K.N. Lee's Blog, page 37

Languish of Forgotten Souls By, Lawrence BoarerPitchford **Summer Blog Writing Challenge**

The Challenge: In 3,000 words or less write about a photograph a girl finds in her mother's secret jewelry chest. It is a picture of a man that the girl has never seen before. Who is it?
The Result:



            A hundred and eighty six hours and fifty five minutes from when Shannon’s mother was admitted to the hospital, until she was dead. That’s all the time Shannon had with her, and it wasn’t enough. She stood outside her mother’s hospital room, the wad of tissues balled up in her hand, soaked through. The tears just wouldn’t stop flowing, and she dabbed her cheeks with the wet, white ball. Around the corner approached Doctor Daniel Flemish, the young physician assigned to her mother. If circumstances were different, she might actually let her heart skip a beat in his presence, but now, she couldn’t feel her heart, though it must have been beating. Walking up to her he looked down with his deep golden-brown eyes. His nose was a little short she thought, but his lips, cheek bones, and physique were all sublime. “I’m very sorry,” he said with absolute sincerity. Fostering a sympathetic smile, he laid his hand on her shoulder, “Is there anyone I can call to come take you home?” “Home?” she mumbled, the thought of it stabbing her in that empty place that once contained her heart. “I flew in from California at the beginning of the week. Why didn’t she say anything to me? Why did she keep this to herself?”Doctor Flemish gave a knowing, but warm smile, “She was a strong woman. In the hours that I knew her, she was stoic, kind, and big hearted. And, she spoke of you much. I don’t know why people do the things they do, but all I can say is, your mother was a very wonderful woman.” Tears fell from Shannon’s eyes as she sobbed. His words were true and filled with admiration, but it did little to stay the pain. “I want to thank you for all your care. At least she didn’t suffer.” “If you need anything, let me know,” he handed her his card. “We have lots of resources here at the hospital to help grieving family get through the rough patch.” Again, he looked down into her eyes, then he walked past her and into the room. “Notify the morgue,” he casually said to a nurse.
Shannon took up her purse, and like a zombie, walked to the elevator and pressed for the lobby. The doors closed, and she watched the red numbers flash by; seven, six, five, four. The lift stopped and the doors opened. A couple with two children got on, “Now William, I don’t ever want to see you climb up on the roof again.” the woman said to the oldest child who sported a white cast. Three, two, lobby – Shannon got out and walked slowly toward the exit. Outside the air was cool, and in the sky, at the level of the streetlamps, hung a thick white mist. In roughly eight days she’d gone from just visiting, to mourner. It had been two years since she had seen her mother. Work was relentless, and her schedule was always filled with, meetings, presentations, and hours of technical reviews. She cherished their chats on the phone, which consisted of loving words. Her mother never seemed to lack a maternal curiosity that betrayed a mentor’s genuine interest. But, all that time, she never let on that she was dying. Not once did she say, come home, I haven’t got long to live. Shannon got to her car. She sat there, then she felt her mind ripping in two. She balled her fists and bashed them against the dashboard. She screamed loudly, and put her head down against the steering wheel. Suddenly, there was a rapping, a tap-tap tapping upon some solid surface. She turned and the face of Doctor Flemish was looking in. She rolled down her window, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You forgot these documents,” he kindly stated. “You didn’t… I mean, you –.” He smiled again, “I didn’t see anything.” He handed her the documents, then added, “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”“I’m fine,” she lied. “After all, I’m my mother’s daughter.” “Okay,” he stated. As he walked away, she noted his demeanor; confident, with almost a swagger. He looked back, she looked down. A moment passed and she glanced over, but he was gone. Pressing the start button, she put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking space. Down the street she drove; left at the stoplight and right on Topeka Road. It was exactly five point eight miles to the left turn onto the dirt road that was the driveway. She stopped, got out and opened the metal gate. Up the gravel ladened road she went. It was dark, true county-dark. At the top of the hill she left her lights on and went up to the three thousand square foot ranch house and turned on the porch lights. Returning to her car, she retrieved her briefcase, the hospital paperwork, and her cell phone and went inside. The smell of apple pie still circulated in the front room. For a moment she could hear her mother calling from the kitchen, “Hot pie and coffee.” A few languid tears seeped out. She tossed the case onto the easy chair and went to the couch, took one of the red and gold throw pillows, and clutched it tightly to her bosom. Staring into the darkness, she wished that she would wake from this nightmare. Exhaustion seized her and before she knew it, sleep overtook her.
