WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour – Stephanie Collins @W_Angels_Wings

I have been introduced to some authors I hadn’t read before this tour, and they are absolutely incredible!

Today is the 26th day of the WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour!

I am profiling a different RWISA member here each day of August. I’ll introduce you to some outstanding reading and some very talented writers.  Please visit  each member’s Author Page and their Author Story and share your comments and LIKE their pages.  You may find their books within the RWISA catalog.

Now, Room With Books proudly presents. . .

 

Guilt, Shame & Fear
By Stephanie Collins

“I can’t stand the feeling of being out of control, so I’ve never had any interest in trying drugs or alcohol,” I mused.

“You sure seemed to have an interest when you were younger,” Dad informed me. He responded to my perplexed look before I had a chance to deny his claim. “What? You don’t remember trying pot? Let’s see. It was about 1975. That would have made you five, right? I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a summer afternoon. I walked into the living room and found you with a bong in one hand and a beer in the other. You just looked up at me, glassy-eyed, with a smile on your face and said, ‘Hi, Dad.’ You don’t remember that?”

“Uh…no!”

“Ha! Do you remember the massive headache you had the next day? You hated life that day! I told you not ever to do it again…and you never did,” he reminisced in a tone laced with humor and pride.

It was after that conversation when I really began to question my apparent lack of childhood memories. I have next to no memory of life before the divorce of my parents (when I was eight) and precious few afterward.

My parental split also marks the onset of memories of the “secret playtime” I shared with Dad. I remember realizing that what was happening to me was wrong (to a certain extent, anyway), but Dad really missed Mom. I felt proud to be there for him in his time of grief and loneliness. I had many roles as the oldest daughter. I got my toddler sister to bed on time, scolded her when I found her drinking a beer (that one I do have a vague memory of), and I cleaned the house. Those “more intimate interactions” with Dad were just another in my list of responsibilities as I saw it.

But if Dad remembered the timeline correctly, Mom and Dad were still together when I was five. Where was Mom when her Kindergartener daughter was experimenting with drugs? Could this mean I should add neglect as a descriptor of my “chaotic” upbringing? Could it mean the molestation began earlier than I have any memory of? Does it even matter at this point?

For a time, I was skeptical if someone told me s/he didn’t have sexual abuse in their background. It seemed it was everywhere. I ran a support group in a junior high school when getting my psychology degree. It was for eighth-grade girls, and the only qualifier for an invitation to the group was poor school attendance. After a few weeks of meetings, I opened a session with – innocently enough – “So, how was everyone’s weekend?” One girl immediately began to cry. She explained she had confronted her parents over the weekend with the news that her brother had sexually abused her for years. She had come forward out of fear for the niece her brother’s girlfriend had just given birth to. That student’s admission led to the revelation that six of the seven of us in our circle that day had a history of sexual abuse.

My best friend in college was gang-raped in high school. My college boyfriend was [brutally] raped by a neighbor as a child. Maybe the most disturbing situation I heard about was when I was a senior in high school. I had befriended a freshman. She came to me one day, inconsolable. She was petrified, as she was positive she was pregnant. I tried to calm her with reassuring words, then asked, “Have you told [your boyfriend] yet?” She burst into a fresh bout of tears. When she was finally able to speak again, she confessed in an agonized whisper, “I can’t! It’s not his. It’s…it’s my uncle’s, or my father’s.”

I don’t know how I thought sexual abuse was rampant all around me but had somehow left the rest of my family untouched. Soon after my first daughter was born, I learned that Dad had attempted to molest my younger sister when I was about 12 (my sister would have been 7 or 8 then). As it turns out, I disrupted the attempt when I went to inform them I had just finished making breakfast. I learned of that incident because our [even younger] step sister had just pressed charges against Dad for her sexual abuse from years earlier. He served four years.

Incidentally, that family drama enlightened me to the fact that my grandmother had been abused by a neighbor. My aunt had been abused by her uncle. I wonder if Dad had been sexually abused, too (in addition to the daily, brutal physical abuse I know he suffered at the hands of my grandfather).

As with most survivors of abuse from a family member, I am full of ambiguity and conflict. I am glad Dad was educated to the error of his ways. I’m satisfied he paid for his crimes. I’m relieved the truth came out. I hate that the truth came out. I mourn for the shell of a man who returned from prison. I weep for a family that was blown apart by the scandal. I am heartbroken for my grandmother, who was devastated by the whole ordeal. I am thankful I live 3000 miles away from my family, so I don’t have to face the daily small-town shame they all do, now that Dad is a registered sex offender. I am proud of my step sister for speaking up. I am woefully ashamed for not having the courage to do it myself, which possibly would have prevented the abuse of others after me. I love my father. I am thankful for the [many] great things he has done for me over the years. I hate the effect his molestation had on me, including the role it likely played in my high school rape by another student, and my first [abusive, dysfunctional] marriage.

As I’ve clearly demonstrated, my story is far from unique. Heck, it’s not even remotely severe or traumatic when compared to what others have survived. Still, here I am – 40 years after my first memories of molestation – and I’m still suffering the consequences. Along with my disgrace for allowing others to be abused after me, I carry incredible shame for my involvement in the acts (regardless of the decades of therapy that advise me I had no real power or choice in the matter). I carry unbelievable guilt for the strain my history places on my relationship with my husband. He’s an amazing, wonderful, loving man, who deserves nothing less than a robust, vigorous, fulfilling sex life, but gets – to the best of my ability – a [hopefully] somewhat satisfying one. I carry secret embarrassment over the only real sexual fantasy I have – that of reliving my rape and [this time] taking great pleasure in castrating the bastard in the slowest, most brutally savage way imaginable.

Heaviest of all, I carry fear. There’s nothing I can do to change my past. All I can do is work toward preventing the continued cycle of abuse. I may have a warped view of personal boundaries, I may struggle with my sexuality, and I may be somewhat unfamiliar with healthy family dynamics, but I can do all in my power to ensure my kids fare far better than me. I fear failure.

My eldest daughter has mild to moderate developmental delay. While statistics for sexual abuse in the general population is scary enough, the likelihood of abuse when a cognitive disability is involved is all but a certainty. My second daughter is non-verbal, non-ambulatory, and severely mentally delayed. She’s a prime candidate for abuse. What if my efforts to protect them fall short?

My [teenaged] son and my youngest [“tween”] daughter both have ADHD. Impulse control is a constant struggle for them both. What if the education, counseling, advice, and coaching I offer them about healthy relationships, sexuality, safety and personal responsibility aren’t enough?

I try to counteract these lingering after effects of abuse by remaining ever thankful for the love, good fortune, and beautiful life I share with my husband and children today, but my guilt, shame, and fear cling to me with tenacious persistence.

