A.K. Morgen's Blog, page 12
November 27, 2015
Fade is FREE until 11/30! (+160 Other Titles for Under .99c)
FADE the Amazon Top Selling first book in the Ragnarök Prophesies series is FREE for the first time EVER from November 27th to November 30th!
What do you do when you realize nothing in your life is what you’ve believed it to be?When Arionna Jacobs loses her mother in a tragic accident, her world is turned upside down. She’s forced to leave her old life behind and move in with her father. Dace Matthews, a teaching assistant at her new college, is torn in two, unable to communicate with the feral wolf caged inside him.
When they meet, everything they thought they knew about life unravels. Dace has intimate access to Arionna’s mind, and something deep within her fights to rise to the surface. They don't understand what's happening to them or why, and they're running out of time to sort out the strange occurrences around them.
Their meeting sets an ancient Norse prophesy of destruction in motion, and what destiny has in store for them is bigger than either could have ever imagined. Unless they learn to trust themselves and one another, they may never resolve the mystery surrounding who they are to one another, and what that means for the world.
Get it for FREE on Amazon.
You can also grab FALL (Book Two) for $4.99 on Amazon !
160 other Curiosity Quills titles are also on sale! All first in series with sequels already published will be free, and all stand-alones are first in series without sequels yet published will be 99 Cents.The Holiday Reads sale includes titles like:
FIVE: Out of the Dark by Holli Anderson
Shattered Secrets by Krystal Wade
Kiya by Katie Teller
Alice Takes Back Wonderland by David Hammons
Gift of Blood by Vicki Keire
Catch Me When I Fall by Vicki Leigh
Tortured Truths by Randy Atwood
Destruction by Sharon Bayliss
and many, many more!
Check out the complete list of titles available here.
November 24, 2015
They Called Me Stupid by A.K. Morgen #thankfulforadversity #authors
Every year in November, we talk about what we're thankful for, but not many of us stop to say thanks for the obstacles and adversity we've faced. For the next week, authors from all walks of life and backgrounds will be here to share those difficult situations that have helped define and shape who they are as people and as authors. We are thankful for adversity. You can join in by posting what you're thankful for under the #thankfulforadversity tag on Twitter and Facebook. 
As a kid, I was known as the "smart" one. That changed when I began struggling with an undiagnosed learning disability.
I was around four when my older sister told me if I could color a picture completely inside the lines, she would give me something. I no longer remember what that "something" was, but I remember sitting on the couch with my crayons while my mom cleaned, painstakingly coloring a scene with a snowman. When I showed my sister, she thought mom did it for me.
In Kindergarten, it quickly became apparent that I was advanced for my age. I learned fast and easily remembered what I'd learned. I questioned everything and soaked up all of those answers like a sponge. Over the next couple of years, I was the teacher's pet. I always finished my work before anyone else in class, and earned near-perfect marks. If I fell asleep in class, my teachers simply stacked it up beside me, content that I would have it finished by morning.
By the third grade, my teachers were testing me for the Gifted and Talented Program. I won more awards than I could count, for everything from reading to writing to geography and spelling. I became the kid everyone paraded out, pride shining in their eyes as they revealed my intelligence to other teachers, administrators, parents, families, and complete strangers.
In fourth grade, things changed.
The more advanced the math put before me, the more I struggled. Unless I could memorize the work (like simple addition or the multiplication tables), I couldn't understand it. It was all Greek to me. So were directions. I couldn't tell left from right, but I could recite the entire Declaration of Independence. I couldn't add without using my fingers, but I could read The Iliad to my classmates.
We began to suspect something was wrong, but my parents thought maybe I just wasn't trying. My father pushed me hard, keeping me up late into the night. He was frustrated with me. The more frustrated he grew, the harder it was for me to concentrate on the problems put in front of me.
I received my first B that year. I cried alone in my room for days. I was devastated, certain my parents and teachers would think I was stupid. I worked harder. Sometimes, the math was easier. During those times, I did okay. Others, I didn't understand any of it. I struggled along, embarrassed that what had always come so easy to me had suddenly become incredibly hard.
By sixth grade, we knew for certain something was wrong. I was pulling straight A's in Gifted and Talented courses for all subjects except math, where I was barely passing. I couldn't understand fractions to save my life. My teacher kept me inside at lunch to work with me one-on-one. I still barely squeaked by. I hated it.
When your entire identity as a kid has been wrapped up in your academic performance, failure is incredibly hard to process, let alone deal with. And my identity was very much wrapped up in academics. I was the kid who won contests and wrote awesome stories and won spelling and geography bees and captained quiz bowl and received all sorts of attention and recognition. But I couldn't do a fucking math problem to save my life.
That year, I went to stay with my grandparents in Florida. I was homeschooled while there. When my grandma realized how hard I struggled to comprehend basic math, she pulled out the instructional material from kindergarten and had me start all over from the beginning. I still couldn't understand division or fractions. I still couldn't tell left from right or North from South.
By the ninth grade, I dreaded math to the point that I hated going to school. My teacher that year didn't make it any better. I'd love to say she was compassionate and understanding, but she wasn't. She loved to berate me in front of the entire class, demanding to know how someone so smart could be so stupid. I learned a valuable lesson that year: sometimes, kids are a hell of a lot nicer than adults. They didn't make fun of me. If anything, they rallied around me.
I was in trouble all the time. I showed my ass just so I wouldn't have to go to her class. I hated that I performed so well in everything except math. I learned to hate being called smart, because I knew that, when I couldn't live up to the title, someone would be upset with me. It was easier when there were no expectations, because I wouldn't feel like a bad kid if no one expected me to wow them. My teacher wouldn't yell at me or berate me. She wouldn't relish returning my worksheets with giant red Fs on them. I wouldn't feel humiliation every time she asked me a question and I couldn't figure out how to work the problem, let alone give her an answer, prompting her to scoff, roll her eyes, and ask if I was stupid.
Eventually, my sister, who was in the same class, had enough of how I was being treated. When our teacher started in on me that day, she stood up and spoke her mind. Our teacher fled in tears. My sister was kicked out of her algebra class and was not allowed to be assigned to any of her future classes. The teacher didn't speak to me for the rest of the year unless I spoke first.
All I felt was relief. I managed to squeak by with a very low C.
The next year, I had geography. I excelled in places and totally bombed in others. My teacher took me aside to ask why I was in Gifted and Talented classes in every subject except math, where I was barely surviving a remedial class. I didn't have an answer for her. But she had one for me. Dyscalculia.
I'd never heard that word before, but I had a textbook case.
My brain doesn't see math like other's do. I can learn one concept, but as soon as we move on to something else, I forget what I just learned. No matter how much I practice, I forget. It's like I never learned it at all. I transpose numbers, or skip them. I have to visualize my hand making an "L" to remember which is left and which is right.
I don't know why it took until I was a sophomore for anyone to make the effort to find out what was really going on with me and confirm that I had a learning disability. That diagnosis was a weight off my shoulders and a big blow at the same time. As relieving as it was to know what was wrong, I was terrified I would be yanked out of Gifted and Talented and put in remedial classes across the board. I didn't need them in any subject except math. In fact, during standardized testing that year, I tested high enough IQ wise they wanted me to apply to Mensa despite my struggles with mathematics. I was fifteen. And I didn't have a fucking clue how to solve for X or divide by 9. What was I supposed to do around a bunch of geniuses?
I didn't apply. I didn't feel like I deserved it.
I left public school for an Independent Study program that year. With the brain lesions, I was missing so much school for appointments and illness, they couldn't pass me even though I was on the Honor Roll. I refused to take the same classes twice when I'd already aced them once.
The director of the IS program knew all about my strengths and weaknesses, and she worked hard to ensure I was challenged without pushing me to the breaking point with math. I was embarrassed to tell her the truth, but she did so much to ensure I knew there wasn't anything wrong with me for having a learning disability. I didn't do anything wrong. It didn't mean I was stupid. It was just a part of me. In fact, a lot of very smart people have learning disabilities, she told me. Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Edison, even George Washington had learning disabilities. They were also some of the smartest people in the world during their time.
For the first time in years, I began to enjoy school again. I took astronomy and psychology and classic literature and so many classes I didn't have the opportunity to pursue in public school. And I excelled. No one called me stupid or yelled at me when I couldn't figure out basic math. No one asked why I needed so much extra help with math, but could teach myself any other subject they put in front of me. I began to accept that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being smart, because no one was going to torment or pity me for not grasping mathematical concepts.
With her help, I graduated on time and went on to college.