            At nine in the morning the raspy jingle of the house phone woke her. She got to her feet and went to the bar and picked it up. “Hello?”             “Oh, Shannon, I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” her sister said. “I was in Spain with my boyfriend and just got your message. Do you need me to come home, or can you handle the probate thing yourself?”             Kristine was always self-absorbed, and it was no surprise that she would ask such a thing. “No, I’ve got it handled.” Shannon stated. “We can talk when you get back.”             “Okay, but if you need me, just call. I’ll keep my cell phone on me all the time now.”             “It was hard last night, but I think I’ve got a handle on it today,” Shannon felt a surge of her mother’s stoic nature pulse through her veins.             “See you in two weeks,” Kristine said, then the line was dead.             Shannon looked around the bar, the kitchen, and the dining room. It all spoke of her mother, but was now devoid of her energy. She went into the kitchen and filled the coffee pot with water, four scoops of ground bold coffee, and turned on the switch. Retrieving some clothes from the guest bedroom, she went to the master suite bathroom and turned on the shower. As the steam filled the air, she went into the large walk-in closet and looked around. A midst the designer labels and pants suits, the shoe trees, and the winter sweaters was a strange reflective plate on a three foot high piece of wood paneling. Approaching, she touched it with the palm of her hand. A click echoed to her ears and she watched as the wood facade extended out toward her. Moving it aside, she looked in. Inside was a set of drawers with polished brass knobs. She pulled out a drawer and was shocked to see gold, silver, and platinum jewelry, some with the Tiffany marking, and others with hallmarks she could not identify. Some of the pieces had two, and three carat diamonds, and others rubies, emeralds, and sapphires the size of a grown man’s thumb. Pulling on drawer number two, she was surprised to see papers; piles of stocks, bonds, copyrights, and real estate holdings. Below, the pile was her mother’s birth certificate, passport, and a variety of other personal documents. Now, she put her attention to the third pull-knob and pulled. The compartment was stuffed with pictures, some of which were very old. She thought for a moment, then closed up all the drawers and the secret cover, and headed back into the bathroom to shower. The hot water felt good against her tired muscles. As she closed her eyes, she could almost see her mother. Heavy in the air was the smell of the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash; all things that shouted to her of her mother’s presence. Once finished, she turned off the water and toweled off. Wrapping a crisp white towel around her, she went back into the closet. Opening the compartment, she went for the third drawer. Taking out the contents, she began to thumb through the many photos. The image of her father dressed in a cardigan sweater and holding a pipe made her long for his loving presence. A picture of her sister was next, when she was two – as it said on the back. Her grandparents were next, followed by a host of high school pictures of her and her sister. One, made her chuckle for it was her at the prom with Tim Halthy, a boy she “liked”, but he didn’t “like” her back. Sifting took a good while, but then she came across a picture of a man she did not recognize. He was not any relative she knew, and on the back of the photo was written, AB-7459856314 Knight’s Guard Elite, Lamb Row Place 1947. The image was of a young man dressed in a red velvet dinner jacket, a pipe in one hand and a highball glass in the other. It was in color, and the man’s bold blond hair and blue eyes were captivating. The picture was clearly candid; for it appeared that the man was unaware of being photographed. In the background were dark wood paneling, a Fourteenth Century chair, a polished wooden end table, and several framed paintings. For a moment her mind wondered. Who was this man? Why was his picture in her mother’s secret compartment? Was he some lover, before her father, or after his death? Surely he couldn’t have been a lover while her father was alive. She shook her head to clear the disturbing thought. No, she reasoned, it’s a relative, or just some friend of the family. Taking the picture, she retreated back to the guest bedroom. Putting the picture up on the tall dresser, she examined it while dressing. There seemed nothing more she could glean, then she saw the ring on the man’s finger. Taking the picture, she went into her mother’s study, and turned on the light on the high powered magnifier. Slipping the picture under, she gasped at the image of the ring; a deaths head skull and crossbones. The phone rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She picked up the phone, “Yes?” There was a pause, then a voice on the other side said, “Is this Shannon Sopur?” “Yes, who is this?”“I was informed of your mother’s passing…” “Who are you, and who told you? She passed last night, and I haven’t told anyone but my sister,” Shannon stated. “Ah, yes, your sister Kristine. Is there someplace we can meet? I knew you mother and father, and I have something for you. Something she wanted you to have, but couldn’t trust to any else.” “What cloak and dagger bullshit is this? What do you mean, couldn’t trust to anyone else?”“I know you are in some shock. As the saying goes, I’m just the messenger. Is there someplace you’d like me to meet you?”She thought for a moment, “The Deluth Grind House, two O’clock,” Shannon said. “Very well, two at the grind house.” “How will I know you?” “I’ll know you,” and the phone clicked off.