I am just finishing “It Begins And Ends With Family” by Jo Ann Wentzel. I highly recommend the read. The subject is foster care, but no conversation about foster children is complete without a discussion of child abuse and neglect. While we can debate the best course of action in helping abused children, the top priority must be to work toward a goal of prevention; to break the cycle of abuse. I am hopeful that – as a society – we can work together to empathize, educate, support, counsel, and care enough to stop the cycle of all abuse. If sharing my truth will help toward that goal, well…Here I am. This is my truth.

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Stephanie Collins’ RWISA Author Page

WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour – Joan Curtis @JoanCurtis

I have been introduced to some authors I hadn’t read before this tour, and they are absolutely incredible!

Today is the 25th day of the WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour!

I am profiling a different RWISA member here each day of August. I’ll introduce you to some outstanding reading and some very talented writers.  Please visit  each member’s Author Page and their Author Story and share your comments and LIKE their pages.  You may find their books within the RWISA catalog.

Now, Room With Books proudly presents. . .

A Gift of Silence

By Joan C. Curtis

The man stood outside the store window, shifting from foot to foot. I’d have probably gone right by him, but as I passed, he looked me straight in the face, sending a chill up my back. Mystified, I found a place in the shadows and watched.

He wore a black golf shirt with a Nike swoosh. His black slacks were neatly pressed, but scuffs covered the toes of his dark shoes. As he paced in front of the store, as if waiting for something or someone, his left foot dragged. Maybe that was where the scuffs came from. A girl passed by him without so much as a glance. She wore flip-flops and short shorts. He turned away from her. Why look me in the face and ignore this young girl with long flowing blond hair?

After an interminable twelve minutes, he entered the store. I crept to the side window to get a closer view. A saleslady approached with a big hopeful smile. He jerked away as if he might flee, but she persisted. Probably learned that in Sales 101.

Peering inside, I could make out the blurry image of the saleslady as she crouched down to retrieve a box. While she bent, the man grabbed an item off the counter. He pocketed it so fast if I’d blinked, I’d have missed it. Gasping in surprise, I nearly collapsed into the window. So neat. So fast.

While I recovered from the shock of having witnessed a theft, the man exited the store. He hurried in the direction of downtown. Hands tucked in his pockets and his head lowered, he wove along the sidewalk, avoiding moms with kids, students with backpacks, and cyclists. I followed. What did he plan to do with his ill-gotten gains?

My friend, Rose, would give me a lecture. Why didn’t you go inside the store and raise the alarm? What were you thinking, watching, witnessing, and doing nothing? No wonder we pay so much money for our trinkets. Thieves get away with it, and it’s all because of people like you. But, I never intended to tell Rose about this. Not if I could help it.

Instead, I hastened to follow the man, avoiding other shoppers and site-seers. My sole purpose was to find out what this strange person was up to. My watch read two-fifteen. I had missed the coffee date with my cousin. She’d forgive me. I’d have to make up an excuse about traffic or something equally lame, but I couldn’t think about her now. I had to see where this man led me. My curious nature would never let me rest otherwise.

Moments later he entered the parking deck. He was going to his car. Darn! Once he got in a car, I’d lose him for sure. My Honda was parked here as well, but on the top level. With my luck, his was probably on the first level. It was impossible to imagine we’d be parked close enough for me to follow him.

He entered the elevator. The light flashed up to level 4. I raced up the stairs like a madwoman. Huffing and puffing, I reached the fourth level just as the elevator doors opened. I caught a glimpse of his black form walking to a red Kia. I made a quick turn and hightailed it up to the fifth floor to retrieve my car. Then I plowed down toward the exit, round and round, hoping, praying. Eureka! The red Kia was just in front of me, waiting to pay. The Universe was on my side.

Mr. Thief drove with caution, obeying all the traffic rules, making it easy for me to keep him in sight. Nonetheless, I stayed one car back, not wanting to risk him seeing me. Maybe he’d remember me from the street! A shiver ran through me. What would he do, this thief? Stop his car, jump out, and murder me? Absurd.

The light changed. We moved down the road. A strange thought filled my head. Had the Universe wanted me to witness this thievery? Everything seemed to be falling into place. “Don’t be stupid.” Rose would say and would add I was being melodramatic.

We turned into the parking lot for the Hermitage Nursing Home. This made no sense. Why not a pawn shop? Didn’t thieves go to shady establishments on busy street corners with flashing neon signs to hock their merchandise? Not to a nursing home. Maybe he worked here? Maybe he was some sort of klepto and couldn’t help himself? Maybe he had no intention of hocking the stolen article? He pulled into a parking place a few steps from the entrance. I chose one farther away. From my rearview mirror, I spied him getting out of the car and entering the building.

Once he disappeared, I made my way inside and approached the information desk where a girl of about twenty had her head buried in a People magazine. When she finally looked my way, her eyes filled with wonder, as if I’d dropped from the sky, “Can I help you?” she said.

“The man who just came in. He dropped a five-dollar bill in the parking lot. I ran after him, but I missed him. Do you know where he might be?”

“Oh, that’s Jerome. He’s visiting his mom. Comes every day at least once. Want me to give it to him?”

I hesitated. She blinked. “Well… I guess it won’t hurt for you to go down to room 212. It’s the last room on the right, down that corridor.” She pointed the direction.

I moseyed away as if I had all the time in the world. Once out of her view, I picked up my pace. Conversation came from room 212. Mr. Thief was talking very loudly. Apparently his mom had hearing issues.

At the door, I peered inside where Mr. Thief perched on the edge of the bed near an attractive woman with cottony white hair.

“You shouldn’t have, Jerome. I know how much this place is costing you,” the woman said.

“But, Mom, it’s your birthday. I wanted to give you a little something.”

“Just having you here is enough. But, I do like bracelets. You know how I like bracelets. Remember when your dad gave me a diamond bracelet—of course, I didn’t know it wasn’t diamonds then. It wasn’t till later. Remember? After he died and left nothing but bills and debts, I tried to sell the bracelet and found out it was worthless. I flushed it down the commode.”

“I remember, Mom. You told me that story. I wanted you to have a real diamond bracelet before… well, you know.”

She hugged him. “This is the best gift ever.”

I backed away from the room, my heart racing.

Back in my car I didn’t wait for Mr. Thief, a.k.a. Mr. Nice Son, to come out of the building. I started the engine and drove home.

 

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Joan Curtis’ RWISA Author Page

WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour – Bruce A Borders @BruceABorders

 

I have been introduced to some authors I hadn’t read before this tour, and they are absolutely incredible!