I spent the months leading up to college algebra on the verge of panic, terrified my professor and classmates would treat me like I was stupid. That they'd laugh at me, or yell at me. It took six tutors, sometimes as much as twenty five hours a week, to get me through college algebra with a low B. My professor knew about my disability and made exceptions for me. If I could show my work one way, but not the way she taught, she didn't hold it against me. She knew how hard I was working, and didn't question it if I could give her the right answer but couldn't explain how I did it. And I couldn't explain it.
I finished college at the very top of my class, summa cum laude, and went on to graduate school. I was one of four students chosen from the entire student body to work as teaching assistants. They didn't care that I couldn't do math, not when it wasn't relevant to what I was studying or to my ability to tutor my fellow students in those same subjects.
In 2012, I finished my graduate degree at the top of my class with a combined 3.96 GPA for all seven years of my schooling (undergraduate and graduate). That same year, I published my first novel. And I began to realize that what I'd gone through had shaped me in some pretty incredible (and devastating) ways.
I still feel a moment of panic when someone asks me to do anything math-related. I still obsessively check addresses and phone numbers to make sure I'm entering them correctly. I still stress when I go to the store because I'm afraid I've done the math wrong and I'll spend more than I can afford or that I'll somehow overdraw the bank. Even when it doesn't happen, I worry.
I'm still learning to accept that it's okay to fail. It doesn't make you stupid. It makes you human. I can't do math, and for a long time, I was made to feel that something was inherently wrong with me because smart people aren't supposed to fail. I failed though. Over and over and over again.
The taunts still linger. I get touchy when someone implies I'm stupid. I'll probably never be okay with people laughing at my piss-poor math skills. But I'm not stupid. And I don't give up. I'm a perfectionist. I am where I am today because I work harder and push myself more than most. For a long time, it's what I had to do to survive.
Now, you'll find me using that drive to do something I love. I write about heroes and heroines who do the same I did for so long: push themselves harder than most to overcome the challenges and obstacles placed before them.
About the Author
Ayden (or A.K.) lives in the heart of Arkansas with her childhood sweetheart/husband of over a decade, and their five furry minions. She is the author of the Amazon bestselling Ragnarök Prophesies series. When not writing, she spends her time hiking, reading, volunteering, causing mischief, and building a Spork army. Ayden graduated summa cum laude with her Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice and Forensic Psychology in 2009 before going on to complete her graduate degree in CJ and Law. She currently puts her education to use in the social services and CJ fields.
She is the author of six published novels. Her first, FADE, is an Amazon Top 100 Bestseller. Her latest, Rhapsody, pits a ballerina and a DEA agent against a violent drug cartel in a race to save lives and stop a deadly drug from hitting the international market. You can find her here at her blog, on Twitter, and on Facebook.
As a kid, I was known as the "smart" one. That changed when I began struggling with an undiagnosed learning disability.I was around four when my older sister told me if I could color a picture completely inside the lines, she would give me something. I no longer remember what that "something" was, but I remember sitting on the couch with my crayons while my mom cleaned, painstakingly coloring a scene with a snowman. When I showed my sister, she thought mom did it for me.
In Kindergarten, it quickly became apparent that I was advanced for my age. I learned fast and easily remembered what I'd learned. I questioned everything and soaked up all of those answers like a sponge. Over the next couple of years, I was the teacher's pet. I always finished my work before anyone else in class, and earned near-perfect marks. If I fell asleep in class, my teachers simply stacked it up beside me, content that I would have it finished by morning.
By the third grade, my teachers were testing me for the Gifted and Talented Program. I won more awards than I could count, for everything from reading to writing to geography and spelling. I became the kid everyone paraded out, pride shining in their eyes as they revealed my intelligence to other teachers, administrators, parents, families, and complete strangers.
In fourth grade, things changed.
The more advanced the math put before me, the more I struggled. Unless I could memorize the work (like simple addition or the multiplication tables), I couldn't understand it. It was all Greek to me. So were directions. I couldn't tell left from right, but I could recite the entire Declaration of Independence. I couldn't add without using my fingers, but I could read The Iliad to my classmates.
We began to suspect something was wrong, but my parents thought maybe I just wasn't trying. My father pushed me hard, keeping me up late into the night. He was frustrated with me. The more frustrated he grew, the harder it was for me to concentrate on the problems put in front of me.
I received my first B that year. I cried alone in my room for days. I was devastated, certain my parents and teachers would think I was stupid. I worked harder. Sometimes, the math was easier. During those times, I did okay. Others, I didn't understand any of it. I struggled along, embarrassed that what had always come so easy to me had suddenly become incredibly hard.
By sixth grade, we knew for certain something was wrong. I was pulling straight A's in Gifted and Talented courses for all subjects except math, where I was barely passing. I couldn't understand fractions to save my life. My teacher kept me inside at lunch to work with me one-on-one. I still barely squeaked by. I hated it.
When your entire identity as a kid has been wrapped up in your academic performance, failure is incredibly hard to process, let alone deal with. And my identity was very much wrapped up in academics. I was the kid who won contests and wrote awesome stories and won spelling and geography bees and captained quiz bowl and received all sorts of attention and recognition. But I couldn't do a fucking math problem to save my life.
That year, I went to stay with my grandparents in Florida. I was homeschooled while there. When my grandma realized how hard I struggled to comprehend basic math, she pulled out the instructional material from kindergarten and had me start all over from the beginning. I still couldn't understand division or fractions. I still couldn't tell left from right or North from South.
By the ninth grade, I dreaded math to the point that I hated going to school. My teacher that year didn't make it any better. I'd love to say she was compassionate and understanding, but she wasn't. She loved to berate me in front of the entire class, demanding to know how someone so smart could be so stupid. I learned a valuable lesson that year: sometimes, kids are a hell of a lot nicer than adults. They didn't make fun of me. If anything, they rallied around me.
I was in trouble all the time. I showed my ass just so I wouldn't have to go to her class. I hated that I performed so well in everything except math. I learned to hate being called smart, because I knew that, when I couldn't live up to the title, someone would be upset with me. It was easier when there were no expectations, because I wouldn't feel like a bad kid if no one expected me to wow them. My teacher wouldn't yell at me or berate me. She wouldn't relish returning my worksheets with giant red Fs on them. I wouldn't feel humiliation every time she asked me a question and I couldn't figure out how to work the problem, let alone give her an answer, prompting her to scoff, roll her eyes, and ask if I was stupid.
Eventually, my sister, who was in the same class, had enough of how I was being treated. When our teacher started in on me that day, she stood up and spoke her mind. Our teacher fled in tears. My sister was kicked out of her algebra class and was not allowed to be assigned to any of her future classes. The teacher didn't speak to me for the rest of the year unless I spoke first.
All I felt was relief. I managed to squeak by with a very low C.
The next year, I had geography. I excelled in places and totally bombed in others. My teacher took me aside to ask why I was in Gifted and Talented classes in every subject except math, where I was barely surviving a remedial class. I didn't have an answer for her. But she had one for me. Dyscalculia.
I'd never heard that word before, but I had a textbook case.
My brain doesn't see math like other's do. I can learn one concept, but as soon as we move on to something else, I forget what I just learned. No matter how much I practice, I forget. It's like I never learned it at all. I transpose numbers, or skip them. I have to visualize my hand making an "L" to remember which is left and which is right.
I don't know why it took until I was a sophomore for anyone to make the effort to find out what was really going on with me and confirm that I had a learning disability. That diagnosis was a weight off my shoulders and a big blow at the same time. As relieving as it was to know what was wrong, I was terrified I would be yanked out of Gifted and Talented and put in remedial classes across the board. I didn't need them in any subject except math. In fact, during standardized testing that year, I tested high enough IQ wise they wanted me to apply to Mensa despite my struggles with mathematics. I was fifteen. And I didn't have a fucking clue how to solve for X or divide by 9. What was I supposed to do around a bunch of geniuses?
I didn't apply. I didn't feel like I deserved it.
I left public school for an Independent Study program that year. With the brain lesions, I was missing so much school for appointments and illness, they couldn't pass me even though I was on the Honor Roll. I refused to take the same classes twice when I'd already aced them once.
The director of the IS program knew all about my strengths and weaknesses, and she worked hard to ensure I was challenged without pushing me to the breaking point with math. I was embarrassed to tell her the truth, but she did so much to ensure I knew there wasn't anything wrong with me for having a learning disability. I didn't do anything wrong. It didn't mean I was stupid. It was just a part of me. In fact, a lot of very smart people have learning disabilities, she told me. Albert Einstein, Thomas Jefferson, Thomas Edison, even George Washington had learning disabilities. They were also some of the smartest people in the world during their time.
For the first time in years, I began to enjoy school again. I took astronomy and psychology and classic literature and so many classes I didn't have the opportunity to pursue in public school. And I excelled. No one called me stupid or yelled at me when I couldn't figure out basic math. No one asked why I needed so much extra help with math, but could teach myself any other subject they put in front of me. I began to accept that I didn't have to be embarrassed about being smart, because no one was going to torment or pity me for not grasping mathematical concepts.