Shannon left the house and drove back to the hospital. There she filled out papers, and arranged to have her mother’s body picked up by a mortuary. As she was leaving she saw Doctor Flemish walking out to his car. “Doctor!” she called. The doctor turned, “Ms. Sopus, I’m glad to see you’re okay.” “I just wanted to say thank you again for your kindness,” she smiled. “My pleasure, and please call me Daniel. Say, I was just heading out to get some coffee. Would you like to come along? A little mocha or cappuccino might do you well. Plus, it’s on me.” His gaze leveled on her and she felt a rush of emotion. “Uh… I’d love to.” She got in his Mercedes and he pulled out into traffic. They drove down the street, and took a left onto Main Street. Half a block down, he pulled up and parked. “One of my favorite places. They roast their own coffee here.” She looked up and was surprised that she was in front of the Deluth Grind House. “I was actually coming here at two.” “Really?”“A strange phone call I got this morning,” she said. “Why was it strange,” his curiosity was plain to see. “A man said he had something for me from my mother that couldn’t be trusted to anyone else,” she shrugged her shoulders, “someone who knows my parents.”They got out of the car and went inside. Her eyes widened as the rich, coffee smell filled her nose. The coffee house was crowded with customers, but it seemed most were getting their beverage and dashing out. He walked up to the counter, looked down at her and said, “If I were to guess, I’d say you’re a mocha gal.” She felt herself blushing, then tried to focus in her mind on any other situation that could undo the feeling. “Actually, I like the mocha Frappuccino quite a lot.”“Excellent, I do too. See if you can find us a seat and I’ll take care of this.” She walked over and found a round table in an intimate corner and sat with her back to the wall. She watched him, his tweed sport coat neatly hugging his lean frame. He glanced back and saw her, smiled, then the service person distracted him. She never took her eyes off him. There was something about him, the confidence in which he carried himself that was most attractive. He waited patiently for their beverages and then came over to the table. “What do you do?” His voice carried an air of authority. “I work in advertising. I’m the creative director for Hubert, Rothschild, and Associates in California.” She sipped the steaming liquid. They talked for quite a long time, then Daniel’s cell phone made a sound. He looked at it and declared, “Yikes, its one fifty already. I have an appointment back at the hospital, I’ll drop you off at your car.”“I can’t. I have to meet that man here in ten minutes. I’ll take a cab back. Thanks for the coffee and the conversation. I hope we can do it again sometime.” Daniel nodded, “Me too. How’s Thursday?” “I’d like that very much,” she said. Daniel left and passed an elderly man in a gray wool coat coming in. The man looked around the room, then came toward Shannon. “You have your father’s nose and eyes,” he said.“Who are you and how do you know my parents?” “Your father and I worked closely together for many years. We served in the war together.” He sat down and smiled. The image in the picture came through; he was the man in the picture. “Your father and I were very close, and served der Fuhrer.” He set down a manila envelope and passed it to her. “Your mother forbade me to give you this, until she’d passed.” She opened the envelope and looked at a host of pictures. One was her father in a SS uniform standing at the base of the Statue of Liberty in New York harbor. Another was him commanding troops and securing the remains of the American Whitehouse. And, another showed him receiving a medal from Adolf Hitler, the Chancellor. “So, my father was a war hero? He helped take the Americas?” She was dumbfounded. “How… when was this?” “In nineteen forty four when we dropped the hydrogen bomb on the capital of the former United States, Washington. We were poised to do the same to New York, and then on the west coast, but the American president surrendered before we had to. Your father was a very important man, who tried to put the ravages of war behind him. Your mother wanted to forget also, but they both understood that when it was time for you to get married, have children, that the heroic exploits of your father would need to be known. A sad day indeed, but also a glorious day for the Reich in that you will bear the children of the future.” She stood and gathered up the papers. “I saw a picture of you.” she said. “From the old day’s maybe?” “It had written on it letters and numbers and something about a knight’s guard?”“Ah, yes, AB-7459856314 Knight’s Guard Elite maybe? That was my blood group and SS group division identification.” He unrolled his sleeve and showed her a faded, tattoo on his wrinkled arm. “We were all very close after the war, then drifted apart. But… that is academic now. I am the only one left.”  She opened the manila envelope and took out the papers. It was medical information. She scanned down the document, then her eyes went wide. It said that she and her sister were the product of a genetic experiment. The gene donor was named; Adolf Hitler.“There are no guarantees in life, my dear,” the man said, “but I know that you will make a wonderful mother,” the old man stood, clicked his heels together, bowed slightly, turned and left the Deluth Grind House. Could there be another Fuhrer? she wondered.   

