WHAT FREEDOM SMELLS LIKE : A #Memoir by Amy Lewis @AmyLewisAuthor #Abuse #Women

Why did I stay? I used to yell to the women on Oprah, Why would you stay? I had options. I had a family who loved me, who would take care of me if I left. I wasn’t married to him nor did we have children together. The only tie we had was the business, and on paper we owned it fifty/fifty. Why put up with this? What is wrong with you?

I don’t have a good answer. Not a logical one, only emotional answers. When I fell in love with him, I fell too far to get out on my own. Maybe this was the “has difficulty functioning in a way society accepts as normal” part of my borderline personality. I saw the abusive Truth as an imposter, and the real Truth, the one I loved, was locked somewhere inside. If I tried hard enough, loved deeply enough, I could find him. I might even say – rescue him. 

As my self-esteem began to shatter, it became impossible to put me back together, and shattered young women do not make the best rescuers. When Truth exploded, along with the hitting, he threatened me with much worse actions if I didn’t stay in line. “I’ll kill you; I’ll kill your entire family.” The threats felt even more painful than when he laid hands on me; eventually the physical abuse came only in spurts – maybe once or twice one month then no flair ups for a few months. He had learned how to control me without it – just a look would be enough.

During the abuse, I split myself into many different parts. Time stretched and molded to fit my needs. The tiniest expression of love or moment of joy – a good night – expanded like a rubber band into a whole month. The moments of greatest fear and terror collapsed into a blink of the eye. I became author of my own fictional tale. I used my imagination to create a portrait of a livable life. If you keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut, you can exist forever in that state. If you saw me on the street and asked how I was doing. I would smile and say fine. I’m doing just fine. If you weren’t really paying attention, you would believe me.

Sometimes during our worst fights, everything seemed to happen in slow motion, and an orchestral score played in the background. The strings increased in intensity as I retreated away from him, the beating of the percussions as he followed me, the flutes as I tried to calm him, as his hands met my body, the crescendo hit with symbols clapping together at the finale of a symphony. 

I heard the music we listened to in my dreams as two cultured, mature adults in love and enjoying the arts. As I reached up to my face or back or stomach or chest to feel the damage, I heard the audience applauding, jumping to their feet with a standing ovation. Bravo! Bravo! Tears started to pour out of me, and the rest of the audience, inspired by the music. The show had ended, and as the sophisticated, art-appreciating couples walked to their cars to begin talking about how the music reminded them of this or that, Truth came to me and apologized. He didn’t mean for it to go this far. His most vulnerable expressions to me came directly after his explosions. How everything felt wrong. How he shouldn’t let stress do this to him. How it would never happen again.

Diagnosed with Borderline Personality disorder, Amy struggled with depression and an addiction to sharp objects. Even hospitalization didn't help to heal her destructive tendencies. It took a tumultuous relationship with a man named Truth to bring her back from the depths of her own self-made hell.Amy's marriage to dark, intriguing Truth was both passionate and stormy. She was a fair-skinned southern girl from New Orleans. He was a charming black man with tribal tattoos, piercings, and a mysterious past. They made an unlikely pair, but something clicked. During their early marriage, they pulled themselves out of abject poverty into wealth and financial security practically overnight. Then things began to fall apart.

 Passionate and protective, Truth also proved violent and abusive. Amy’s own self-destructive tendencies created a powerful symmetry. His sudden death left Amy with an intense and warring set of emotions: grief for the loss of the man she loved, relief she was no longer a target for his aggression.

Conflicted and grieving, Amy found herself at a spiritual and emotional crossroads, only to receive help from an unlikely source: Truth himself. Feeling his otherworldly presence in her dreams, Amy seeks help from a famous medium.

Her spiritual encounters change Amy forever. Through Truth, she learns her soul is eternal and indestructible, a knowledge that gives Amy the courage to pursue her own dreams and transform herself both physically and emotionally. Her supernatural encounters help Amy resolve the internal anger and self-destructive tendencies standing between her and happiness, culminating in a sense of spiritual fulfillment she never dreamed possible.

