tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3817473477188394002024-03-13T04:03:48.720-07:00Pen, Paper & PerseveranceInspirational Writing JourneyPamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-7903859381390623892023-08-25T07:55:00.001-07:002023-08-25T07:56:48.197-07:00 FOLLOWING A DESIRED PATH<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINpcaOQf5IVxVL7vbSmerG-r5oo0C4Pzi-aEGmvNBxEmdY8wN7AFoUMnnJ_q5FxTKRVcNaaZIW5L9uRuRrIHIAuZWOhjtk7bLEib1OZnQR5H9gzytn9bfNVpcqvam2nsGefj_p1a-dNN1pRcAOxmkSmvUwi7jY8hD378A2p9EK0koZu2i_viJ3n_W6Jaf/s1440/me%20glasses%20for%20blog.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjINpcaOQf5IVxVL7vbSmerG-r5oo0C4Pzi-aEGmvNBxEmdY8wN7AFoUMnnJ_q5FxTKRVcNaaZIW5L9uRuRrIHIAuZWOhjtk7bLEib1OZnQR5H9gzytn9bfNVpcqvam2nsGefj_p1a-dNN1pRcAOxmkSmvUwi7jY8hD378A2p9EK0koZu2i_viJ3n_W6Jaf/s320/me%20glasses%20for%20blog.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div><p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Comic-book writer Dwayne
McDuffie was a trailblazer in print and television, leaving an impressive path
for others, creating TV series such as: “Justice League” and “Alien Force.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Unfortunately, he’d died at
49. He also happened to be the first writer who sat down with me. </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">I was terribly green, giddy,
and practically sitting on the edge of my chair, eager to show off my poems and
essays, most of which would be deemed cringe-worthy today! Still, I expected to
leave feeling energized because I received the fuel I needed to pursue my
literary dreams. Not so much. Mr. McDuffie was kind but not overly friendly. A
straight-shooter, not mincing words. Before he left town, he asked to take some
of my poems with him on the plane. I agreed.</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">After our meeting, I felt
further dejected as a budding writer or in those days, a wannabe writer. I
reeled in my emotions and mentally unpacked all that he had told me. What stood
out was this advice: When you write something close to your heart, say it
without euphemisms. Your readers will feel cheated and know that you danced
around the subject.”</span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">For the longest, I hid
wanting to be a writer, claiming that I could still write in secret and that no
matter how gag-worthy my work was, I enjoyed creating and telling stories. </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p style="margin: 0in;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true"><span style="color: #0e101a;">Fast-forward
some years, I was able to apply Mr. McDuffie’s words and published my first
essay in Essence Magazine. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /></div>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-35993838004103530852022-12-01T13:34:00.012-08:002022-12-01T13:57:05.406-08:00<p style="text-align: center;"><b> THE CREATIVE ART OF RIDING IN CARS</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8qusCa-5M7mSNZodlpYWoaRbVyTyQ30nDfNLsCPtV2J6DScO_416mC--DLztakhPKl314pw0jYnRgJioXO59USDhYr_5GwODNXO7nauZ5Qx0ncM0ZPu9vDq7o1ql5dNxbR-2FM1aEzySrJh3BA-6Ek18jj-wY3gbQj9tYvpaLfiOO5oXF8b7LrGmWQ/s640/the%20way%20back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="640" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8qusCa-5M7mSNZodlpYWoaRbVyTyQ30nDfNLsCPtV2J6DScO_416mC--DLztakhPKl314pw0jYnRgJioXO59USDhYr_5GwODNXO7nauZ5Qx0ncM0ZPu9vDq7o1ql5dNxbR-2FM1aEzySrJh3BA-6Ek18jj-wY3gbQj9tYvpaLfiOO5oXF8b7LrGmWQ/s320/the%20way%20back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-size: 10.5pt;">As a child, car rides
with my dad were filled with adventure and made-up stories.</span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Carriages and stagecoaches rode along with us as
my imagination took off. Seeds were planted for my writing journey.</span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">But, during the 60s riots, my car ride was filled
with fear. I hid between the seats as looters boldly ran out of stores with
clothing and appliances.</span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">Following that, sadness filled the car. My
grandmother died of a heart attack at 48, horrified by the riots. Her loss was
heavy and filled the car like stones.</span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><br /><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">When I became a mom to my adopted daughter, Faith,
car rides were filled with songs, counting, and repeated questions</span><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;"> like,
"Who's Mama's best girl?" Her bright eyes would twinkle and a smile
would stretch out, "It's me! Right?" </span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: 10.5pt;">What memories I have riding in cars.</span></h2><h2 style="text-align: left;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></h2><span style="line-height: 115%;">
</span>
<span style="background: white;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-55198481318878691332021-09-30T14:15:00.000-07:002021-09-30T14:15:00.478-07:00DREAM WHISPERS<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzhpbgdPPp7vnhEJp_WM7e5QWze-wBGfbU4jrWSWF9aLrIFNX6-py9LT1Op8SYamRTQ0IKtNCepkVfHwbY0MFNkHdNvCloV1KeOh6G1dwF1IlG2L_xKmDSQC89ZQUhiS47jtwePVv0yNe/s575/black+and+white+black+girl+for+blog.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWzhpbgdPPp7vnhEJp_WM7e5QWze-wBGfbU4jrWSWF9aLrIFNX6-py9LT1Op8SYamRTQ0IKtNCepkVfHwbY0MFNkHdNvCloV1KeOh6G1dwF1IlG2L_xKmDSQC89ZQUhiS47jtwePVv0yNe/w330-h320/black+and+white+black+girl+for+blog.png" width="330" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now and then, a creative project