Today is the 24th day of the WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour!

I am profiling a different RWISA member here each day of August. I’ll introduce you to some outstanding reading and some very talented writers.  Please visit  each member’s Author Page and their Author Story and share your comments and LIKE their pages.  You may find their books within the RWISA catalog.

Now, Room With Books proudly presents. . .

One Nice Fall Day

by Bruce A. Borders

©2017 Bruce A. Borders & Borders Publishing

Not having a good Monday at work, I decided to cut my day short and head home. Home, my sanctuary. As a single guy, I often retreat to my sanctuary when things become intolerable, such as today.

Pulling into the drive, I noticed the yard and house really needed attention. I kept the lawn mowed, but the knee-high weeds were another matter. The house too had long been neglected. The loose siding and trim boards couldn’t be ignored much longer.

“Maybe next weekend,” I mused.

But then, I’d said that last week too. I’d only gotten as far as hauling out a garden rake and a tree trimmer before reconsidering and putting them back. Or, maybe I hadn’t put them away, I thought, seeing my rake in the yard.

Taking a minute to replace the rake in the tool shed, I wandered inside, intent on taking it easy for the rest of the afternoon. And I did. The next couple of hours were spent napping. Then, feeling slightly more energetic, I thought I’d give the yard work another try. And that’s when I found the body.

A male, early twenties, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, lay face down in the weeds, not ten feet from where I’d walked earlier. Good citizen that I am, I immediately called 911. Within minutes, my yard was swarming with cops and other emergency personnel.

After examining the body, one of the detectives walked over. “You discovered the body?”

I nodded, as another officer joined us.

“Tell me what led to your discovery.”

I related the gist of my activities of the day, such as they were.

Then began a series of inane questions. “You live alone here? Why’d you leave work early? What took you so long to call 911?”

“You’re acting like this guy was murdered or something.”

“We’re just trying to figure out the timeline and what happened,” one said.

“And to what extent you were involved,” his partner added.

I guess I’ve seen too many TV dramas because the first thing I said was, “So, do I need a lawyer?”

The cop shrugged. “Depends. Is there a reason you may need a lawyer?”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. “Don’t think so. Just don’t want to be blamed for this murder.”

“No one’s blaming you—yet.” The officer paused, whether for dramatic effect or to weigh his words, I wasn’t sure. “Should we be looking at you as a suspect?”

“Of course not.”

The detectives eyed me a moment. “We’ll be in touch,” one said as they turned away.

They’ll be in touch? What’s that supposed to mean? They’d said I wasn’t a suspect; was that just to keep me off-guard until they’d had time to gather enough evidence to build a case?

I shook my head. I must be crazy. There was no evidence. There was no case. I hadn’t done anything except find the body. I certainly hadn’t killed him.

But, they didn’t know that. And here I was acting all weird. Even I had to admit my strange behavior and ramblings appeared suspicious. The police likely thought so too.

And that’s how I ended up seeing a criminal defense attorney for a crime I hadn’t committed.

“Sounds like you’re a bit paranoid,” said the attorney after I’d filled him in.

“Paranoid, huh?” I said, somewhat sheepishly.

He smiled. “A little.”

I couldn’t think of an intelligent response, so I just sat there.

“Tell you what,” he said, breaking my uncomfortable abeyance. “I’ll keep my notes and if you’re arrested, call me.”

“Thanks. Hope I don’t need to.”

“If you didn’t commit the murder, they can’t exactly find any evidence. Although…”

I frowned. “Although what?”

They could always charge you with manslaughter if anything you’ve done, intentionally or unintentionally, contributed to the man’s death.”

“Right. I didn’t even know he was there until I found the body.”

“It’s most likely nothing to worry about. But you never know.”

As I stood to leave, he added, “If you are arrested, don’t say anything until I’m present. You’ve already given your statement. That’s all you’re obligated to do.”

Nodding, I left.

Just talking to the lawyer had helped. The anxiety I’d felt earlier was gone. Feeling better about my prospects, I drove home and was utterly shocked to find two police cars in my driveway, the officers knocking at my door.

As I parked, they came toward me. “Mr. Powell?”

“That’s me.”

“Can we come in and talk?”

I hesitated. The attorney had said to say nothing if I were arrested. He hadn’t mentioned anything about not being arrested. “Depends,” I finally managed. “Am I under arrest?”

“No,” the officer said. “We just want to clarify a few things with you.”

I repeated what the lawyer had told me. “I’ve already given my statement. That’s all I’m obligated to do.”
“You’re not interested in helping solve this murder?”

I certainly was interested in solving the murder, but something told me that “helping” might have an entirely different meaning to them. “I’ve already given my statement,” I said again.

The officers looked perturbed. “Well,” one said, reaching for his handcuffs. “You leave us no choice then. Mr. Powell, you are under arrest in connection with the murder of Vincent Dalhart.”

As the cop handcuffed me, I focused on what he’d said. I wasn’t being arrested for the murder but in connection with the murder. I wasn’t sure what that meant if anything. I hoped it meant they didn’t actually think I’d killed the man.

The next two days were a blur of numerous meetings with the detectives and my attorney. Through these conversations, I finally learned what had happened.

Vincent Dalhart had been stabbed to death. There were four puncture wounds, evenly spaced. Two had pierced a vital organ. The time of death was uncertain although, the medical examiner estimated it to be five hours before I, the only suspect, had stumbled onto the body.

Meanwhile, the police had executed a search warrant for my property, finding my rake, which they believed to be the murder weapon. Lab testing confirmed that blood present on the tines was that of the victim. Murder in the first degree was the charge.

To his credit, my lawyer seemed undaunted by the discovery. I told him about seeing the rake and putting it away. He seemed satisfied. “But the police will want to know how you didn’t notice any blood on the rake.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. “Not sure how I missed that.”

He shrugged. “Easy enough explanation. The blood was only on the tines—probably not a large amount. By the time you picked it up, the blood had likely dried. It would’ve been very difficult to see unless you were specifically looking for it.”

Unfortunately, the police were specifically looking for it, having determined a garden rake to be the likely murder weapon. And as my lawyer had predicted they weren’t exactly sold on my account of the events. Instead, they believed I’d used the rake to murder the man breaking into my house.

With no other options, we prepared to go to trial. My attorney seemed to like my chances. I wasn’t so confident. Here I was, a guy who’d never even been in a fight, charged with murder. It all felt so overwhelming.

Then, the next day, things took a surprising turn.

The guard came to escort me to the briefing room where my attorney waited.

“Good news,” he greeted me. “All charges have been dropped. You’ll be released within the hour.”