An amazing true story, What Freedom Smells Like is told with courage, honesty, and a devilishly dark sense of humor.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Memoir

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Amy Lewis through Twitter

Website www.WhatFreedomSmellsLike.com

Kirsten Mortensen on Bridget Jones, When Libby Met the Fairies & POV @KirstenWriter #AmWriting

First, Second, or Third Voice: The Power of POV
By Kirsten Mortensen

Like a lot of authors, I’ve experimented with voice. I’ve written in the first person. I’ve written in the third person. And I’ve even toyed with the second person—breaking the 20th Century rule of “no authorial intrusion.” Because hey, I’m a rebel. Rules are made to be broken!

So I thought I’d share a bit about what I’ve learned about voice.

Some of my insights are similar to what you’ve probably read elsewhere, or know from experimenting with voice yourself. Certain genres lend themselves naturally to first person POV, for example. I can’t imagine classic chick lit (think Bridget Jones's Diary) in anything other than first person. Ditto for hard-boiled crime fiction, like Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe novels.

As a writer, first person voice can be a kick as a literary device. There’s the fun of the Unreliable Narrator, for example. The person telling the story inevitably filters events through her assumptions or prejudices. She may even lie outright to protect someone else, or to show herself in a positive light.

A person narrating a story is also on a journey. He or she is discovering things, assembling puzzle pieces. Who committed the murder? Is the handsome boss an unreliable flirt or a modern day prince? With first person, we readers get to ride along as the narrator solves these kinds of questions.

First person POV can also help make a reader’s experience more sympathetic. I learned this the hard way. When I first drafted one of my novels (When Libby Met the Fairies), I wrote it in the first person. But later, I second-guessed myself and re-wrote the book in third person voice. It was a newbie mistake: I should have trusted my original impulse, but I didn’t. Then, when I published the novel, I discovered (to my horror) that scenarios I thought were humorous came across, to readers, as humiliating.

You know the final scene in Brigit Jones, where she runs out into the street in her tights to chase down Mark Darcy? Imagine if that scene were done in such a way that, instead of cheering her on, you got angry at Brigit for debasing herself. Chasing after a man that way! Doesn’t she have any self-respect?

That’s what I managed to do with Libby! So perhaps, one of these days, I’ll revise that novel again and let Libby tell the story with her voice. But even if I don’t, it’s still a lesson that I learned, the hard way, about the power of POV.

Writing in the third person gives a writer a completely different set of tools. My latest novel, Dark Chemistry, is written in the third person. That let me shift points of view among several characters, including two bad guys, a heroine, a hero, and the hero’s friend and co-worker. I found that this let me add a lot of richness and depth to the story. One of my bad guys is very very creepy—telling part of the story from his point of view let me bring that out. Using third person also let me show how my heroine, Haley Dubose, evolved and matured during the course of the novel. She starts out spoiled and shallow, but learns to value relationships, love, and commitment more than clubbing and designer clothes. I had a lot of fun with that, and decided to use third person in my next novel as well.

So now it’s your turn. If you’re a writer, what have you discovered by experimenting with voice and POV? As a reader, do you enjoy first person or third person more—and why?

A woman's worst nightmare

Drugged by something...that makes her think she's fallen in love.

All Haley Dubose has ever known is beaches and malls, clubs and cocktail dresses.

But now her father is dead.

And if she wants to inherit her father's fortune, she has to leave sunny Southern California
for a backwater little town near Syracuse, New York. She has to run RMB, the multimillion dollar
chemical company her father founded. And she has to run it well.

Keep RMB on track, and she'll be rich. Grow it, and she'll be even richer. But mess it up, and her inheritance will shrink away before she gets a chance to spend a dime.

Donavon Todde is her true love. But is it too late?

He's RMB's head of sales – and the more Donavon sees of Haley, the more he's smitten.
Sure, she comes across at first as naïve and superficial. But Donavon knew Haley's father. He can see the man's better qualities stirring to life in her eyes. And Donavon senses something else: Haley's father left her a legacy more important than money. He left her the chance to discover her true self.

Donavon has demons of his own.
 
He's reeling from a heartbreak that's taking far too long to heal. But he's captivated by this blond Californian, and not only because of her beauty. It's chemistry. They're right for each other. But has Donavon waited too long to woo this woman of his dreams? Because to his horror, his beautiful Haley falls under another spell. Gerad's spell.