With her help, I graduated on time and went on to college.
I spent the months leading up to college algebra on the verge of panic, terrified my professor and classmates would treat me like I was stupid. That they'd laugh at me, or yell at me. It took six tutors, sometimes as much as twenty five hours a week, to get me through college algebra with a low B. My professor knew about my disability and made exceptions for me. If I could show my work one way, but not the way she taught, she didn't hold it against me. She knew how hard I was working, and didn't question it if I could give her the right answer but couldn't explain how I did it. And I couldn't explain it.
I finished college at the very top of my class, summa cum laude, and went on to graduate school. I was one of four students chosen from the entire student body to work as teaching assistants. They didn't care that I couldn't do math, not when it wasn't relevant to what I was studying or to my ability to tutor my fellow students in those same subjects.
In 2012, I finished my graduate degree at the top of my class with a combined 3.96 GPA for all seven years of my schooling (undergraduate and graduate). That same year, I published my first novel. And I began to realize that what I'd gone through had shaped me in some pretty incredible (and devastating) ways.
I still feel a moment of panic when someone asks me to do anything math-related. I still obsessively check addresses and phone numbers to make sure I'm entering them correctly. I still stress when I go to the store because I'm afraid I've done the math wrong and I'll spend more than I can afford or that I'll somehow overdraw the bank. Even when it doesn't happen, I worry.
I'm still learning to accept that it's okay to fail. It doesn't make you stupid. It makes you human. I can't do math, and for a long time, I was made to feel that something was inherently wrong with me because smart people aren't supposed to fail. I failed though. Over and over and over again.
The taunts still linger. I get touchy when someone implies I'm stupid. I'll probably never be okay with people laughing at my piss-poor math skills. But I'm not stupid. And I don't give up. I'm a perfectionist. I am where I am today because I work harder and push myself more than most. For a long time, it's what I had to do to survive.
Now, you'll find me using that drive to do something I love. I write about heroes and heroines who do the same I did for so long: push themselves harder than most to overcome the challenges and obstacles placed before them.
About the AuthorAyden (or A.K.) lives in the heart of Arkansas with her childhood sweetheart/husband of over a decade, and their five furry minions. She is the author of the Amazon bestselling Ragnarök Prophesies series. When not writing, she spends her time hiking, reading, volunteering, causing mischief, and building a Spork army. Ayden graduated summa cum laude with her Bachelor of Science degree in Criminal Justice and Forensic Psychology in 2009 before going on to complete her graduate degree in CJ and Law. She currently puts her education to use in the social services and CJ fields.
She is the author of six published novels. Her first, FADE, is an Amazon Top 100 Bestseller. Her latest, Rhapsody, pits a ballerina and a DEA agent against a violent drug cartel in a race to save lives and stop a deadly drug from hitting the international market. You can find her here at her blog, on Twitter, and on Facebook.
November 23, 2015
Review: Once Upon a Power Play by Jennifer Bonds #romance #hockey
He'll do whatever it takes to get her against the boards…Sidelined by a potentially career-ending injury, the only thing hockey player Ryan Douglas should be thinking about is recovery. But after sharing a near death experience and a night of passion with a spunky brunette, the only thing on his mind is five and a half feet of sexy sarcasm. And he'll do whatever it takes to get her back in his bed--even if it means playing dirty.
Chloe Jacobs is done with fairytales. And men. She's kissed her share of frogs and what's it gotten her? Dumped by text--again. Determined to eighty-six illusions of romance and prove she's more than just a good-time girl, the last thing she needs is a pushy, arrogant hockey player testing her resolve. Especially one who's sinfully good with his hands and thinks date-by-blackmail is a perfectly acceptable social convention.
Ryan wants to play games? Fine by her, but this is one faceoff he's going to lose.
On Sale in Digital: November 16, 2015
Amazon B&N Kobo iBooks
Add ONCE UPON A POWER PLAY to your TBR pile on Goodreads! My Review
Spoiler Warning
I received this book via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
When Chloe Jacobs is dumped via text by the guy she's been dating, she's had enough. In nothing but a dress, boots, and a coat, she marches through a blizzard to the grocery store, intent on drinking away her woes. Problem is, with the storm raging outside, the store has been picked virtually clean of all the good stuff. Chloe doesn't let this stop her, and makes a grab for the last measly lime...only for Ryan Douglas, a hockey player, to snatch it up first.
Chloe has no clue who he is, and isn't about to let a giant lumberjack steal her lime. Right up until the store is held up by a kid on crack. Chloe and Ryan have to save themselves and the terrified cashier. Naturally, this doesn't go as planned. As Ryan tussles with the gunman, Chloe clocks the kid over the head with the purse.
After talking with the police, Ryan insists on walking her home and the two give in to the heat between them, right there on her kitchen counter.
When Chloe arrives at the Garden to film a spot for a charity, she's shocked to learn the guy who blew her mind is none other than the Captain of the NY Rangers. She shuts him down, but Ryan is relentless, demanding she go out with him again. Chloe reluctantly agrees, only to find herself spending a lot more time with Ryan than she planned. Feelings grow between the two while both desperately remind themselves that they're only in it for the sex.
That little lie is blow apart when pictures of Ryan in a comprising position leak to the media, revealing the truth depth of their feelings for one another. Can Ryan convince Chloe that there's more to them than insanely hot sex or has he lost the only woman who matters to him?
You know I was all in for this novel as soon as I read the summary. Hockey and sarcasm? Sign me up!
Once Upon a Power Play started a little slow for me. The first few pages I wasn't really feeling the story, and then Ryan and Chloe met. The chemistry between them is off the charts. And so is the banter and verbal sparring. Chloe is a little spitfire, and Ryan loves every minute of it. She keeps him on his toes, and keeps him guessing. I was laughing out loud through most of the book, and secretly cheered for the Rangers (which I shall never ever admit to doing ever again... unless they're playing the Flyers) and Ryan the rest of the time. The scene with the Santa Claus? Died with laughter.
This book is lighthearted fun, and I really enjoyed it. I would definitely recommend it to those looking for a quick read with a lot of heat, a lot of sarcasm, a little hockey, and a lot of fun. Four stars!
Author Bio:
Jennifer Bonds writes sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy heroes, and a whole lot of mischief. When she's not writing or wrangling toddlers, she can be found curled up with a good book and a bottle of wine. Jennifer lives in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She's lucky enough to live with her own real life hero, two adorable children, and a pair of rambunctious dogs. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, the Winchester brothers, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.
Connect with Jennifer : Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon
November 22, 2015
Guest Post: Thankful for Escape by Elizabeth Roderick #thankfulforadversity
Every year in November, we talk about what we're thankful for, but not many of us stop to say thanks for the obstacles and adversity we've faced. For the next week, authors from all walks of life and backgrounds will be here to share those difficult situations that have helped define and shape who they are as people and as authors. We are thankful for adversity. You can join in by posting what you're thankful for under the #thankfulforadversity tag on Twitter and Facebook. In order to celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday, Ayden Morgen came up with the idea for a blog series about writers who are thankful even through adversity. Thank you, Ayden, for giving me the opportunity to participate.
So, I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s something I haven’t declared openly, and feel more than tentative about publicly announcing now. I think the time has come, though, for me to be honest, in the hope that, in doing so, I can grow as a person, and perhaps inspire others to grow as well.
Before I reveal my deep, dark secrets, I’ll tell you a little bit more about myself. My name is Elizabeth Roderick. I’m a mother of a beautiful daughter, who is almost twelve. I was a paralegal for about fifteen years, and a working musician for even longer.
About two years ago, we moved to California for my husband’s tenure-track job as a biochemistry professor. The move separated me from my bands and my job, and I was left at loose ends. So, I began to write.
I don’t know how I failed to discover this before, but I love to write. In the couple years since I began, I’ve penned twelve fiction novels for young adults and adults, as well as numerous short stories and autobiographical vignettes. My first published novel, an LGBT erotic crime thriller entitled Love or Money, will come out on January 12, 2016 through Limitless Publications.
Love or Money is a book about a young woman named Riel who is forced to run drugs for her corrupt brother-in-law, and ends up going to prison for it. After her release, she reenters a world in which she’s an outcast: a convicted felon, an outlaw, untrustworthy. No one will give her a second chance, or an honest job. She’s stuck in a hole from which she feels there’s no escape, and her only option is to go back to work for the brother-in-law who landed her in trouble in the first place.
Despite these obstacles, Riel is determined to make an honest life. She wants to escape the gang culture, go to college, and perhaps find happiness with her true love, as long as she can convince him to take the honest path, as well.