Where North Meets South and East Meets West **Book Blast**

Living on a farm and gaining an adventurous spirit from early age on, I have encountered crime, drugs, with their jails, prisons, mental institutions, living on the road and in the street, in the mountains and finally settling down with a family of my own. All the while my life being conspired against by a black magic warlock plotting with a judge and then a probation officer escalating into the lying words given over a drug bust gone bad for other conspirators, illegal law enforcement officials and hired henchmen on a payroll. 
My lifestyle reflects running from these injustices to the various places that so often meant the difference life and death but were actually inclusive as much danger as the men who sought my life, double jeopardy. In addition there are the many various supernatural experiences occurring to me including a flesh-on-flesh experience with Heaven.






5.0 out of 5 stars  His honesty will give you pause, then cause you to applaud his strength....  August 1, 2013By De Ann Townes Jr.Format:PaperbackA journey of enlightenment that traveled through the destruction of drugs, alcohol, and self hate....

Then you are awesomely awakened by the journey of realization, acceptance and healing through not only the author's life, but with him as he opens our eyes to the world around us. Author Timothy Baker also allows us a peek into his life as he recovers, renews relationships, and his redefining love of self, familia, life and all things truly important. His connection to the ultimate power of healing through his spirituality that will truly grip your heart, touch your soul and change your life forever.....

His honesty will give you pause, then cause you to applaud his strength.... An amazing and brilliant read and autobiography.....A 5 Star must read....WaAr

Reviewed By: De Ann "Native" Townes, Author of "Peer Inside My Soul and See Me" and "A King Among Prince"
5.0 out of 5 stars  Where North Meets South and East Meets West - Life On The Streets  July 6, 2010By C. CowgerFormat:PaperbackWhere North Meets South and East Meets West is one of those books that gives the reader many "Ah Ha" moments. It is a real life look at what happens when when a person becomes addicted to drugs, alcohol and lives on the streets. This autobiography is filled with stories just want to make you cry with emotion and scream at the same time to realize this really happened.