I was stunned. “That’s great, but… why? How?” With the direction things had been going, I found it hard to imagine the police had suddenly decided I was innocent.

“Turns out your neighbor saw the whole thing from across the street. Mr. Dalhart arrived at your house on foot, poked around; checking doors and windows, then went to the shed and retrieved the rake. Standing on your porch railing, he attempted to use the rake to pull himself up to an open second-story window. The window ledge gave way, and Mr. Dalhart fell to the ground, impaling himself on the rake.”

“But the rake was a good ten feet from the body.”

The attorney nodded. “Apparently, the would-be thief lived long enough to remove the rake and fling it away.”

I was frowning. “My neighbor watched all this and didn’t even try to help? Or, report it? Not that I care, really. The thief got what he deserved. But how does someone just watch all that and not do anything?”

The lawyer shrugged. “People are strange. Maybe he didn’t want to be involved. Who knows? He’s been arrested and faces legal troubles over his lack of humanity.”

“I would hope so.”

“Just be glad he eventually came forward.”

“I am.” I fell silent then.

The attorney noticed my gaze. “What is it?”

I smiled wryly. “Was just thinking… That window ledge has been loose for quite a while, banging in the wind. Been meaning to fix it for months, just hadn’t gotten around to it.”

Eyeing me a moment, the lawyer said, “You might want to keep that information to yourself.”

 

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Bruce A. Border’s RWISA Author Page

WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour – Michael Hicks Thompson @mhthompsonsr

I do hope you are taking the time to follow this incredible tour! Today is the 23rd day of the WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour!

I am profiling a different RWISA member here each day of August. You’ll be introduced to some good reading and some very talented writers.  Please visit  each member’s Author Page and their Author Story and share your comments and LIKE their pages.  You may find their books within the RWISA catalog.

Now, Room With Books proudly presents. . .

 

DETOUR  -> CUBA
By Michael Hicks Thompson

 

PART I

Once the port-of-call jewel for Magnus Wealthy, Cuba has been a country lost in time for the last half century, plus some.

Never been to Cuba? I recommend it. But do it before it returns to the playground of the filthy rich and the Hemingway admirers.

Yes, I’ve been there twice. But not as Magnus Wealthy. Think short-term mission trip. Door-to-door evangelism. Knock, knock. “May we come in.” (Of course, my interpreter said it the proper way: “¿Podemos entrar?”)

An interpreter is essential if you can’t speak the language.

But here’s the beautiful thing. Most Cubans are the friendliest people you’ll meet. They love to meet and greet Americans. We’re a mystery to them. It’s amazing. And understandable. Most have never tasted freedom.

Castro usurped the country in the biggest land swindle ever. Now, the elderly Cubans alive today are happy with a single, pathetic gift from Papa Castro’s government.

“He give me this cooking pot,” the appreciative, sun-wrinkled, Spanish speaking octogenarian said.

Never mind that his midget refrigerator will take him a lifetime to pay off.

PART II

We flew into Havana, via Mexico, spent the night and flew on to Holguin (hole-Keen) early the next morning. It’s a four-hour flight. Cuba is the size of California.

The ‘hotel’ in Holguin was once a grand one—now, dilapidated. Papa not only didn’t let the government keep hotels up to standard, he took the toilet seats away. From personal experience, I can assure you he did it to humiliate the eleven-and-a-half-million souls into submission.

Ask any American what Cubans look like and they’ll include “dark-skinned” as an answer. However, you’d be surprised to see nearly as many red-headed and blue-eyed Cubans as dark-skinned islanders. The Spanish influence is apparent. Fifty-one percent of Cubans are Mulatto, thirty-seven percent, White, and eleven percent, Black.

All Cubans are proud. And friendly. Why shouldn’t they be? They’ve not had the outside world of communications and world events for three generations. They’ve simply missed the rise in socio-economic gain around the world. They’ve been isolated. They don’t know any other life. They’ve lived on Cuban baseball and communism since 1959.

And they’ve avoided all the gun-shot TV news and television episodes of Law & Order. God blessed them.

Or, did He?

When I think of Cuba, I think of Maria. She’s the Lady who led our group through Cuba. Maria was born and raised in Havana, in a prominent family.

Shortly after Castro took over, her father gathered his wife and children and fled to America.

Maria has such a huge heart for her native land. She’ll always love her people and her land.

Many wealthy families left their homes and their businesses behind; to start over. But the ones not able to afford travel remained behind. They faced the dark days of seclusion.

Catholicism gradually faded away. To be replaced by many false religions—Santería being the most prominent. It’s a singing religion based on the old songs of slavery. So, most Santeríans are descendants of African slaves.

PART III

Every morning ten of us would have breakfast, pray, and pile into vans with our interpreters for an hour or two ride to a small village, usually to the south, near Guantanamo. A different village each morning. That way, we could avoid the immigration officials who’d heard we were proselytizing in their country. Only once did we hear our leader yell out, “Everybody in the vans. We have to leave. Now!”

We would meet at a local house church and greet the pastor. Some would have no more than ten church members; some as many as thirty. We snuck in bibles, clothes, hygiene products, and boatloads of gum.

Each church provided a local member to escort us, individually with our interpreter, to un-churched homes in the village. The patriarch or matriarch always welcomed us. Some even asked us to hold off any discussion so they could gather their family. Even neighbors. All ages would gather around in a small living room, many sitting on the floor, while we introduced them to original sin, Jesus, the Gospel, and a merciful God.

The interpreter kept track of those who repeated the prayer of salvation (asking Jesus to come into their hearts and save them from eternal damnation). More than a few grown men cried on my shoulder after accepting Jesus into their hearts.

Naturally, there were plenty who preferred to worship their idols. Ceramic statues, sometimes made of wood or plastic.

If the idol worshiper wasn’t getting what they wanted from their man-made God, they’d place them face down in their underwear drawer, to punish them. Strange stuff. And sad.

At the end of the week, our leader would give us the number. “Four-hundred-fifty-two made a profession of faith this week. You’ve not only sowed the seeds of the Gospel, you’ve been a part of the harvest.”

That made me feel pretty good, but we all knew Holy Spirit had been working in those hearts long before we arrived. Only God can change the heart of man. But, what really made me warm and fuzzy, was the sight of my sons who’d been able to join us on the mission field. They had been part of the harvest. And it would have a lasting, lifetime effect on their lives. They talk about it to this day.

And so do I.

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Michael Hicks Thompson’s RWISA Author Page

WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour – Robert Fear @fredsdiary1981

I do hope you are taking the time to follow this incredible tour! Today is the 22th day of the WATCH RWISA WRITE Showcase Tour!