So, regarding my dirty secret. I, like Riel, am a convicted felon. Back in 1999, I was convicted of delivery of heroin, and was sent to prison. So, all the stuff I write about in Love or Money, the prison and gang culture, the serious difficulties with reintegrating into polite society – I didn’t learn about that stuff from T.V.
To say I’m thankful for my “escape” from the world of prison, gangs, and drugs, would be an immense understatement. But, in reality, one never truly escapes one’s past. It drags behind you like a peacock’s tail, heavy and hindering and nowhere near as pretty. Though my conviction was sixteen years ago and I’ve had zero legal troubles since – have in fact recently been able to vacate the felony conviction – I figure some readers are still making sure their firewalls and anti-virus software are intact, that I haven’t hacked into their computer and discovered where they live so that I can come steal their wallets.
I’m used to this reaction. In fact, I’ve lived the last sixteen years in fear of it.
I’m lucky enough to have a college diploma, Spanish language, and typing skills, as well as family that supported me. These benefits enabled me to get a good job and pass as a reputable citizen after my release. However, I’ve lost jobs, loans, volunteer positions, friends, and rental houses because of my criminal history. I’ve been hauled out of the car and subjected to demeaning and frightening treatment by law enforcement, for the less-than-serious offense of going 30 in a 25 zone. I’ve had to put on a good act, so that no cop, employer or landlord would ever ask that dreaded question, “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
Again, I know some of you are saying to yourselves that this is no more than I deserve for breaking the law. I’m not here to disabuse you of that notion. What I’m trying to convince you of – and even more, to convince others in my position of – is that rehabilitation is possible for addicts, felons, and anybody that puts their effort towards it.
When I started writing, a funny thing happened with me. I realized that, at long last, I’d discovered something that didn’t reject me for my past mistakes. Quite the opposite. Writing has given me an opportunity to take a second look at my past and forgive myself for it, even make something beautiful and meaningful of it. When I write about a character who is dealing with poverty, abuse, addiction, mental health issues, and legal troubles, I’m able to identify with them, and root for them. I’m able to see that they’re a good person with a lot of potential, despite and even because of it all. I mean, you always root for the main character, right? So, in understanding my characters, I’ve learned to better understand myself.
I’m hoping readers will also identify and root for my heroines and heroes. I’m hoping my books might cause them to take a look at themselves, or at someone they know, and decide they’re worthy of a second chance. At the very least, I hope I’ll be able to entertain people with good stories, and be an example of an ex-con and recovering addict who has moved on and done something productive.
So, I’m not just thankful that I’ve been able to build a good, stable, honest life. I’m also incredibly thankful I have the desire to write, that I have something that makes me feel good about myself, and that might potentially make others feel good about themselves. I’m thankful that Limitless gave me a chance at being an author, at starting a career that will accept me for who I am, not for who I pretend to be out of fear.
Thank you, also, to Ayden for the opportunity to write this post.
About the Author
ELIZABETH RODERICK grew up as a barefoot ruffian on a fruit orchard near Yakima, in the eastern part of Washington State. After weathering the grunge revolution and devolution in Olympia, Washington, Portland, Oregon and Seattle, she recently moved to the (very, very) small town of Shandon, California: a small cluster of houses amidst the vineyards of the Central Coast.
She earned a bachelor’s degree in Spanish from The Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington, and worked for many years as a paralegal and translator. She went on to study chemistry, physics, and higher mathematics, with the goal of becoming a research chemist, but was eventually forced to concede that graduate school would require too much time away from her husband and daughter, and that–despite her good-enough grades –she was perhaps the wrong kind of nerd for such pursuits, being more the type that likes to dress in cloaks and hauberks rather than lab coats and goggles.
She is a musician and songwriter, and has played in many bands. She’s rocked pretty much every instrument, including some she doesn’t even know the real names for, but mostly guitar, bass and keyboards. She has two albums of her own, which you can listen to at pimentointhehole.com. She writes fiction novels for young adults and adults, as well as short stories, and keeps an active blog at pimentointhehole.com/blog.
You can also find her on Facebook and on Twitter.
Elizabeth's debut novel, LOVE OR MONEY, is scheduled to release on 1/12/2016 from Limitless Publishing.
So, I’m going to tell you a secret. It’s something I haven’t declared openly, and feel more than tentative about publicly announcing now. I think the time has come, though, for me to be honest, in the hope that, in doing so, I can grow as a person, and perhaps inspire others to grow as well.
Before I reveal my deep, dark secrets, I’ll tell you a little bit more about myself. My name is Elizabeth Roderick. I’m a mother of a beautiful daughter, who is almost twelve. I was a paralegal for about fifteen years, and a working musician for even longer.
About two years ago, we moved to California for my husband’s tenure-track job as a biochemistry professor. The move separated me from my bands and my job, and I was left at loose ends. So, I began to write.
I don’t know how I failed to discover this before, but I love to write. In the couple years since I began, I’ve penned twelve fiction novels for young adults and adults, as well as numerous short stories and autobiographical vignettes. My first published novel, an LGBT erotic crime thriller entitled Love or Money, will come out on January 12, 2016 through Limitless Publications.
Love or Money is a book about a young woman named Riel who is forced to run drugs for her corrupt brother-in-law, and ends up going to prison for it. After her release, she reenters a world in which she’s an outcast: a convicted felon, an outlaw, untrustworthy. No one will give her a second chance, or an honest job. She’s stuck in a hole from which she feels there’s no escape, and her only option is to go back to work for the brother-in-law who landed her in trouble in the first place.
Despite these obstacles, Riel is determined to make an honest life. She wants to escape the gang culture, go to college, and perhaps find happiness with her true love, as long as she can convince him to take the honest path, as well.
So, regarding my dirty secret. I, like Riel, am a convicted felon. Back in 1999, I was convicted of delivery of heroin, and was sent to prison. So, all the stuff I write about in Love or Money, the prison and gang culture, the serious difficulties with reintegrating into polite society – I didn’t learn about that stuff from T.V.
To say I’m thankful for my “escape” from the world of prison, gangs, and drugs, would be an immense understatement. But, in reality, one never truly escapes one’s past. It drags behind you like a peacock’s tail, heavy and hindering and nowhere near as pretty. Though my conviction was sixteen years ago and I’ve had zero legal troubles since – have in fact recently been able to vacate the felony conviction – I figure some readers are still making sure their firewalls and anti-virus software are intact, that I haven’t hacked into their computer and discovered where they live so that I can come steal their wallets.
I’m used to this reaction. In fact, I’ve lived the last sixteen years in fear of it.
I’m lucky enough to have a college diploma, Spanish language, and typing skills, as well as family that supported me. These benefits enabled me to get a good job and pass as a reputable citizen after my release. However, I’ve lost jobs, loans, volunteer positions, friends, and rental houses because of my criminal history. I’ve been hauled out of the car and subjected to demeaning and frightening treatment by law enforcement, for the less-than-serious offense of going 30 in a 25 zone. I’ve had to put on a good act, so that no cop, employer or landlord would ever ask that dreaded question, “Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”
Again, I know some of you are saying to yourselves that this is no more than I deserve for breaking the law. I’m not here to disabuse you of that notion. What I’m trying to convince you of – and even more, to convince others in my position of – is that rehabilitation is possible for addicts, felons, and anybody that puts their effort towards it.
When I started writing, a funny thing happened with me. I realized that, at long last, I’d discovered something that didn’t reject me for my past mistakes. Quite the opposite. Writing has given me an opportunity to take a second look at my past and forgive myself for it, even make something beautiful and meaningful of it. When I write about a character who is dealing with poverty, abuse, addiction, mental health issues, and legal troubles, I’m able to identify with them, and root for them. I’m able to see that they’re a good person with a lot of potential, despite and even because of it all. I mean, you always root for the main character, right? So, in understanding my characters, I’ve learned to better understand myself.
I’m hoping readers will also identify and root for my heroines and heroes. I’m hoping my books might cause them to take a look at themselves, or at someone they know, and decide they’re worthy of a second chance. At the very least, I hope I’ll be able to entertain people with good stories, and be an example of an ex-con and recovering addict who has moved on and done something productive.
So, I’m not just thankful that I’ve been able to build a good, stable, honest life. I’m also incredibly thankful I have the desire to write, that I have something that makes me feel good about myself, and that might potentially make others feel good about themselves. I’m thankful that Limitless gave me a chance at being an author, at starting a career that will accept me for who I am, not for who I pretend to be out of fear.
Thank you, also, to Ayden for the opportunity to write this post.