A web of evil.

Gerad Picket was second-in-command at RMB when Haley's father was alive. And with Haley on the scene, he's in charge of her training. But there are things about RMB that Gerad doesn't want Haley to know.

And he must control her. Any way he can.

Romantic suspense for your Kindle

Will Haley realize that her feelings are not her TRUE feelings?
Does Donavon have the strength left to fight for the woman he loves?
Will the two of them uncover Gerad's plot to use RMB pheromones to enslave the world?
And even if they do – can they stop it?

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Romantic suspense

Rating – PG-13

More details about the author

Connect with Kirsten Mortensen through Facebook & Twitter

Website http://kirstenmortensen.com/

John Smith Last Known Survivor of the #Microsoft Wars by Roland Hughes #Excerpt #Dystopian

Excerpt from Roland Hughes' book, "John Smith Last Known Survivor of the Microsoft Wars"

SK: That still doesn’t explain Earth That Was.

JS:       The seven continents.

SK: What are you talking about? There are twelve continents!

JS:       Today, yes.  Back in the day of Earth That Was, there were only seven continents and that is a map of them.  The picture hanging beside it is a picture of Earth That Was taken from outer space on a clear day.  As you can deduce from the map, it shows much of the North and South American continents.

SK: American?

JS:       <sigh> What is the first continent you encounter today when heading in the direction of where our sun sets?

SK: Dians.

JS:       What is the country we are in right now?

SK: Rica, but shouldn’t you already…

JS:       Back in the day of Earth That Was, Canada was a country occupying the northern portion of the North American continent and the United States of America occupied the lower portion of it before you got to this skinny connecting piece.  The sun traveled from this edge to that edge of the continent each day.

After the events of 2013, or during, depending upon how you look at it, part of Canada became the land mass you now call the Dians continent.  The rest of the North American continent also turned and split up.  Some say it simply had an ocean form over part of it.  The difference between split or sink doesn’t really matter.  Today, you cannot walk from one chunk to the other, so they are considered separate continents.

The country we live in now was once called America.  Several other chunks floating around the globe were also part of America. You are having trouble believing what you have been told because some big pieces that are at the root of the story are under the ocean now.  As a country, we no longer have any means of getting to them or taking pictures for others to see.  At some point, perhaps we will regain that but not at this point.

SK: Do you really expect me to believe that you have hanging on your wall a picture taken from outer space?  A beautiful picture in full color that was somehow taken while someone or something was in outer space and then given to you?

JS:       It wasn’t given, it was downloaded by my grandfather. Many people had them back at that time.

SK: Downloaded?

JS:       Yes.  With a thing called a computer over something called the Internet.  America had some kind of organization known as NASA, which sent ships, satellites and people into outer space.

SK: Internet?  People in outer space?  I don’t know what you’ve been drinking but it would have been polite to share!

JS:       <chuckle> Do you see that black rectangle resembling a book sitting over there?

SK: Yes.

JS:       On the front of it is a little ridge, which you can push to the right, then lift the top portion of it to open it.  Good.  Now near the bend where the two pieces come together is a button with a circle and a line sticking out of the circle.

SK:      I see it.

JS:       Press it.

SK: It is making noises.  There are lights flashing.  Things are appearing and disappearing on the top piece that feels like glass. What is OpenVMS?

JS:       It is the most robust computer operating system ever created by man.  Here, let me log in.

SK: Log in? Computer operating system?

“John Smith: Last Known Survivor of the Microsoft Wars” is one big interview. It is a transcript of a dialogue between “John Smith” (who, as the title of the book implies is the last known survivor of the Microsoft wars) and the interviewer for a prominent news organization.

Buy Now @ Amazon & B&N

Genre – Dystopian Fiction

Rating – PG

More details about the author

Website http://johnsmith-book.com/

"Moxie’s Problems" by Hank Quense & What You Didn't Know @hanque99 #AmReading #Fantasy

Seven things you don’t know about Moxie’s Problems

The original Moxie story was a short story that I couldn't sell. I loved Moxie’s character and I was determined to put her into her own novel.