I am profiling a different RWISA member here each day of August. You’ll be introduced to some good reading and some very talented writers.  Please visit  each member’s Author Page and their Author Story and share your comments and LIKE their pages.  You may find their books within the RWISA catalog.

Now, Room With Books proudly presents. . .

The Fight

by Robert Fear

Es Cana, Ibiza, Spain – August 1977

Jose took an immediate dislike to me.

He worked as a waiter at the Panorama hotel near the seafront. I had been there to see Diane, an English girl I met while at work in Grannies Bar. Petite and with short blond hair, she had a delightful personality. She was also a real head-turner.

Diane came to Ibiza on a two-week holiday with her friend, Elaine. It felt fantastic she wanted to spend time with me, but Jose thought his role was to be her protector. He glared at me every time he saw us together.

Towards the end of her holiday, Diane spent a night with me and I didn’t get her back to the hotel until breakfast time. Jose was on duty and spotted us outside as we kissed. That just made things worse.

After Diane left for home, things deteriorated. The next Friday evening, as I walked to work, Jose headed towards me with a group of Spanish lads. Their intentions were obvious as they stared, raised their fists and shouted at me across the street.
Before they could catch me I escaped down the steps and into Grannies Bar. Their taunts still rang in my ears as I headed for safety.

Friday nights were always manic. Eager drinkers packed the outside terrace after a day in the sun. A queue of customers had already formed as I dived behind the bar to help serve them.

Four of us; Mick, Pat, Graham and myself, worked that evening shift. Pat was half cut and spent most of the evening with her friends. Mick’s mood was not good as a result, but the three of us got stuck in and served the eager punters.

After six weeks at Grannies, I knew the routine. We served drinks and collected pesetas in quick succession. Spirits were easier to serve than at home. Two ice cubes got thrown into a glass and the vodka, gin or brandy poured until the ice floated. Then the mixer was added.

We could drink behind the bar, provided we remained sober enough to serve. Pat loved her gin and tonics and often wasn’t! Mick, Graham and I had regular supplies of vodka and orange but remained level headed as we rushed around serving eager customers.

Willing female hands often helped out. They collected glasses and washed them up in the sink at the end of the bar. As a reward, they had drinks bought for them and got the chance to pull Graham, myself or even Mick on occasions.

Work finished at 3 am. We headed to El Cortijo for another drink and a dance. A group of Spanish lads hung around near the entrance, but I thought nothing of it. Only later did I found out they were Jose’s friends.

The disco pulsed and the dance floor heaved. Lights from the ‘disco ball’ flashed around scantily clad bodies as they cavorted to the sounds of Abba, Rod Stewart and Status Quo. We caught John’s attention, and he passed us a bottle of San Miguel each.

Graham and Mick met up with two girls they had chatted up in Grannies earlier. Pat had gone back to their villa with her friends so Mick was free for the night. Propped at the bar I sipped my beer and relaxed after a hard night’s work.

By instinct, I spun round to find Jose stood behind me. He glared at me and mouthed something. The music drowned out his words. Jose beckoned for me to come with him. Even though it was obvious he wanted a fight, I went. By the time I got outside it was too late.

My fighting skills were minimal. I had been the object of bullying at school. One lad taunted me with the repeated chant, ‘Freddy’s got a rudimentary organ’, while in the showers. This hurt me and screwed with my teenage sensibilities. I tried to avoid the shower room when he was there.

Two other lads pushed me around and sometimes thumped me. They wanted money, but I had none to give them. One time I gave in to their pressure and stole books for them from a sales exhibition held in the school hall. I never thought of fighting back. I did not know how!

Now I stood on the dusty wasteland twenty yards away from the front entrance of El Cortijo. Jose faced me, surrounded by his group of friends. The atmosphere was menacing and none of my friends were even aware what had happened.

‘So, you silly man, what you say?’ screamed Jose in broken English as he edged towards me.

‘What did I do wrong?’ I retorted.

I sweated in the heat of the August night and he must have sensed my fear.

‘You took girlfriend, English scum.’

‘No I didn’t. Diane wanted to be with me you arrogant pig.’

I amazed myself with that response. The drink from earlier in the evening gave me a false sense of courage. Things were dire and soon became worse.

Jose swung his right fist toward my head. I ducked and there was a whoosh of air as he missed.

He turned round and aimed another punch at me. This time he connected and his fist crunched into my jaw. I reeled backwards. Maybe I should have just gone to ground and admitted defeat. This time I fought back.

Well, fought might be too strong a word for it! I stumbled forward and made a dive for his midriff. Jose grabbed me by my shoulders and flung me to the ground.

I spat out a mouthful of dust before I tried to get back up. Then I saw the flying feet of Jose and his mates. It became obvious they wanted to give me a severe beating.

In defence I rolled into as tight a ball as possible with my hands wrapped around my head. The kicks and punches continued and my senses faded as protection against the pain.

Then it stopped. Shouts came from the front door of the disco and the Spanish lads scattered. John, Alan and two others screamed at the top of their voices to get them away from me. A German girl on her way to the disco had seen the scuffle and dived into El Cortijo to get help.

Worried faces peered at me as I uncurled myself. Although bruised and battered there were no broken bones. I hauled myself to my feet. With support from my rescuers, I struggled back to the disco for another drink.

An uneasy truce existed between Jose and me for the rest of the summer.

 

Thank you for supporting this member along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, to please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.  WE ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

Robert Fear’s RWISA Author Page

#RRBC 2017 WRITERS’ CONFERENCE & BOOK EXPO

Last year’s conference proved that RRBC is home to some of the greatest writers, most knowledgeable authors and avid readers from around the world! We are all coming together again, to fellowship (Gather), have fun (Enjoy) and become enlightened! (Learn!).  This year’s theme is:  When you know better, you produce better and in our year of BETTER at RRBC, this quote hits the nail right on the head!  Newbie authors, seasoned authors, and readers of all stages and interests, in one arena…teaching, learning and growing! What an amazing opportunity to be part of an event such as this!

THIS EVENT WILL HELP YOU:
*Get inspired and get to writing
*Market your work to avid readers
*Strengthen your craft of writing
*Network with like-minded individuals
*…and so much more!

This (virtual) conference and expo will have something grand in store for everyone! We will have sessions on many topics that are of interest to today’s Authors. This will be your time to learn all that you can about the literary playing field, and brush up on things that you thought you knew well.  And, the best part…you get to enjoy it from the comfort of your own home!
There will be *Author booths for RRBC members to showcase, promote and sell their books, and Vendor booths for those who wish to showcase and sell their services. No event is ever complete without giveaways, so allow me to mention that our plan for our RAFFLE this year, will be even bigger and better than before, and made fully possible by our SPONSORS! Yes, all this learning, camaraderie and fun, in one place!