About the Author
ELIZABETH RODERICK grew up as a barefoot ruffian on a fruit orchard near Yakima, in the eastern part of Washington State. After weathering the grunge revolution and devolution in Olympia, Washington, Portland, Oregon and Seattle, she recently moved to the (very, very) small town of Shandon, California: a small cluster of houses amidst the vineyards of the Central Coast.
She earned a bachelor’s degree in Spanish from The Evergreen State College in Olympia, Washington, and worked for many years as a paralegal and translator. She went on to study chemistry, physics, and higher mathematics, with the goal of becoming a research chemist, but was eventually forced to concede that graduate school would require too much time away from her husband and daughter, and that–despite her good-enough grades –she was perhaps the wrong kind of nerd for such pursuits, being more the type that likes to dress in cloaks and hauberks rather than lab coats and goggles.
She is a musician and songwriter, and has played in many bands. She’s rocked pretty much every instrument, including some she doesn’t even know the real names for, but mostly guitar, bass and keyboards. She has two albums of her own, which you can listen to at pimentointhehole.com. She writes fiction novels for young adults and adults, as well as short stories, and keeps an active blog at pimentointhehole.com/blog.
You can also find her on Facebook and on Twitter.
Elizabeth's debut novel, LOVE OR MONEY, is scheduled to release on 1/12/2016 from Limitless Publishing.
November 20, 2015
Guest Post: Thankful for Being a Loser by Debbie De Louise #thankfulforadversity
Every year in November, we talk about what we're thankful for, but not many of us stop to say thanks for the obstacles and adversity we've faced. For the next week, authors from all walks of life and backgrounds will be here to share those difficult situations that have helped define and shape who they are as people and as authors. We are thankful for adversity. You can join in by posting what you're thankful for under the #thankfulforadversity tag on Twitter and Facebook. 
A year ago this November, I made a decision that changed my life, and it happened in an unexpected way. A co-worker at the library where I work had lost some weight on Weight Watchers. Having been on many diets on and off all my life and gaining the weight back plus more, I was hesitant to try dieting again. But seeing this co-worker and realizing I was at my top weight, 200+ pounds that is considered obese for a woman my height, 5 feet 3, I knew I had to do something. I was more concerned with my health than my looks at this point. I’d never had high blood pressure, but I was beginning to get borderline results. I also didn’t have diabetes, but it ran in my family.
Considering what weight loss program to give another try, I was close to enrolling in Weight Watchers. But before I did, I visited my credit union to make a deposit (I rarely do this in person, but I had to make some changes on the account that required me to go into the office). When I walked through the doors, I was greeted by a woman distributing a coupon for a free-month trial of Jenny Craig . I’d tried both Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig years ago with short-term results, but I figured I had nothing to lose by trying a free month. I took the coupon and made the appointment with a counselor to start my program. Having a center close to my home made it easier to attend the weekly sessions with a very nice woman named Lauren who made me feel welcome and was very supportive.
Following the program, I lost 10 pounds the first month and really didn’t feel hungry, but I knew that initial weight loss is usually high and tends to taper off. I was also not convinced I would continue to follow the program. The cost was also a bit prohibitive. In addition to the price of the food and the monthly program fee, it made a dent in our family budget, but my husband encouraged me to continue. He said that I couldn’t put a price on my health, and we would just have to cut back in other areas.
A few months into the program, I was losing steadily between the 1 to 2 pounds that Jenny Craig indicated was the norm for dieters following the plan. I began to have more energy, my blood pressure was no longer borderline, and I found myself writing again. I had stopped after self-publishing a novel several years back and hadn’t been able to find the time or inspiration to write another. I started with short stories and even enrolled in some online writing classes my library offered. Then I got an idea for another romantic suspense novel. In February of 2015, three months into my Jenny Craig program, I began writing “A Stone’s Throw.” Meanwhile, my weight loss continued. As the book grew, my body shrunk. My husband and Jenny Craig counselor were very proud, and I was feeling so much better.
I find it hard to believe, when I look in the mirror, that I’ve actually lost 50 pounds and nearly 10 clothing sizes this year. I can now shop in a regular department store instead of online through the specialty “large women” shops. I’ve also added exercise to my regimen and walk a mile a day to help burn up more calories as I get closer to my goal weight.
“A Stone’s Throw” is being published this November by Limitless Publishing. I’m not sure if I owe its publication to the creative energy I developed as a result of my weight loss or if it’s just another sign of what you can accomplish if you are determined and have the support of others. I only know I’m thankful for having gone to my credit union that day last November, that I decided to give Jenny Craig another try, and that my husband and counselor were so supportive.
About A Stone's Throw
Widowed librarian Alicia Fairmont needs answers…
After her husband is killed in a hit and run accident, Alicia travels upstate to his hometown of Cobble Cove, New York, hoping to locate his estranged family and shed light on his mysterious past. Anticipating staying only a weekend, her visit is extended when she accepts a job at the town’s library.
Secrets stretch decades into the past…
Assisted by handsome newspaper publisher and aspiring novelist, John McKinney, Alicia discovers a connection between her absent in-laws and a secret John’s father has kept for over sixty years. But her investigation is interrupted when she receives word her house has burned and arson is suspected, sending her rushing back to Long Island, accompanied by John.
Back in Cobble Cove, cryptic clues are uncovered…
When Alicia returns, she finds a strange diary, confiscated letters, and a digital audio device containing a recording made the day her husband was killed. Anonymous notes warn Alicia to leave town, but she can’t turn her back on the mystery—or her attraction to John.
As the pieces begin to fall into place, evidence points to John’s involvement in her husband’s accident. The past and present threaten to collide, and Alicia confronts her fears—Has she fallen in love with her husband’s killer?
A Stone’s Throw is available at: http://tinyurl.com/puzwxks.
About the Author
Debbie De Louise is a reference librarian at a public library on Long Island. Her romantic suspense novel, “Cloudy Rainbow” received an honorable mention in the Writer’s Digest self-published awards. She was awarded the Lawrence C. Lobaugh Memorial Award in Journalism from Long Island University/C.W. Post where she earned a B.A. in English and a M.L.S. in Library Science. A member of the Cat Writer’s Association, she has published articles in Cats Magazine, Catnip (Tufts University Veterinary Newsletter), and Catster. Her short mystery, “Stitches in Time” was published in the Cat Crimes Through Time Anthology. She lives on Long Island with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
You can find Debbie on Facebook, Twitter, Limitless Publishing, and via her website.
Don't forget to join Debbie as she and many other authors give thanks to readers today during the Thanksreaders Release Party for A Stone's Throw on Facebook! You can join in here.
A year ago this November, I made a decision that changed my life, and it happened in an unexpected way. A co-worker at the library where I work had lost some weight on Weight Watchers. Having been on many diets on and off all my life and gaining the weight back plus more, I was hesitant to try dieting again. But seeing this co-worker and realizing I was at my top weight, 200+ pounds that is considered obese for a woman my height, 5 feet 3, I knew I had to do something. I was more concerned with my health than my looks at this point. I’d never had high blood pressure, but I was beginning to get borderline results. I also didn’t have diabetes, but it ran in my family.
Considering what weight loss program to give another try, I was close to enrolling in Weight Watchers. But before I did, I visited my credit union to make a deposit (I rarely do this in person, but I had to make some changes on the account that required me to go into the office). When I walked through the doors, I was greeted by a woman distributing a coupon for a free-month trial of Jenny Craig . I’d tried both Weight Watchers and Jenny Craig years ago with short-term results, but I figured I had nothing to lose by trying a free month. I took the coupon and made the appointment with a counselor to start my program. Having a center close to my home made it easier to attend the weekly sessions with a very nice woman named Lauren who made me feel welcome and was very supportive.
Following the program, I lost 10 pounds the first month and really didn’t feel hungry, but I knew that initial weight loss is usually high and tends to taper off. I was also not convinced I would continue to follow the program. The cost was also a bit prohibitive. In addition to the price of the food and the monthly program fee, it made a dent in our family budget, but my husband encouraged me to continue. He said that I couldn’t put a price on my health, and we would just have to cut back in other areas.
A few months into the program, I was losing steadily between the 1 to 2 pounds that Jenny Craig indicated was the norm for dieters following the plan. I began to have more energy, my blood pressure was no longer borderline, and I found myself writing again. I had stopped after self-publishing a novel several years back and hadn’t been able to find the time or inspiration to write another. I started with short stories and even enrolled in some online writing classes my library offered. Then I got an idea for another romantic suspense novel. In February of 2015, three months into my Jenny Craig program, I began writing “A Stone’s Throw.” Meanwhile, my weight loss continued. As the book grew, my body shrunk. My husband and Jenny Craig counselor were very proud, and I was feeling so much better.