I was half-way through Moxie’s Problems when I put it on the side to write a series of non-fiction books called Self-publishing Guides. I did that because I got angry at all the misinformation floating around the internet on self-publishing.

I was able to return to the Moxie novel fairly easily because I always develop a series of mind-maps for my novels before I start to write the first draft. I had maps for the major characters, the plots and subplots and a third which is a graphical synopsis. These mind-maps allowed me to get back into the novel very quickly.

Some of the adventures in the novel, especially for King Artie were originally short stories I wrote a long time ago, but were never published. The Dogs of War and the Isolde adventure are two such short stores. The initial football game between the Knights and the Saxons was a short story I sold four or five times.

Originally, the novel was set in a fantasy land and Moxie was a dwarf. Her three knightly companions were a dwarf, an elf and a human. The fantasy setting conflicted with my plan to use Camelot as a backdrop so I had to change it.

The Camelot background bothered me for a while. The problem was my story bashed against the traditional Camelot legends and not in a small way. My Camelot was radically different and I felt it would annoy reads who hoped for a retelling of the traditional legends. My solution to this problem came with a sprinkling of scifi dust. Once I realized my Camelot took place in a parallel universe, I had my justification and it even encouraged me to develop more non-traditional aspects of Camelot.

One character I really enjoyed writing about was Tristan. In the story he is Camelot’s Bard and the world’s worst poet. I wrote a number of doggerel poems for him. I also made him a schizophrenic. His warrior self and his poet self are in a constant battle for supremacy of his mind. His poet self wants to soothe enemies with words, while his warrior self wants to attack audiences with his sword.

Do you enjoy untypical coming-of-age stories? Well, you won’t find one more untypical that Moxie’s Problem. Moxie is an obnoxious, teen-age princess who has never been outsider her father’s castle. Until now. The real world is quite different and she struggles to come to grips with reality. The story take space against a backdrop of Camelot. But it isn’t the Camelot of legends. It’s Camelot in a parallel universe. So, all bets are off!

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre – Fantasy, Sci-fi

Rating – G

More details about the author

Connect with Hank Quense through Facebook & Twitter

Website http://hank-quense.com/wp/

Kelly Wilson on Finding Alignment in Your Writing @LiveCheap #AmWriting #WriteTip #Memoir

Finding Alignment in Your Writing

I had been in pain for months and didn’t know it. Rather, I didn’t pay attention until my left leg and hip were so weak that I could no longer walk.

Pain gathered in my lower back, shooting down the leg into my foot. Tingling and numbness followed, to the point where I felt like my leg was a phantom limb. I could see it was there, but I physically felt like it wasn’t connected to the rest of my body.

Maybe I was having an out-of-body experience that was limited only to my left leg. I tried to tell it to avoid the light, and called my chiropractor for help. Historically, my chiropractor has administered treatments that worked to cure my sciatic and lower back problems. But even the butt-flap table and the zippy-zappy electronic pulses into my muscles produced absolutely nothing. The wrenching adjustments simply served to prove that my back, hip and leg remained locked and disjointed.

A friend of mine referred me to an Osteopathic Physician. I call him Dr. Magic, because the treatment that he provides should not work. Instead of the pushing and pulling and wrestling and cracking of my body on the chiropractor’s table, I simply lay on the table on my back while Dr. Magic arranged his hands underneath my back.

Well, underneath my butt to start with, which can feel a little awkward at first. The treatment is about 20 minutes, during which he breathes with his eyes closed into the silence of the peaceful room. Slowly and with painstaking accuracy, he moves his hands, gently guiding and adjusting, all the way from my tailbone to the top of my skull.

After my first appointment, I noticed an amazing improvement. My pain level was several notches lower and my leg had apparently decided to stay with me. And with additional regular treatments, I have almost healed up fully.

The Power of Gentle Guidance

In activities that matter – like writing – it is incredibly tempting to try and apply force to get what we want, whether that’s finishing a manuscript or looking for marketing results or trying to get published. We are a people of action and production and results. We want to “get ‘er done” and we want it now.

