NOW Accepting story submissions now for our Award-winning “My Gutsy Story®” Anthology

READ MORE HERE

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.

How Do You Define Success?

 

As some of you may know, I wrote a controversial article “Do Authors Make Money? Here’s the Truth.”

In this post I mentioned looking for a job to supplement my indie-publishing endeavors. Some people seemed shocked as they believed I was hitting it big.

Well, since then, I’ve spoken to many entrepreneurs and concluded that most of us are struggling to make ends meet.

Why do we think others are more financially successful than we are?

Is that because we pretend to be more successful than we are? Do we hide the truth?

I’ve had several conversations with doctors, financial planners, lawyers and authors and it doesn’t matter which profession you’re in, entrepreneurs are always looking for the miracle that will help them succeed financially.

If professionals are struggling to keep their businesses thriving, isn’t that just part of life?

There is no miracle to become successful in life

Perhaps the secret lies in:

You need to redefine success in your terms and forget what others think. 

Perhaps success should be re-defined as:

Loving what you do even if it doesn’t make you rich

I was asked to answer some questions about being successful as an author entrepreneur by Eric Gati. Here are some of my answers to his questions and you can also read my entire interview on “The Daily Interview.”

What do you consider to be your greatest success (or successes) so far in your career as a writer (and business owner)? 

I enjoy building online communities and making people feel they belong. I started “Gutsy Indie Publishers” a FaceBook group, with 600+ authors, most of them indie. This group is for writers, publishers and anyone in the business who wants to help others.

Another accomplishment is the writing contest I started in 2011 called “My Gutsy Story®.” I have received many e-mails from writers thanking me for allowing them to open up and share their own stories.

I never realized I would be speaking at conferences about how to become a successful “Author Entrepreneur.” I love speaking to writers about blogging, how to sell more books, and unique ways to promote, that they may not have considered. Here are some links to the Santa Barbara Writers’ Conference where I spoke about this topic on June 11th, 2014.

Introduction Video 1: http://youtu.be/l6gKv1-odS4

Video 2 on Blogging for Writers: http://youtu.be/o6nQHD_juwA

What has been your greatest challenge that you’ve overcome in getting to where you’re at today?

How do you become visible? Whether online or in person, it takes time, perseverance and effort to have people know who you are, and to get loyal followers.
Another challenge is to move away from offering everything for free, and to charge for your expertise. I hired a business coach to help me become a marketing coach for authors. I still find this challenging as I enjoy helping others, but also need to make a living.

Many people have the skills and drive to write a book, but failure to market and sell the book the right way is probably what keep a lot of people from finding success. I know you can probably write volumes on this topic, but can you give us maybe 2-3 strategies that have been effective for you in promoting your books (online, specifically)?

Forming relationships online before your book comes out is essential. People who are familiar with your blog and like what you do are more likely to spread the word about your book and review it. Don’t expect people to simply buy your book by stating: “Buy my book.”
YouTube videos are effective in promoting your books. I have done several interviews where I talk about my books, or read excerpts from my book, and one of them, “Expat Life in Belize” has received over 58,000 hits.
Submitting your books for Awards, and winning some, is a great way to promote your books online. Both books have received Awards.

E-Lit Awards 2013 Freeways to Flip-Flops: A Family’s Year of Gutsy Living on a Tropical Island, received 1st Place, and a Gold Medal in the “Autobiography/Memoir” category of the 2012 E-lit Awards. It also received a Silver Medal, in the “Travel Essay” category of the E-lit Awards

My Gutsy Story® Anthology: True Stories of Love, Courage and Adventure From Around the World, has been named a 2013 Benjamin Franklin Award Silver Honoree Winner, is a FINALIST at the 2014 International Book Awards, and WINNER at the 2014 Paris Book Festival.

I know you’ve  spoken about getting people “out of their comfort zone,” and while this can have applications to many areas of life, I’m particularly interested in how it relates to entrepreneurship. What do you think it takes for someone to muster the “guts” to actually make the leap and execute their business idea? (In other words, what advice do you have for someone who is afraid to do this because they don’t want to leave their “comfort zone”?)

In general, writers prefer to sit at home and write. They often tend to be shy, and hope that their books will simply sell themselves. WRONG! As Joanna Penn stated, (and I saw your recent interview with her on your site Eric,) in her Google+ Hangout Interview with my friend Jason Matthews, you have to get out there and speak and promote your books. If you’re shy, “Get over it.” I agree with her, as no one knows your book better than you do and how is anyone going to hear about your work if you don’t promote it.

Even if you have the budget to hire a professional PR company, they still expect you to talk about your book on radio and TV interviews.

At the 2014 IBPA conference (Independent Book Publishers Association) presenters stated, Writers have no choice to opt out of social media. If you want to sell books, then you have to use social media. I am interviewing Angela Bole, Executive Director of IBPA on June 26th at 9 a.m. PST (California time.) It will be about indie publishing and learning what to do etc. You can listen LIVE here, or later on my YouTube Channel.

Finally, if you are truly shy, then social media can offer you ways to connect from your home.

Offer contests on your website,
Guest post and do written interviews on other sites
Form those important relationships with other writers online
Help promote others
Share helpful articles with your readers
Practice speaking in front of your camera and gradually become more confident
Offer podcasts on your own site so fans can hear your voice
Practice an interview with a close friend and get used to speaking
Take a class on public speaking
Attend writers’ conferences and network
Attend a writers’ group and gradually get out of your comfort zone

Looking generally at becoming an entrepreneur: If you had to take your best advice or inspirational thought and put it into one sentence or phrase, what would that be? 

Authors need to think of themselves as a brand, and their book as a product. [Click here to tweet this]

You can read the entire interview on Eric Gati’s the Daily Interview on June 24th.

So how do you define your own success as an author, or as an entrepreneur?

Watch my LIVE INTERVIEW with author Fee Johnson, on August 1st at 9 a.m. PST. It will be recorded as well. Do you have questions for her? Please send them to me at: Sonia@soniamarsh.com before August 1st. You can read her “My Gutsy Story” here.

2 Nominees Fee Johnson and me (Sonia Marsh)

We shall be discussing: While mental health issues are more freely discussed these days, it’s still difficult to approach someone who might have a problem. But ignoring it is not an option. With courage and great hope, Felicia Johnson deftly portrays the struggles of a girl with borderline personality disorder in Her (8th Street Publishing).
JOIN ME as I interview Felicia Johnson, author of the novel “Her”, about her work in mental health advocacy, journaling, writing and mentoring youth. 

July 28th, “My Gutsy Story®” by RITA GARDNER 

VOTING FOR YOUR FAVORITE JULY “My Gutsy Story®” STARTS ON JULY 31st AND ENDS ON AUGUST 13th.
THE WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED ON AUGUST 14th.

NOW Accepting story submissions now for our Award-winning “My Gutsy Story®” Anthology

READ MORE HERE

 We just won our 4th Award for the Anthology. 

CLICK HERE TO FIND OUT ABOUT OUR AWARDS.