I find it hard to believe, when I look in the mirror, that I’ve actually lost 50 pounds and nearly 10 clothing sizes this year. I can now shop in a regular department store instead of online through the specialty “large women” shops. I’ve also added exercise to my regimen and walk a mile a day to help burn up more calories as I get closer to my goal weight.
“A Stone’s Throw” is being published this November by Limitless Publishing. I’m not sure if I owe its publication to the creative energy I developed as a result of my weight loss or if it’s just another sign of what you can accomplish if you are determined and have the support of others. I only know I’m thankful for having gone to my credit union that day last November, that I decided to give Jenny Craig another try, and that my husband and counselor were so supportive.
About A Stone's Throw
Widowed librarian Alicia Fairmont needs answers…
After her husband is killed in a hit and run accident, Alicia travels upstate to his hometown of Cobble Cove, New York, hoping to locate his estranged family and shed light on his mysterious past. Anticipating staying only a weekend, her visit is extended when she accepts a job at the town’s library.
Secrets stretch decades into the past…
Assisted by handsome newspaper publisher and aspiring novelist, John McKinney, Alicia discovers a connection between her absent in-laws and a secret John’s father has kept for over sixty years. But her investigation is interrupted when she receives word her house has burned and arson is suspected, sending her rushing back to Long Island, accompanied by John.
Back in Cobble Cove, cryptic clues are uncovered…
When Alicia returns, she finds a strange diary, confiscated letters, and a digital audio device containing a recording made the day her husband was killed. Anonymous notes warn Alicia to leave town, but she can’t turn her back on the mystery—or her attraction to John.
As the pieces begin to fall into place, evidence points to John’s involvement in her husband’s accident. The past and present threaten to collide, and Alicia confronts her fears—Has she fallen in love with her husband’s killer?
A Stone’s Throw is available at: http://tinyurl.com/puzwxks.
About the Author
Debbie De Louise is a reference librarian at a public library on Long Island. Her romantic suspense novel, “Cloudy Rainbow” received an honorable mention in the Writer’s Digest self-published awards. She was awarded the Lawrence C. Lobaugh Memorial Award in Journalism from Long Island University/C.W. Post where she earned a B.A. in English and a M.L.S. in Library Science. A member of the Cat Writer’s Association, she has published articles in Cats Magazine, Catnip (Tufts University Veterinary Newsletter), and Catster. Her short mystery, “Stitches in Time” was published in the Cat Crimes Through Time Anthology. She lives on Long Island with her husband, daughter, and two cats.
You can find Debbie on Facebook, Twitter, Limitless Publishing, and via her website.
Don't forget to join Debbie as she and many other authors give thanks to readers today during the Thanksreaders Release Party for A Stone's Throw on Facebook! You can join in here.
November 18, 2015
Guest Post: Resiliency by Erin Lee #thankfulforadversity
Every year in November, we talk about what we're thankful for, but not many of us stop to say thanks for the obstacles and adversity we've faced. For the next week, authors from all walks of life and backgrounds will be here to share those difficult situations that have helped define and shape who they are as people and as authors. We are thankful for adversity. You can join in by posting what you're thankful for under the #thankfulforadversity tag on Twitter and Facebook.
In five years, not a day has gone by where I don’t find myself speechless, at least for a moment, when I hear a new story of child abuse. My job is to step in and help abused and neglected kids try to pick up pieces of their lives after adults they love and trust hurt them. In this season of Thanksgiving, I am most thankful for these children and their resiliency. I work tirelessly to be sure their voices are heard and am thankful for those who do the same.
I cannot imagine what it must be like to be moved from your home, placed in a foster or group home, and left to fend for yourself. Case workers and social workers come and go and some homes are better than others. Many of these children have only themselves and each other to depend on. I am grateful for their ability to preserve in ways many adults would not.
Child abuse takes on many shapes and forms. From emotional and verbal abuse, to sexual and physical abuse, there are more ways than most people realize that kids get hurt every day. What many don’t know is that most kids are hurt by the people they love. Parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts are often the biggest perpetrators in a child’s life. This makes things even more scary and confusing for kids, who are taught to trust the people they love.
When abuse happens, families don’t often want to think something could be wrong in their own family. Secrets happen. People whisper, but do nothing. They want to pretend the child is making up a story or that abuse was “a one-time thing” or even an accident. Sadly, this is rarely true. Instead, abuse is more common than even statisticians can calculate because of how grossly underreported it is. Most often, those who abuse get away with it and continue to commit crimes against children.
The one thing I am most grateful for is the handful of people who are stepping up and doing something about this. It takes courage to learn of abuse and do something. There are unsung heroes who are willing to lose relationships and cause family rifts to defend the innocent. These people, who often have the most to lose, are the people who support children unconditionally and understand that abuse can never be tolerated, in any shape or form, no matter who the perpetrator.
As the author of “Wave to Papa,” a story of the abuse of a toddler, I am thankful for my ability to write to shed more light on abuse and the social services system. It’s my hope that with this story, and the many others to follow – I’ve just contracted more books on similar topics – I can work to keep these serious issues in the public eye.
Thank you to all who stand with me, not unafraid, but stubborn enough to do the right thing no matter what the cost. Your courage inspires me in the same way these children do. It’s nice to know that we are not alone. As long as kids are being hurt, I will continue to tell their stories and yours. Together, I hope that someday, we can put an end to child abuse and create a fairer and just system for the most vulnerable and innocent – our kids. About Wave to Papa
Sometimes, the most obvious things are the hardest to see.
She stands at the top of the courthouse steps, clutching her toddler son to her ribs. His chubby fists form tight balls. He grabs her rope necklace, the one her husband bought her for their first anniversary four years ago. From it, hangs a modest silver cross. She inhales, and begins her descent, trying not to make eye contact with the reporters coming toward them. They hold cameras, microphones, pens, notebooks, and determined expressions. They remind her of a lynch mob or of hunters at the beginning of deer season. She tells herself they are interested in someone else. She’s used to lying to herself. But there’s no use. She stops, right there, on the Northhampton Superior Courthouse steps. Her words leave her lips before she even has a chance to think about them; assemble them, scan them for consequence.
“He’s okay. We’re okay,” she says, anticipating their questions but not their assumptions or prior knowledge of the history here. “It’s just a little scrape. He just misses his Papa!”
A mustached man with a giant camera comes closer, taking the steps two at a time. Behind him is a skinny woman with big glasses. She carries a long stick with fuzz on the end that Dawn can only assume is a microphone. It reminds Dawn of the oversized dusters her grandmother used to have her clean the trailer with as a child. She holds baby Noah closer, pulling the necklace from his grip. He doesn’t fight her and instead begins to drool. She looks to her left. She looks to her right. The only way out is down the steps. She’s frozen.
***
Dawn Winchester stands on the courthouse steps holding her toddler son, Noah. The boy is shy and bruised. It’s the second time they’ve stood together like this after Noah’s father has “had an accident” while watching him. But this time, the media wants answers and a lynch mob is coming straight for Dawn – a self-described ‘good Christian’ woman now at risk of losing a second child. Dawn must decide whether to believe her husband and stand by him; despite the serious allegations against him. Scared and alone, she must ask herself: At what point is an accident only an accident and when is it time to step up and protect your child? When is enough finally enough?
“Wave to Papa” is available at: http://amzn.com/1680582771
About the Author
Lee is freelance writer and therapist from Southern, NH. Lee’s work has appeared in journals and magazines since 1995. She’s received numerous awards from the New England Press Association for her work as a journalist. “Wave to Papa” is her second novel. Lee is also author of “Crazy Like Me” with Savant Books and Publications, LLC. She has a master’s degree in marriage and family therapy and works with children and families in crisis.
More of her work can be seen at www.authorerinlee.com.
LIMITLESS PUBLISHING: http://www.limitlesspublishing.net/authors/erin-lee/
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13994843.Erin_Lee
WEBSITE: http://www.authorerinlee.com/
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/gonecrazytalksoon
In five years, not a day has gone by where I don’t find myself speechless, at least for a moment, when I hear a new story of child abuse. My job is to step in and help abused and neglected kids try to pick up pieces of their lives after adults they love and trust hurt them. In this season of Thanksgiving, I am most thankful for these children and their resiliency. I work tirelessly to be sure their voices are heard and am thankful for those who do the same.I cannot imagine what it must be like to be moved from your home, placed in a foster or group home, and left to fend for yourself. Case workers and social workers come and go and some homes are better than others. Many of these children have only themselves and each other to depend on. I am grateful for their ability to preserve in ways many adults would not.
Child abuse takes on many shapes and forms. From emotional and verbal abuse, to sexual and physical abuse, there are more ways than most people realize that kids get hurt every day. What many don’t know is that most kids are hurt by the people they love. Parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts are often the biggest perpetrators in a child’s life. This makes things even more scary and confusing for kids, who are taught to trust the people they love.