Fun…did you just hear me say fun, or did you hear me say FUNNNNNNN?  Well, you don’t want to miss our foray into “book” Scavenger Hunting! Stay tuned for more details on this event!

**NEW** this year:  FREE ‘RIGHT ON THE SPOT’ CRITIQUING SESSIONS!  Bring your manuscript and we’ll let you know what we think, right on the spot! (More specific details to come!)

This event will be held for one full week, beginning October 22nd and running thru October 28th, 2017! If you are an author and have books releasing this year or around this time, this event will be a great venue to debut them!
By now, who hasn’t heard of those amazing sessions presented at our conference last year? If you haven’t, where have you been hiding? You don’t want to miss out on the 2017 sessions and you can register for them by simply clicking HERE! If you are an Author/Vendor, and would like your very own Author and/or Vendor Booth on display during the conference, we invite you to register, as well!

GET READY!  WE CERTAINLY ARE!

(Author booths are available to members of RRBC only! If you’d like to JOIN US, we welcome you!)

***This event is open to the general public!***

REGISTER NOW!

#RRBC August Spotlight Author – Carol Marrs Phipps

It is with great pleasure

ROOM WITH BOOKS

introduces

CAROL MARRS PHIPPS

the RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB

Spotlight Author

for the month of August!

What inspired the writing of Wham! Timewalker, Book 1 of the Timewalker Series?

I’d have to say, this most recent series, Timewalker, was inspired by a combination of  current world political affairs, and the increasingly insane agricultural practices being carried out today, which not only poisons the food we eat, but also the land, the waterways and the very air we breathe. How sad that in “our new world order” the air in the cities, polluted by exhaust fumes and factory emissions, is cleaner and safer than what used to be fresh country air. Enough said, it is not my intention to get on my soapbox and preach to you here, but rather, to set the background for the series.

Wham is the first book of a planned dystopian/scifi-fantasy/time-travel trilogy called Timewalker. It takes place in the 21st century. This world is populated by a number of races including humans, trolls elves, fairies and even the occasional dragon. The world is controlled by a new world government, but the location of the capitol and the potentate who pulls all the strings, are unknown to the general population. The citizens are controlled by watchers from spying devices, which look like crystal balls, which are mandatory in every room in every home. The young are systematically indoctrinated in their schools and their families are usually forcibly torn apart by the local Children and Family Services Police. This world is being systematically poisoned with agricultural chemicals designed to increase the yield of the planets produce, which profits those in control of the world’s wealth, mainly the head of new Wolrd Alliance, Potentate Pandora Coel,  and her minions. As the planet becomes increasingly polluted and  inhospitable to the people and wildlife on the surface of the planet, the potentate and her entourage secret away to their undersea city, Atlantis, from where their tyrannical rule over the citizens is merciless and absolute.

 

When the World Alliance seized power from all the governments of the world, they said it was for the greater good. They said it was necessary to unite all the nations of the globe under one banner in order to bring universal peace, equality and prosperity to the world.

To most families throughout the world, the rise of the Alliance and their grandiose promises meant little. They had long grown weary of the lies of the corrupt law-makers and heads of state and were far more concerned with their day-to-day struggles to survive.

The Greenwood family was no exception, and for a time life went on much as it had before the rise of the Alliance. In time, individual cultural and racial identity were outlawed. They said it was for the greater good. They said it was necessary to create a more harmonious, homogenous world community. The Greenwood family adapted.

But then they took away freedom. They made it mandatory for all households and public buildings to have skinwelers, crystal spying balls in every room, in order to watch the people’s every move. They said it was for the greater good. They said it was necessary for public safety and civil order. And the Greenwood family adapted.

But then the state took their family farm and lands and moved them to Gollsport where they had built barracks for all the displaced citizens. They said it was for the greater good. They said the countryside had become contaminated by farm chemicals and the relocation was for their continued health and safety. Once again, the Greenwood family adapted.

But then they came in the night and took away seventeen year-old Tess Greenwood’s entire family. They said it was for the greater good. They said Tess would adapt and in time she would be far better for it.

But Tess cared not for the Alliance’s greater good. She did not adapt. She wanted her family back and vowed to do whatever she must in order to see them again. Little did she know, that to keep her vow, she would have to become a timewalker.

 

*Wham! is currently exclusive to Amazon.*

Carol Marrs Phipps is a teacher turned author. She was born in Missouri, grew up in Illinois and lives on their farm in Illinois with her husband and her menagerie: a parrot, a raven, two cockatiels and her Siberian Forest cats. The books she has written with her husband, Tom Phipps include, Elf Killers which takes place a millennium before the books of the Heart of the Staff series: Good Sister, Bad Sister, The Collector Witch, Stone Heart, The Burgeoning, The Reaper Witch, the final book of the series, Doom, and Heart of the Staff: Complete Series boxed set and Heart of the Staff: Complete Appendix. Recently, Carol and Tom launched a new Dystopian/Urban Fantasy series with the first book of a planned trilogy, Wham! (Book1 Timewalker). All their books are available as eBook or paperback except the boxed set and the appendix.

Carol taught with her husband on various Native American Reservations in Arizona, New Mexico and Nevada, where they learned a great deal from their students, the very first fans of their writing. Not long after they married, she discovered to her joy that he also loved to write. They have been writing together full-time ever since.

Blog ~ Facebook ~ Twitter

Amazon Author Page

 

Links for Heart of the Staff Books

Amazon US ~ UK

 B & N ~ Kobo ~ Smashwords

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Benefits of Attending a Virtual Writers’ Conference & Book Expo #RRBC

The Benefits of Attending a Virtual Writers’ Conference & Book Expo – at least an #RRBC one…

You’re a writer.  You realize that there is a lot for you to learn to become a great writer…heck, even a good writer.  You’ve heard about writers’ conferences but you’ve no time to attend, you’ve no money to spare, and most of them are just too darned far.  You’ve heard that they are wonderful, though, and you’d really like to see what they’re all about, so, what do you do?

Well, there is such a thing as a virtual writing conference, and below I’m going to share with you some of the benefits of attending an RRBC writers’ conference & book expo.

*A virtual conference allows you to attend from the comfort of your own (living room, bedroom, bathroom, your car trunk, Starbuck’s, etc…).

Writers’ conferences and book expos come a dime a dozen.  I mean…just like churches and liquor stores, there’s one around every corner.  But, with the busy lives that we lead, we often find it difficult to get away to one, so the next best thing is to find one online.  No need to worry about the cost of travel fare (car, bus or plane), no need to worry about hotel accommodations (you get to sleep at home), or, the cost of eating away from home…you get all that you need, when you need it, right where you are. #BENEFIT

*Resources you will use forever.