And then we get stressed and hate our work and want to burn it in our backyard, because what forms in our soul and expresses itself through our writing cannot be forced, it can only be guided gently out from the darkness and into the light. And to allow this process to happen, we need to provide structure.

There is Freedom within Structure

I recently lost a job, which was the first time I had been without work in several years. I am used to working from home, applying self-discipline to meet deadlines. But – suddenly and without warning – I had no deadlines. My calendar was completely clear.

People who are definitely not me might find this idea liberating, but I acted like a ping pong ball, bouncing from one idea and activity and problem and chore to another. I had no structure, and the resulting anxiety was driving me insane.

A friend of mine suggested that I schedule out every single minute of every day for a week in order to give me some of the structure that I so clearly craved. Once I did, I actually felt calm enough to sit down and write, which led to more writing and more structure, and proved to be a better spiral overall to follow.

Move within Structure

The duality about structure – and about our literal bones – is that they require movement in order to move best. Our spines and bones aren’t rigid, they simply provide a framework. If your novel or your writing time or your character or your narrative arc are no longer working, have you provided a framework for them to work within?

Structure provides boundaries that you can push against, containment for the chaos. Once the security of structure has been provided, then those nagging problems of the character or the pace or the novel itself can sort themselves out.

Change the Structure When Needed

There might be times that the structure itself is to blame for the issues. If your leg is trying to leave your body and you can no longer walk or use it, then it’s time to gently guide the structure (or, in this case, my spine) in a different direction. If you have decided to write every day at 5:30 in the morning but never actually keep the commitment and end up beating yourself up, it’s time to change the structure to something that will actually work.

Because if you try and force it, there’s a good chance that the whole thing may fall apart.

***********************************

 

Kelly Wilson's Bio : Kelly Wilson is a Portland, Oregon author and comedian who apparently requires a specific kind of structure in order to feel calm and fortunately still has her left leg. She is the author of Live Cheap & Free, Don’t Punch People in the Junk, and Caskets From Costco, along with numerous articles and short stories for children and adults. Kelly Wilson currently writes for a living and lives with her Magically Delicious husband, junk-punching children, dog, and cat, with a stereotypical minivan in the garage. Read more about her at www.wilsonwrites.com.

For twenty years, Kelly Wilson thought that she had been marching through the stages of grief in a straight line. She had been following the formula, crossing each processed grief experience off her list.

Except that Kelly was totally deluded. And she didn’t discover that until Jim, her beloved father-in-law, died. She found herself drying off from her shower the morning after his death, really hoping that he couldn’t see her naked. Or, if he could, that he was averting his eyes.

From that moment, Kelly's path through grief resembled a roller coaster, spiraling and twisting and turning, circling back around. Echoes of past trauma, including childhood abuse and cheating death, would no longer be ignored. She somehow needed to get from the beginning to the end of this grief adventure, and she doesn't have a good sense of direction.

But what is always present during a journey through grief, regardless of the path chosen?

Hope.

Caskets From Costco is a funny book about grief that demonstrates the certainty of hope and healing in an uncertain and painful world.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Memoir, Humor

Rating – PG-13

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@LoniFlowers Shares an #Excerpt from WITNESS TO MY HEART - #Romance #AmReading

“So, how long have you been out of the Army?”

“A little over a year.”

“Did you leave when David did?”

Max stretched his arm across the back of the bench behind me. “We left at the same time; but, no, David chose not to re-enlist when his term was up. I wasn’t given any options.”

That seemed kind of harsh. Unless he was fighting or being disruptive—which I could definitely see—why couldn’t he re-enlist? “Dishonorably discharged?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“What did you do to warrant that?”

“I didn’t do anything.” What is this? Fifty Questions?”

“It’s however-many-questions-you’ll-answer,” I said nonchalantly.

“Oh, I see. And can I play this game too?”

“I guess it depends on what you ask.”

Max pivoted towards me and his right leg pressed against mine. “Okay, let’s get right down to it. What are you hiding from?”

My eyes bulged wide with disbelief. How did he know? I was no different around him than anyone else. “What? What are you talking about? Who said I was hiding from something?”