When abuse happens, families don’t often want to think something could be wrong in their own family. Secrets happen. People whisper, but do nothing. They want to pretend the child is making up a story or that abuse was “a one-time thing” or even an accident. Sadly, this is rarely true. Instead, abuse is more common than even statisticians can calculate because of how grossly underreported it is. Most often, those who abuse get away with it and continue to commit crimes against children.
The one thing I am most grateful for is the handful of people who are stepping up and doing something about this. It takes courage to learn of abuse and do something. There are unsung heroes who are willing to lose relationships and cause family rifts to defend the innocent. These people, who often have the most to lose, are the people who support children unconditionally and understand that abuse can never be tolerated, in any shape or form, no matter who the perpetrator.
As the author of “Wave to Papa,” a story of the abuse of a toddler, I am thankful for my ability to write to shed more light on abuse and the social services system. It’s my hope that with this story, and the many others to follow – I’ve just contracted more books on similar topics – I can work to keep these serious issues in the public eye.
Thank you to all who stand with me, not unafraid, but stubborn enough to do the right thing no matter what the cost. Your courage inspires me in the same way these children do. It’s nice to know that we are not alone. As long as kids are being hurt, I will continue to tell their stories and yours. Together, I hope that someday, we can put an end to child abuse and create a fairer and just system for the most vulnerable and innocent – our kids. About Wave to Papa
Sometimes, the most obvious things are the hardest to see.
She stands at the top of the courthouse steps, clutching her toddler son to her ribs. His chubby fists form tight balls. He grabs her rope necklace, the one her husband bought her for their first anniversary four years ago. From it, hangs a modest silver cross. She inhales, and begins her descent, trying not to make eye contact with the reporters coming toward them. They hold cameras, microphones, pens, notebooks, and determined expressions. They remind her of a lynch mob or of hunters at the beginning of deer season. She tells herself they are interested in someone else. She’s used to lying to herself. But there’s no use. She stops, right there, on the Northhampton Superior Courthouse steps. Her words leave her lips before she even has a chance to think about them; assemble them, scan them for consequence.
“He’s okay. We’re okay,” she says, anticipating their questions but not their assumptions or prior knowledge of the history here. “It’s just a little scrape. He just misses his Papa!”
A mustached man with a giant camera comes closer, taking the steps two at a time. Behind him is a skinny woman with big glasses. She carries a long stick with fuzz on the end that Dawn can only assume is a microphone. It reminds Dawn of the oversized dusters her grandmother used to have her clean the trailer with as a child. She holds baby Noah closer, pulling the necklace from his grip. He doesn’t fight her and instead begins to drool. She looks to her left. She looks to her right. The only way out is down the steps. She’s frozen.
***
Dawn Winchester stands on the courthouse steps holding her toddler son, Noah. The boy is shy and bruised. It’s the second time they’ve stood together like this after Noah’s father has “had an accident” while watching him. But this time, the media wants answers and a lynch mob is coming straight for Dawn – a self-described ‘good Christian’ woman now at risk of losing a second child. Dawn must decide whether to believe her husband and stand by him; despite the serious allegations against him. Scared and alone, she must ask herself: At what point is an accident only an accident and when is it time to step up and protect your child? When is enough finally enough?
“Wave to Papa” is available at: http://amzn.com/1680582771
About the Author
Lee is freelance writer and therapist from Southern, NH. Lee’s work has appeared in journals and magazines since 1995. She’s received numerous awards from the New England Press Association for her work as a journalist. “Wave to Papa” is her second novel. Lee is also author of “Crazy Like Me” with Savant Books and Publications, LLC. She has a master’s degree in marriage and family therapy and works with children and families in crisis.
More of her work can be seen at www.authorerinlee.com.
LIMITLESS PUBLISHING: http://www.limitlesspublishing.net/authors/erin-lee/
GOODREADS: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13994843.Erin_Lee
WEBSITE: http://www.authorerinlee.com/
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/gonecrazytalksoon
Once Upon a Power Play by Jennifer Bonds #romance
Welcome to the Hottest Faceoff this NHL SeasonHe’ll do whatever it takes to get her against the boards…Chloe Jacobs was sure things couldn’t get worse after surviving an armed robbery. She never imaged a one night stand would land her in the tabloids…or that the sexy stranger would turn out to be the NHL’s hottest center. Find out in Jennifer Bonds’s newest Risky Business novel, ONCE UPON A POWER PLAY, who will win the hottest faceoff of the season.
He'll do whatever it takes to get her against the boards…Sidelined by a potentially career-ending injury, the only thing hockey player Ryan Douglas should be thinking about is recovery. But after sharing a near death experience and a night of passion with a spunky brunette, the only thing on his mind is five and a half feet of sexy sarcasm. And he'll do whatever it takes to get her back in his bed--even if it means playing dirty.
Chloe Jacobs is done with fairytales. And men. She's kissed her share of frogs and what's it gotten her? Dumped by text--again. Determined to eighty-six illusions of romance and prove she's more than just a good-time girl, the last thing she needs is a pushy, arrogant hockey player testing her resolve. Especially one who's sinfully good with his hands and thinks date-by-blackmail is a perfectly acceptable social convention.
Ryan wants to play games? Fine by her, but this is one faceoff he's going to lose.
On Sale in Digital: November 16, 2015
Amazon B&N Kobo iBooks
Add ONCE UPON A POWER PLAY to your TBR pile on Goodreads! Excerpt
“Hey! That’s mine!”
Ryan Douglas froze in his tracks, slowly turning around to find a tiny, pissed off brunette glaring at him with one hand on her hip and the other hugging a gallon-sized jug of margarita mix. “Excuse me?”
“The lime,” she said, nodding her head and enunciating each word as if he might not speak English. “I saw it first.”
It was impossible to suppress the grin that spread over his face. Was she serious? His gaze raked over her, taking in the fancy upsweep of her dark hair and the lacey gold dress—if you could call it that—that revealed more than it covered peeking out from under her unbuttoned coat. The furry brown boots climbing halfway to her bare knees? Those he could do without, but the rest was pretty damn sexy. There wasn’t a winter coat around that could hide those curves. She had the kind of body a man could sink his teeth into. And he. Was. Ravenous.
“Like what you see?” She raised her brow and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “The meat department is two aisles over.”
He laughed, and it was an honest-to-God, full-on belly laugh. She was a fiery little thing. But that didn’t mean he was giving her the lime. Maybe if she’d asked nicely. But with that attitude? It’d be a cold day in hell.
“Last I heard, possession is nine-tenths of the law.” He tossed the lime in the air and caught it with his right hand. She glared at him, and for a moment he thought she’d kick him in the balls with her big furry boots. He was being an ass, but she wasn’t exactly Miss Manners herself. Besides, it was the most fun he’d had all day. Which spoke volumes about his shitty afternoon, most of which had been spent getting his ass kicked by a sadistic physical therapist. His leg hurt like hell, but he’d tough it out. He had no other choice if he wanted to salvage his career.
The brunette rolled her eyes, the dark irises shimmering like black coffee under the soft glow of the overhead lights. “It’s not my fault you have inhumanly long lumberjack arms.” The smirk that followed told him yes, she was in fact referring to his worn flannel shirt.
Typical self-important New York princess, judging him by something so superficial. Not that he gave a fuck what she thought, but man, what he wouldn’t give to wipe that little grin off her heart-shaped face. And with years of experience antagonizing his two older sisters, he had a pretty good idea of how to do it. He waved the lime in front of her again, wondering if she’d try to make a play for it. Not that she could get her hands on it if he didn’t want her to. He towered over her by nearly a foot, and his reflexes were pretty damn good. “Princess, I wouldn’t give you this lime if you got down on your knees and begged, but if it means that much to you, you’re welcome to give it a go.”Check out the first book in the Risky Business series!
CELEBRATE THE RELEASE WITH A GIVEAWAY!Grand Prize: A Kindle Fire!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Author Bio:Jennifer Bonds writes sizzling contemporary romance with sassy heroines, sexy heroes, and a whole lot of mischief. When she's not writing or wrangling toddlers, she can be found curled up with a good book and a bottle of wine. Jennifer lives in Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where her overactive imagination and weakness for reality TV keep life interesting. She's lucky enough to live with her own real life hero, two adorable children, and a pair of rambunctious dogs. Loves Buffy, Mexican food, the Winchester brothers, and all things zombie. Sings off-key.