reaches out and unexpectedly touches me. My story outline, “Stay,” based on one
woman’s experience with reoccurring dreams, has done just that for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">While my fictional character interacts with
abused Kenyan girls, even jeopardizing her own life, through much research,
I’ve come to learn that real-life human trafficking is a growing problem across
the country and in the U.S.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I’ve also come to learn that the Salvation Army
offers services for this cause. My investigation on the subject led me to
numerous safe houses in Kenya and the U.S. that also suggest ways individuals
can help. My project often tears me up, yet, it is laced with beauty and hope. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It even inspired me to contribute to
this cause, and for that, I am grateful. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Are there any causes you’ve decided to
dedicate your efforts to?<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-22062088212210230362021-09-07T16:24:00.002-07:002021-09-07T16:24:27.210-07:00September 11th is Tethered to My Heart<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcptvSw8xbsDf1VMJgIa4qByTBwkRO2FrNkJs8FS_n7WRAvp-snGwM3eRzFwTqxat-szeYCjgYnijNbzebK04W0g50bbSdqFE7xvq1B9P9tDfMiWU_hgVJlDzfncDzI3avyU-pEO9zDw2e/s1920/american+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1031" data-original-width="1920" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcptvSw8xbsDf1VMJgIa4qByTBwkRO2FrNkJs8FS_n7WRAvp-snGwM3eRzFwTqxat-szeYCjgYnijNbzebK04W0g50bbSdqFE7xvq1B9P9tDfMiWU_hgVJlDzfncDzI3avyU-pEO9zDw2e/w469-h228/american+flag.jpg" width="469" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Like many of you, I remember where I was, what I was doing,
and how I felt when the news of the 9/11 attacks occurred.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“A plane just flew into the World Trade Center,” a coworker
yelled out as I combed through information on my monitor.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The first plane to hit one of the towers of the World Trade
Center was American Airlines flight 11, a Boeing 767.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Somehow, workers pulled out portable TVs and radios to take
in more of the horrific accident. Initially, that was how I took it. A horrible
accident that killed everyone aboard the aircraft and set ablaze the building.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While captivated by the news coverage and the camera crews
on site, filming the inferno, a second plane hit the second tower.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The crash was no accident.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My company sent workers home, and I remained numb, stunned
that we had experienced a terrorist attack. I couldn’t stop watching the news
in the safety of my home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Big mistake. As fires grew inside the buildings, people
jumped to their deaths. My eyes witnessed it through the tube of my TV, but my
mind couldn’t grasp it.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Those images would stay with me for years. I couldn’t talk
about that fateful day. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Yet, I made it a point to live my life on purpose, for all
those who’d gone about their day, unknowing they would never make it home to
their wives or husbands, kids, sister or brother.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I faced the task of living presently and on purpose. But how
was I to start? What was I to do to make my life more meaningful?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">What I came up with was simple. Follow my dreams. Find joy
in everyday living. Laugh. Live in the moment. Appreciate loved ones. Forgive
others as well as myself. Honor my talents and dreams. And always give back in
some manner or another.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Let’s never forget!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Feel free to check me out:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My website: <a href="https://www.pamelatowns.net/">https://www.pamelatowns.net/</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext;">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share">https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share</a></span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-63253635998755143412021-07-30T21:09:00.001-07:002021-08-02T16:09:16.667-07:00Excerpt From: Twelve Years<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZiaxIer1RU_ftb9wn5vDCThB0P9q1-Fr32X6fY2f0b8TvDhBFEPBMdNJg4m9qbSTH0QdXhj7RHxdDdlIkbCged8G0psv0Vs2_eLbNtwiOpNAFd7uIaaB7bLDxl66zX4A8T_D6XNcQKBU1/s960/blue+model+airplane+for+newsletter.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZiaxIer1RU_ftb9wn5vDCThB0P9q1-Fr32X6fY2f0b8TvDhBFEPBMdNJg4m9qbSTH0QdXhj7RHxdDdlIkbCged8G0psv0Vs2_eLbNtwiOpNAFd7uIaaB7bLDxl66zX4A8T_D6XNcQKBU1/w482-h321/blue+model+airplane+for+newsletter.jpg" width="482" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">May
2001<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
Jackson fanned a hand toward her face in a weak attempt to fend off the muggy
New Orleans heat. She lifted her fair-skinned shoulders glistening with midday
sweat, allowing air to her clammy armpits. Another French horn and trombone