He smirked with amusement. “Denial. It’s okay. I get it. Tell me why you were so scared in the lobby? You never showed that kind of fear towards me before.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. And I wasn’t scared. I couldn’t see your face temporarily because of the bright glare from the sun. When you grabbed me, it startled me.” As if I would confess everything to him just because he asked. Yeah, right.

“You know, you can’t ask me questions and expect answers, if you’re not willing to offer up anything in return.”

He was right.

It wasn’t fair. I should have known better than most people how hard it was to conceal personal facts about your life, and if Max didn’t want to share his, I should have respected his choice.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I hoped to ask you some basic questions. You know, favorite color, favorite dessert, dog or cat, what you do for a living… those types of things.”

“Well, you haven’t asked me those questions. But if you must know, I don’t have a favorite color. I don’t do pets. They’re a responsibility I don’t want or have time for. And I work for a buddy of mine in St. Louis as a private investigator. It’s nothing like a full-time career, however, just whenever he needs me. I don’t need the money, but it doesn’t hurt to get paid doing easy jobs; and it keeps my mind focused on other things.” His finger curled around a lock of my hair as he shifted beside me.

“You forgot one,” I mumbled, enjoying his aimless tugging on my hair.

“What?”

“Dessert. What’s your favorite?”

“Strawberries… and whipped cream, if it’s around. Lots and lots of whipped cream.”

I was about to bite into a carrot stick, but stopped with it halfway to my mouth. His words seemed to drip from his lips. If he had leaned in a few more inches and kissed me—minus the carrot—I would have let him. He was only a few inches away, and I caught his eyes flickering from my eyes to my mouth. My mouth watered, imagining how strawberries and whipped cream would taste from his kiss. I licked my lips… and ate the carrot.

He leaned against the bench with a sly grin. “Does that about answer all your questions?”

I recovered as best I could and peeked at my watch. “I supposed it’ll do for now. I have to get back.”

Max stood and held his hand out to pull me up. “Until next time,” he said, walking me to the passenger side of his car.

Settling in the seat, I gave him a curious glance, not knowing if that were a question or a statement. I answered with, “Maybe.” I still wasn’t sure what to think about Max. He was an asshole one minute, a comforting savior the next, and pure sex-on-a-stick twenty-four hours of every day.

Keep a low profile. That's what Abigale Peterson was supposed to do, especially when the person she was being protected from was one of the world's worst crime lords. After seven years in the Witness Protection Program, she felt no safer now than she did when she was seventeen. Revenge was rarely forgotten when it came to a professional criminal like Zerilli.

Low profiles meant no social life and definitely no love life.

Paranoia and lies became daily habits, going against everything Abigale believed in, but they kept her safe. They kept everyone safe.

Until a house fire puts her out of that safety and into the arms of a stranger. Max Smith is sexy, smart, and has major attitude. He’s the only one who seems to get her. He calms her fears and comforts her from her nightmares. But he also sees right through her lies.

Before Abigale can stop, she’s in too deep; confiding too much and breaking the one rule she promised herself to uphold: Never fall in love.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre – Contemporary Romance

Rating – R

More details about the author

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#BookReview : The Bully Barn by Robert Gioia : #ReviewShare #Bullying

The Bully Barn: A Lesson For Bullies, Bystanders and Victims by Robert Gioia
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Good books on bullying are hard to come by. This is for the simple reason that the stories become outdated or children can't relate to what is being said. The Bully Barn tackles this hurdle easily. Gioia uses simple words, colourful illustrations and a simple relatable plot to get his points across. Any young reader who is in school will be able to appreciate this book.

Educating children about bullies, bystanders and victims will definitely have a positive impact on them. This is what I loved most about the book. If one child a day reads and understands bullying, imagine the difference this will make in 10 years.

This book is full of helpful information in the form of Marty the Mouse. Real questions, thoughts and answers on bullying. In my opinion, although some people may find it difficult to believe, bullies need help too which is another point this book expertly raises. Must have as an essential tool to combat bullying in schools.

Disclosure - As a Quality Reads UK Book Club member, I received a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. I received no monetary compensation for my book review. This book review is based on my thoughts, opinion and understanding of the book. This book review does not reflect the opinion of other book club members.

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