When you attend a virtual writers’ conference, you have the ability to archive much of the information that is shared because it is all online.  The sessions and workshops presented at an RRBC writers’ conference, are all created with the purpose of educating attendees.   Our sessions and workshops are on carefully selected topics, that we know authors need to grow in their writing careers.  The handouts that you receive (virtually), are invaluable along your journey as a writer.  No matter the format utilized to present these sessions, attendees leave our workshops enlightened with a renewed sense of having learned something that will make them a better writer and stronger marketer for their books. #BENEFIT

*A reality check.

With the introduction of our “Right On The Spot” Critiquing Sessions this year, you will get an honest assessment of your writing BEFORE you publish…no sugarcoatin’ here.  And, as if that wasn’t enough, the sessions are FREE to RRBC members.  These critique sessions will be offered by TOP WRITING PROFESSIONALS in the literary field.  You can be assured that the feedback given is going to be information that you can add to your literary tool box, to use in all your future writing. #BENEFIT

*Payment Plans.

Have you priced writers’ conferences and book expos lately?  Well, I have and who can afford them without skipping a mortgage payment?  Geez!  There again lies the beauty of a virtual conference (at least an RRBC conference).  Not only are the prices lower than any others we’ve found, but, we also have payment plans to make it easier to afford an author booth to promote your books, a vendor booth to introduce and sell your wares, and all the sessions and workshops your amazing brain can handle! #BENEFIT

*Community.

The RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB popped onto the scene almost four years ago and has offered to writers something never heard of before:  a community of like-minded individuals who truly care about your success, just as much as they care about their own…no competition here.  This community (or family as we like to call it), is there through the good times and the bad, there to lift you up when you’re feeling low and need the encouragement to write another page, there with advice on how to handle certain situations involving your writing, tips on how you should write, what literary services you should utilize, and so much more.  We purchase, read and review each other’s books, we give our honest opinions on those books, we promote one another via our blogs and social media forums, and during the conference, we all get to commune to further our careers and friendships even more. #BENEFIT

*Friendships.

Many RRBC members are surprised at the bonds of friendship they form once they immerse themselves within the club.  The World Wide Web is known to be a cesspool of ‘crazies’, stalkers and any other negative label that you an attach to someone who you should be wary of on the net.  But, not so here in RRBC.  Now, don’t get me wrong, there are some that I’m sure you should be careful of, but, I can assure you they are not within the realm of our core members…the professionals who work hard to protect and maintain their reputations as authors.  We are a global organization with members around the world, which means, when you find those to call ‘friend’, you’re never without a place to rest your head along your travels. #BENEFIT

*Find great new books.

Since the inception of RRBC, we hear on a daily basis how readers were introduced to amazing books they might never have found had it not been for RRBC.  The traditionally published have their work plastered all over the place and sometimes, our Indie awesomeness is a little hidden…you have to dig deep to find it.  That’s not the case within RRBC.  We have amazing talent in our midst and their books speak for them.  If you’re looking for great reads, look no further than our catalog.  The conference & expo is THE place for our members to introduce their latest work and you don’t want to miss out on any of it! #BENEFIT

***

So, there you have it…  the most important benefits of attending a virtual writers’ conference & book expo hosted by RRBC.  What you will walk away with will far outweigh the pennies you spent to take part in it.  And because 2017 is our Year of Better here at RRBC, we hope that all our members care enough about their writing and their reputations as writers, to take part in this awesome event to further their growth.

Last year’s event was amazing and it was our first year putting it on.  With that year under our belt, can you imagine the things that we’re going to do this year?  I don’t think you can!

Everything about this event is geared towards your success.  If you haven’t registered yet, we invite you to do so today.  Don’t be the lone wolf standing on the sidelines of this wonderful event, wishing after the fact that you had been apart of it.  Jump right on in our boat to better.   We certainly have enough room for ya!

See you at the conference!

*JOIN RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB!

Meet Lizzie Chantree #PIF #RRBC

Today it is #PAYIFFORWARD day for RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB, and it is my honor to present to you . . .Author, Lizzie Chantree!

Email: Liz@chantree.com
Twitter : @Lizzie_Chantree
Facebook: http://www.Facebook.com/LizzieChantree
Instagram: http://www.Instagram.com/Lizzie_Chantree
Website: https://lizziechantree.com/

Lizzie is an enthusiastic inventor, businesswoman and artist. She founded her first company at the age of 17 and has been creating products and driving my family mad ever since.

Lizzie appeared on Sky News, ITV Lunchtime News, This Morning, The Gloria Hunniford show, The Big Breakfast, BBC’s Worldwide Radio Service, amongst others for becoming one of Fair Play London’s Female Innovators for inventing Runaway Spray, a ‘ladder’ stop spray for hosiery.

Lizzie lives in Essex, with her gorgeous family and a very unusual dog.  In between the school run and baking cakes (or burning them!), she sits in her rooftop studio daydreaming about gaps in the market and how she can fill them.

Lizzie Chantree has written sizzling beach read; Babe Driven, Medical intrigue novel; Love’s Child and magical romance; Finding Gina. Her latest novel is set in the school playground and is about some very unusual school mums!

Now, take a look at her books!

A contemporary romance read with a magical twist! By award winning author, Lizzie Chantree.

Can a sprinkling of stardust overcome a past full of demons?

Gina had traversed the breadth of the country in her little campervan to try and find everyone on her grandmother’s list, before her father drunk himself into an early grave. She leant down and pulled the battered and worn journal from her bag and opened it to the latest page. The neatly written names were etched onto her heart and she was determined to visit every single one and compensate them in some way. Her family’s debt had to be repaid.

Lewis read another provincial story about a ‘guardian angel’ who had been helping families across the country and his reporters nose began to itch. He was sure that if he could track down the girl they were talking about, he would unearth an even bigger story. He just had to work out how to locate her and then find out what it was that she was running from!

What readers of Finding Gina are saying:

1. ‘This is the third book I have read by Lizzie Chantree and again I was very pleasantly surprised with the quality and depth of her writing. I love a good edgy romantic ‘Chick lit’ Novel and this very much reached my expectations. The characters are portrayed in such a way that you can really envisage how they look and the environments they live in; to the point that I’d love to stay with Gina in her VW van – v envious.

The story had remained with me; which isn’t always the case with Novels of this genre.

Really worth a read – Lizzie Chantree can really compete with her contemparies (I’m a long devotee to Lisa Jewell and Freya North). I look forward to her next offering.’