The author hold no punches, he writes it as it happened. He opens the readers eyes to the world we live in and are often protected from. The kind of world that is never really portrayed in the media as reality.

This book tells it like it is to be living on the road with addictions and a life spinning out of control. It tells of the road to recovery. The reader will smile, cry and feel so many emotions while reading this autobiograpy. I do not recommend it for young readers.
Available on Amazon

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Timothy Baker **Author Feature**

Meet our guest, Timothy Baker.
Author Bio:
I have lived a life wide open to adventure. With fishing, hunting, exploring, backwoods of America, hitchhiking 30,000 miles, walking 30,000 miles bicycling 20,000 miles, living on the road and in the street for about one year total, with crooked cops and their ruffian henchmen, including a black magic warlock all sought my life but the most profound thing about my life are the miracles that have occurred to me over the years. Especially having had a wide awake, physical, in the body experience in Heaven while I was traveling my hardship year of 1989. 




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Conversations With Timothy Louis Baker By, Rami Ungar
He started out on a farm, but had to leave because people were after his life. What happened over the many years for this man, before turning to writing, involved a life with more twists and turns than a labyrinth, involving drugs and crime, camping and living in the mountains across North America, and even some interesting paranormal experiences. Today’s interview is with Timothy Louis Baker, author of Fantastic Florida Fun, Crime and Drugs on Trip City Street, and his autobiographical When North Meets South and East Meets West.
Based on the descriptions of your books, a lot of your writing seems to be based on your own personal experiences. What motivates you to write about your past and how do you come up with stories based on your life?         Rami, I often make the comment that I write what I know and I know what I write and that holds true, through present I refer to things of my own life to write about and very little do I have to look up in another book or online somewhere. That is all because I have had such an interesting life and I’ve found that if I take those experiences I’ve had and expound upon them in fiction but along the same lines as has occurred in my own past, that my writing is just that, not only interesting but entertaining, to the ultimate degree. I’m very well-traveled and have been in a variety of locations and multitude of actual experiences, so I have no trouble in keeping a story line going about a certain person, place or thing. Whether I write fiction or non-fiction in the case of my autobiographical works, my story unfolds and continues consistently with new material and not keep repeating the same thing over again. If you examine my writing, you’ll find that the pace is fast and constantly changing, with either what the character is doing, where they are in location or what they are up to. It all varies at an incredible rate because that’s exactly how I’ve lived, continuously changing where I am, what I’m doing or whatever, there is never a dull moment. My lifestyle reflects upon the pages of my books, even the fiction works and really as a writer and an author, because of the kind of person I am, I wouldn’t have it any other way. That just goes to show you, personalities show up through our work and I think that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
Could you walk us through your writing process, from the moment you get an idea to when you publish the book? I started writing on pencil and paper then graduated to a typewriter and eventually by computer, but it all goes the same route. I write my story and then I edit it with my own author’s knowledge but sometimes, after submitting to a publisher, I have to crack down on myself and allow them to edit it also. My full-length autobiography Where North Meets South and East Meets West was an idea I had long ago, I mean like when I was 16 years old and hitchhiking to Florida with little or no money, I had an idea that my life was going to be long enough and full enough to write a book about it all, and more. When I was in my 20’s and living part time in the mountains of Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, and the forests of Michigan and Minnesota, I came about the idea for each and every story of all my books and made that mental note in my head the exact ideas I had for them, and eventually I did write them. It was easy because I already had the created version in my head, I just had to use my imagination to add the characters, places and events that were in my head to the pages of my books and behold I am an author again. Then after submission to publisher and acceptance of my manuscript I am again a published author. With me, writing is the work, editing is minuscule comparatively and when I get that acceptance email from a publisher is truly happiness. Because I know my writing is going to be available to the public for the people to have access and that is the point of my career. It’s not how much money I might make or how famous I will become that is important, but getting my writing out there to the people who may read it. The rest all comes along with extras in between that, not just as the main point of enjoyment in my life but the fulfillment of what I’ve written as an author to be enjoyed by others.
You’ve had some very interesting life experiences. What do you do now these days? Is your life any more interesting, or has things gotten somewhat calmer?                  Ah, but life is the same. Now that I don’t do all of the things, as much or as many times in a row, as when I was younger, doesn’t mean that I’m any less active or live a less exhilarating lifestyle anymore. I keep occupied at what a great many people may do, and I’m sure they do, by online computer and other devices. Look we have access to all of the things that people used to have to go to the library to look up or reserve a mental note to ourselves to ask a certain particular person we might know, next time we see them. Now not only that we can read books and gain all of this information or personal entertainment, right at the touch of our fingertips. Life is as exciting as ever. I fish in the creek, I ride a bike almost everywhere I go in town and at 55 I still lift weights. Lifting weights is what I used to call bodybuilding, but because I’m not a spring chicken anymore and don’t grow as rapidly nor can I do as much weight as I used to, I now just ‘lift weights’ or ‘do my weightlifting.’ As far as living a calmer life? Maybe when I’m a hundred. Never a dull moment and I always mean that in a good way when I say it. One does not have to go thousands of miles to experience adventure. That is something a person can do anywhere they are and anything they’re doing. It is something you find inside yourself, so much of the time anyway. All it usually takes is a little bit of initiative to find or discover and that can be nearby as well as far away, it just depends on the situation. I like the days when the last thing I can possibly do that night when I go to bed is drag myself off to the bed and lay down to sleep, just as much as I like those days when I am able to sit for longer periods of time and let the radio or television entertain me rather than get it by just so much activity of my own hoping that will keep me excited enough to stay up without falling asleep until I get all the work done. Mentally I’m probably more active since becoming a writer than I ever was before. If not then just as much anyway.
How did you get into writing?               When I was 33 years old I had the idea to write down some notes about my lifetime and because my life had been so interesting up to that point I soon invested in a typewriter that ended up the forerunner of a rough draft for my autobiography. I had lived so many interesting experiences that I thought the world should know all about them. It wasn’t until a few years later that I was able to gain the ownership of a computer but before I did I set down a rule in my house: Every time I came up with an idea on something pertaining to a real experience that happened to me personally in my lifetime I would write it down on a piece of scrap paper and lay it on a pile on my kitchen table. Well after several months and when the pile was a couple of inches tall and I was sure everything I would need the time to think of before writing had already taken place, I finally found a way to get a computer and that is when the placement in chronological and geographical locations began to take shape. With the computer I could write something where I thought it should be and then if I didn’t like where it was or how it was written, I could change it and copy and move it and paste it wherever the best place for it I judged would be at. Well this was OK except that something happened, that is now included in my autobiographical works, a catastrophe and all I got away with it all were the floppy disks of some of the stories of some of my books now, but also including a printout copy of my first rough draft. Well to make a long story short, being relocated a couple of times, finally I was able to manage to procure another computer and that was the one that wrote all of the rest of my seven books that I had not already written on either the floppy disks or the paper printout version of my autobiography. This led to me achieving internet access and that brought on copyrights for all seven books and eventual publishing of them all. Basically I got into writing because I had some things happen to me that I thought were so unique that nobody else in the world had these occurrences and so I was compelled to write then and that is my full-length version autobiography Where North Meets South and East Meets West, the less graphic and condensed edition An Experience Heaven Sent and My Life’s History in Poetry and the uniqueness of those events that I’ve never heard of happening to any living man in my generation were the miracles including and especially the living, waking, physical ascension in Heaven where everyone and everything was young and beautiful and lived forever. Then I was returned to the earth by my ‘higher power’ that had caused me to thus be arisen into that afterlife, also brought me back. If that isn’t something to write about then I certainly don’t know what is of my own personal lifetime of events and trivia.
What are you currently working on?                 I haven’t been writing any actual books lately but I’ve got one started that I began a few years ago and sometime when the workload of book marketing the seven books I’ve already published slackens and begins to give me ample opportunity to finish writing that one I will. I have to have some time for me too on a personal level to do the things I want to do with my own time on my own space but the name of this newest work of mine is Some Sing Song Way and it is a historical novel about a man that is abducted by Indians from the Oregon Trail and he discovers that living with the red men is actually compatible to his own life. He has a past with the white men and now he lives with Indians, finally on a voluntary basis and actually sort of prefers them. Later in the book he will meet up with the past in a US fort out west and after that when he is alone and in solitude the events of his lifetime will unfold before him as he will contemplate that past with his own history with Indians, while he is living out in nature without either one, or anyone, and he will decide how he really feels about it all in his own present and that will make up his mind on his decision about how, where, and with who he will live the rest of his days.What is some advice you would give a budding writer?              I always give the same answer to people that ask me advice through posing this question and that is – write what you like and hopefully that will be what you know and if you write what you know, you are likely to write the very best that you can write. That has so far been my answer to this question of what to tell someone that asks what they should write for a book, written by them.
If you were stuck on a desert island and could only take three books with you, which ones would you take? That’s easy and they are all books that I have written. The books that are the most important things that I could ever take with me to be alone. Even if I ever doubted I would ever see anyone else ever again, I would take the three autobiographical works that I have written, Where North Meets South and East Meets West, An Experience Heaven Sent and My Life’s History in Poetry. Because in them I know what I left in print in books behind me back in civilization, the most important words or any kind of works I have ever performed in life would be there to remind me of what I left behind that someday, maybe not in my own lifetime, but someday in some generation in the future perhaps, would be invaluable to the rest of the world of their, those people’s time. In other words, someday in some generation this story will come out and make that big impression upon all humanity at that time and continue for the rest of life on earth as we now know it.