Connect with Jennifer : Website | Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads | Amazon
November 17, 2015
World Prematurity Day #giveaway
My niece, born at 26 weeks gestationThose of you who know me personally know how important preemie health and awareness is to me. One of my nieces and two nephews were all born far too soon--three months too soon. As a result, our family has spent a lot of time in the NICU and in hospitals. It's a hard life, especially for the babies.Today is World Prematurity Day, and I'd like to help you make a difference. Instead of writing a long post telling you all about prematurity and how 15 million children are born too soon each year, and how 1 million of them will die as a result, I'm giving away a Kangaroo Plush to one reader. A second plush will be sent to a NICU family.
All you have to do is #pledgepurple by entering the giveaway below. Visit the March of Dimes, follow them on Twitter, tweet about prematurity, learn about preterm birth, leave a comment on this post, or visit the World Prematurity Day page on Facebook. Or do all of these things. It's up to you how you get involved. Each of these items will earn you 5 entries in the giveaway.
The giveaway runs until the 25th.Support Preemies by Entering the Giveaway
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November 10, 2015
All Falls Down Excerpt #teasertuesday #romance #newadult
Happy Tuesday, loves! I'm very excited to tell you that All Falls Down is FINALLY available at all major ebook retailers. It's been a long time coming! To celebrate, the novel is only .99 cents for a limited time.
After escaping an abusive relationship, the last thing Savannah Martin expects is to fall in love. When she meets Jared Corbit, she does exactly that. But Jared is keeping secrets that threaten to tear her world apart...starting with why he's pretending to date her best friend's sister. Learning the truth should make things easier. Instead, the truth puts Savannah in the sights of a murderer.
If you haven't met Savannah and Jared yet, I hope you'll give them a shot. These two are very near and dear to my heart. The All Falls Down duo was written in memory of my best friend's older sister, who was killed at the age of eighteen. Like Cassie, Savannah knows how destructive abuse can be. Unlike Cassie, Savannah's story doesn't end in tragedy, thanks to Jared. As always, 25% of proceeds goes to the National Domestic Violence Hotline in Cassie's memory.
Check out a little teaser below. :)
"What are you thinking?" Curiosity brims in his quiet question.He leans forward and traces the line of my blush with one fingertip.
I'm sure that causes my face to flame brighter.
"Um, nothing," I mumble quickly, unwilling to share my thoughts with him. My gaze darts around the restaurant. We're the only two seated in the area and it's surprisingly nice for such an out of the way place. The tabletops gleam with polish. "Do they break dishes here?" I blurt, trying to divert his attention.
Jared drops his hand to the tabletop and cocks a brow at me, his lips twitching with amusement. "Do you need to shatter a few plates?"
"Ah...no?"
He reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together on top of the table before flashing that crooked smile again. "Then, no," he says. "The dishes are safe here. It's a very relaxed, very restrained place. None of the usual exuberance of a Greek restaurant."
"It's cozy," I murmur.
"Again with the surprise?" He chuckles, grinning. God, he's so lighthearted and happy, it's almost as if he's never been anything other than relaxed around me. As if he'd rather be here with me than anywhere else. "You're killing my ego, beautiful girl."
"I didn't mean it like that," I hurry to explain. "I just meant–" What did I mean? I raise my other hand and gesture at him. "You're so…. And this place is–" I huff and shake my head, halting my miserable attempt at an explanation when his eyebrows climb a little higher.
His eyes shine with amusement though, and I know I haven't offended him.
I apologize anyway. "I'm sorry. I'm just…" Confused.
He's such a mystery to me. He's so different than he has been since I stepped off the plane and all but knocked him down. All the frustration is missing. All the tension and anger. It has been almost since the moment he kissed me last night, as if I somehow eased his burden. He's actually laughing, completely at ease for once.
I'm having a little trouble getting used to the change.
"You're so different today," I tell him.
"I'm happy," he murmurs, his expression turning serious. He plays with my fingers, looking at me from beneath those long lashes of his. "I'm here with you and I'm just really fucking happy."
My heart flips in my chest and all I can say is, "Oh."
"Yeah," he says. "Oh." He's still rubbing little designs into the back of my hand with his thumb, but he falls silent. "I really have been an overbearing ass to you, haven't I?"
"No." Okay, that doesn't even sound convincing to me. I try again. "You confused me. I thought you hated me, and I didn't know why."
He blows out a soft breath and leans back against the high-back of the booth, my hand wrapped in his. He's utterly still, staring at me. It's as if he's peering into me—sifting through all those things I try to hide from him.
"You completely disorient me," he finally admits, his voice so soft I have to lean in to hear him. "You have since the moment you ran into me at the airport. I'm not used to feeling so breathless all the time."
"I know the feeling," I say. Good grief, do I ever know!
He smiles and squeezes my fingers. "You undo me, Savannah. Every time I look at you, I feel like a teenager. I can't stop thinking about you, or wanting to touch you. I've never wanted to kiss someone so badly or so often. It's overwhelming to be so thoroughly captivated by someone so much better than me. And you are better than me. So fucking much better. I handled it poorly and hurt you in the process. I'm sorry for that."
I open my mouth and then close it, completely mystified about how to respond to him.
I make him feel that way? Me?
"Are you real?" I ask, suspicion rife in my tone.
All Falls Down is now available at Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Smashwords. Or you can grab an autographed copy here.
November 9, 2015
Announcing: Son of a Pitch! (Coming in February)
Pitching competitions can seriously suck. They make you freak out with the pressure, make you sick as you sit waiting for news for weeks, then get practically nothing out of it, not even one sentence of useful feedback.
You end up secretly thinking something like...
Well, this competition isn't like that. This is your chance to get real feedback, not wait forever, and to see--as the competition unfolds--how you're going.
Want a round first up to refine your query and first 250 words? Done. First week is all about that. We want you to stand a chance, and also increase your chances when querying outside of the comp. Because really, cold queries get more deals than competitions do, so let this comp help you get there by giving you a week full of feedback from your peers.
Want a round where published authors give you feedback? You want someone who has been there and done that to help guide you? Done. The second week, the Son of a Pitch team, who are all published, will post your emailed in queries and 250 words, provide feedback, and fight over who has the best pitches on their blogs. They will vote for their favorites to go onto the final round.
Want to get seen by industry professionals? Done. We have a line up of editors, publishers, an agent, and we're still working on more agents (please let us know of an agent or publisher you might like to see your pitch!) But they'll swing by the final contestants to try to bribe you into subbing to them. Who knows? You might get a sweet book deal!
And finally, we'll have a free-for-all Twitter pitching opportunity under the hashtag #sonofapitch
And guess what? You can say whatever you want! Don't worry about this pretentious nonsense that floats around comps; express the real you. Your story rocks; make sure everyone else knows it as much as you do by taking advantage of other people's experience and point of view.
So, DATES!
Week 1 starts Feb 15, 2016
Week 2 starts Feb 22, 2016
Week 3 starts Feb 29, 2016
Twitter Pitch: Mar 7, 2016
This is for all genres of YA, NA, and Adult.
More details to come! We will be announcing the publishers, editors, Son of a Pitch team, etc soon, and how to join in the 2nd round. As a hint, Katie Hamstead featured some of the participating publishers earlier this year on her blog.
So... tell your friends! Let's make this awesome.
You end up secretly thinking something like...
Well, this competition isn't like that. This is your chance to get real feedback, not wait forever, and to see--as the competition unfolds--how you're going. Want a round first up to refine your query and first 250 words? Done. First week is all about that. We want you to stand a chance, and also increase your chances when querying outside of the comp. Because really, cold queries get more deals than competitions do, so let this comp help you get there by giving you a week full of feedback from your peers.
Want a round where published authors give you feedback? You want someone who has been there and done that to help guide you? Done. The second week, the Son of a Pitch team, who are all published, will post your emailed in queries and 250 words, provide feedback, and fight over who has the best pitches on their blogs. They will vote for their favorites to go onto the final round.
Want to get seen by industry professionals? Done. We have a line up of editors, publishers, an agent, and we're still working on more agents (please let us know of an agent or publisher you might like to see your pitch!) But they'll swing by the final contestants to try to bribe you into subbing to them. Who knows? You might get a sweet book deal!
And finally, we'll have a free-for-all Twitter pitching opportunity under the hashtag #sonofapitch
And guess what? You can say whatever you want! Don't worry about this pretentious nonsense that floats around comps; express the real you. Your story rocks; make sure everyone else knows it as much as you do by taking advantage of other people's experience and point of view.
So, DATES!
Week 1 starts Feb 15, 2016
Week 2 starts Feb 22, 2016
Week 3 starts Feb 29, 2016
Twitter Pitch: Mar 7, 2016
This is for all genres of YA, NA, and Adult.
More details to come! We will be announcing the publishers, editors, Son of a Pitch team, etc soon, and how to join in the 2nd round. As a hint, Katie Hamstead featured some of the participating publishers earlier this year on her blog.
So... tell your friends! Let's make this awesome.