2. ‘A really great romance read. This book has humour and romance and kept me guessing the whole way through. Lizzie Chantree is fast becoming my new favourite author!

The main character Gina is running from her past, but discovers her future along the way. The other characters are just as interesting and I especially loved reading about Tom, the gorgeous baker who works at the tearoom and Lewis the intrepid reporter. The tearoom’s owner, Rachel is quite mean, but even she grew on me as the story progressed. She is quite a character! This would make a great holiday read and once I picked it up, I couldn’t put the book down until I had read the last page.’

3. ‘Loved this mystical story about a girl called Gina who is trying to help people who have been hurt by her grandmother. This is a love story, but it’s also about someone coming to terms with their past. Gina misses her mum and her dad is a drunk, who meddles with her life until she is forced to move out. The story hints at magical abilities and leaves you wanting to read a sequel to find out how Gina develops her newfound skills. The men in the book are pretty gorgeous and the writing is humorous and entertaining. I really enjoyed this sweet book and would recommend it to friends.’

AMAZON

 

An award-winning romantic mystery novel by author Lizzie Chantree.

Friendship, loyalty and deadly secrets.

Jemima Trent is desperate to have a designer baby to keep up with her socialite friends, reconnect with her work-obsessed husband, Lucas, and regain some respect from her domineering father.

Something curious is happening and the number of women able to conceive each year is in decline, but no one seems to know why. Dr Cole believes that the answer can be found in a warehouse full of delinquent teenagers, where David Love and his pregnant girlfriend, Tilly, have been hitting the headlines for turning youngsters’ lives around. Dr Cole’s violent and callous employer will stop at nothing to discover the reason behind their success and why girls at the warehouse are able to fall pregnant.

Jemima finally tries to step out of her father’s shadow, but discovers they are more alike than she could ever imagine. David and Tilly vow to keep their secret, but have the lessons of the past been learnt and is the world ready for the truth?

Lies, deceit and betrayal, all in the name of love!

What readers are saying about Love’s Child:

1. ‘A fabulous book with twists and turns with a little romance and plenty of feisty characters. From the super rich all the way down to the deprived areas of town Lizzie has brought all these characters together in book full of suspense and intrigue.
I can heartily recommend this as a good read.’

2. ‘I loved the story about the warehouse full of rebellious children and the people who helped them. It is also a love story and what a parent will do to protect their child and so much more including the relationships between husband, wife, father and daughter. A must read!!’

3. ‘Loved the book! Lots of fiery, and glamorous characters, but there are some who are dealing with deeper issues. A book packed full of suspense. A riveting ending that made me want to keep reading. It’s a romance novel, and it is about relationships, but it’s also about the love a parent has for their child. Highly recommended.’

4. ‘Always on the look out for a great read and this book had me hooked from start to finish. Would definitely recommend.’

5. ‘What a fantastic read. Loved every page of this book. Very talented writer. Can’t wait to read the next book!!!!!!’

AMAZON

Driving straight out of trouble and into paradise! A laugh out loud, contemporary romance read full of humour and exotic locations.

Harriet’s crazily successful business idea is under serious threat, and the danger seems to be coming from inside her own family. She whisks her sister and her friends away to an exotic location to try and work out whose side they are on. It’s time to start damage limitation.

When the girls arrive at the glorious villa owned by Harriet’s maverick business partner Nikki, they find a gorgeous band and their sexy lead singer Max staying next door, out to entice their new neighbours into all kinds of trouble.

This isn’t a holiday for Harriet and she can’t afford to be distracted. She has to sell her business idea to the powerful resort owner, the elusive Mr Grant, while she is there, or she may not have a business to go back to. Harriet will have to choose between family and friends, business or pleasure. For someone who stays out of the limelight, even though her new company is the hottest ticket in town, she’s going to have to avoid the front pages of every newspaper if she wants to survive the ride!

What reviewers are saying about Babe Driven:

1. ‘A great read! The story gripped me from the start and I couldn’t put the book down. The plot was intriguing as the relationships develop and some people aren’t who they appear to be! A great holiday read or indeed curled up cosy in front of the fire! ‘

2. ‘A real hoot all the way through and very entertaining. Love the authors style of writing and the characters she creates, read it over two days and would have read another one. Really rather good!’

3. ‘Light, entertaining fun read which would make the perfect companion on a summer holiday. I liked the characters, and thought the plot was quite original, hoping to see more from the author in the near future.’

4. ‘This was a fun light read. There is romance involved but it’s more than that. It’s mostly the story of a strong independent businesswoman who’s trying to save her business. She happens to be beautiful, and so everyone underestimates her. I really like this character and enjoyed the plot. You keep getting little surprises along the way that keep you guessing. I would call this a great book when you want to be distracted from all of the real worries you have in life. I’m a sucker for happy endings, so this book left me with a big smile! ‘

AMAZON

 

 

 

#RRBC SPRINGTIME BOOK & BLOG BLOCK PARTY

#RRBC SPRINGTIME BOOK & BLOG BLOCK PARTY

Hello and WELCOME to Day 13 of

RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB’S SPRINGTIME BOOK & BLOG BLOCK PARTY

Location:  Wyoming, USA

# of Winners for this stop: 5

Here is what I am giving away today:

(1) – $20 Amazon gift card

(2) – $10 Amazon gift cards

(2) – $5 Amazon gift cards

Please leave a comment below today, April 13th, to be entered in the drawing to win one of these prizes!

Don’t forget to check the other tour stops at https://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com/rrbc-2017-springtime-book-blog-block-party/as the party goes on all month long!

What a glorious spring day it is here! The weather is wonderfully warm. My flowers are starting to bloom. And even the little birds are starting to rebuild their nest outside my living room window! This might be my favorite time of year!

I enjoy blogging and reviewing books. Late this year I will add author to the list of things I do!

I want to share the back-cover blurb of my book with you.

It was difficult, and very sad, to see my life laid out on paper. The timeline covered the front and back of a 36″ x 24″ poster board and wound around it like a steep mountain switchback.

The memories brought back by black lines on paper . . .

June, 2001

He dragged me down the stairs by my hair. I remember giving up. I was so tired, physically and emotionally. The fight had gone out of me. I’m certain if one had looked into my eyes they were empty. I was already gone.

He dragged me to a standing position, which I could barely hold in my weakness. Peering into his eyes I saw evil. I saw death. My own. My daughter’s.

“Remember, no matter what happens,” he leaned down, whispering in my ear, “no matter what happens, remember how much I’ve loved you!”

I stood there stunned. He loved me? He loved me? How could this be called love!

That moment was a turning point for me and I’ve been crying out to tell my story ever since. I hope you’ll join me when I release “Where the Heart Grows” later this year!