Where is Katie Video Reading From Thicker Than Blood

The Book Nymph 4th of July Author Celebration

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Take a Glimpse Inside an Author's Mind

How True is This Statement? 
Here is what it is like to live inside my head:
*Critique manuscript for an author
*Plan blog tour
*Turn Thicker Than Blood into 3 novellas
*Finish Lyrinian Blade
*Revise Rise of the Flame
*Pack and move
*Promote my business (The Book Nymph)
*Promote my books
*Try to resist the temptation to work on 4 different manuscripts at a time
*Release Sin-Reaper
*Manage 2 blogs
*Translate Koa into Spanish
*Make hardcovers for Koa
*Make audio books for Koa
*Plan my book release party
Oh boy! Believe me...the list goes on and on. Deep breaths. I will tackle this list with a smile.
What is my secret? Hmmm...I don't really have one. I just try to take one day at a time, stay positive, and make a list of what I need to do. Tackling that list and scratching one line off at a time brings such relief and joy!

Kenya Moss-Dyme **Quick Fire Q&A**

Coffee or tea?  Neither, yuck! 
Mountains or beach?  Beach.  
Who is your favorite character from any book that you've ever read? Cupcake Brown from A Piece of Cake.Now, who is your favorite character from any of your books?   From my books, April Ann, from the Prey for Me series
Which historical figure would you like to meet if you had the chance to time travel?  Khalil Gibran
What is your favorite meal to cook?  Turkey chiliThanks for sharing with us, Kenya!  

Coming Soon! **A Gifted Curse by, K.N. Lee**

Three tales of magic, horror, and fantasy by award-winning author, K.N. Lee. 
Who is excited? Better yet...who is ready?

#IndieBooksBeSeen #indieauthorawareness http://t.co/IY7s2MnPYX pic.twitter.com/YPE2wa9tDK

— K.N. Lee (@KNycole_Lee) July 1, 2014

What Do You Crave?