parade spilled out onto Canal Street.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Her
steps slowed the moment a text message came to her cell phone. It was from the
office secretary. She stopped fanning herself. Contact from her office while vacationing
couldn’t be good. She crossed the street, allowing a horse-drawn buggy to pass,
then blew out a long breath before reading the content.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">She
relaxed. Nothing was said about her client, only that her name was under
consideration for another recognition award.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">That
was pleasing news, right? Appreciation shown for her dedication and hard work? But
would they snatch back the award knowing her client’s grave condition? She
blamed herself for his suicide attempt. After all, she’d chosen this profession
to help people. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;"><i>I’m
going to be a therapist</i>. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">She’d
touted the self-fulfilling words for years, watching other people’s faces light
up with approval.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
affirmation towered over her like a beam throughout college and until she
strutted across the stage, obtaining her master’s degree in psychology. The <i>atta-girl</i>
approval continued as she’d settled into her dream job.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Now
she’d have to pretend to know nothing about the nomination when she returned to
work. The secretary was notorious for divulging confidential information
prematurely.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">With
the parade in the distance, Sage headed in the opposite direction, glancing back
at the text.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;"><i>I
can’t wait to hear all about your trip when you get back</i>. Triple smiley
faces were displayed at the end of the message.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Right
then, she winced and placed her fingertips to her chest. Not because of the
secretary’s text, but from the tune a boy hummed. It sounded familiar, like
something her younger brother had carried out to annoy her. The melody’s odd
tug drew her closer. She wanted to connect to it.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">She
glanced at the crowd walking and laughing, kids skipping and running. The boy
was gone. Or did he ever exist? It wouldn’t have been the first time her mind
played a prank on her.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">She
tossed her phone into her handbag, eventually bypassing the French Market
District with restaurants and vendors, and headed toward the rows of
cream-colored tents, each showcasing a different theme, art, portrait drawing, jewelry,
and more.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">They
reminded her of her hometown, Atlanta, Georgia. Piedmont Park had yearly art
festivals featuring artists from around the world. Bands played and food trucks
lined the streets, though she hadn’t attended the event in years, shunning the
park altogether.<span style="color: black; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sage widened her eyes at the large sparkly sign outside the
tent. Makamba Psychics.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“That
sounds believable,” she chuckled sarcastically, still gleeful to do something
ridiculous and brag-worthy for the trip’s finale.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">A swift
breeze blew a loose curl across her cheek as she entered the tent. Sage glanced
around. A group of candles resting on a round table provided ample lighting.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Please.
Sit,” the woman said, moving her hand across the table in a dramatic fashion.
She had three different nose piercings and donned a bright purple turban. The
Ethiopian-looking woman appeared twenty-something and wore a matching top and
skirt.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
sat, scooting the chair closer to the table. She laid the money down and closed-mouth
smiled when the woman pushed the bills down between her breasts.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span>She<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span>placed
her palms on the table, ready. It was like wrestling, and even though it was
bogus, you wanted to be taken on a wild ride.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
woman took a long sip of tea before she flipped over the blue star-covered card.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“What’s
this called?” Sage asked.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Celtic
Cross formation. This represents you now,” the woman said in a thin voice.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
figure on the card was that of a peachy-white woman from medieval days. Her wavy,
golden hair flowed over her blue gown.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">As
the tarot reader continued, she brought up Sage’s family.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“There
is much turmoil. You must make peace.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Make
amends with… my parents?” <i>Ah-ha. I’ve got you.</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Yes.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“How
should I go about doing that?” Sage scratched the tip of her nose, ready to
pounce.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“They
are dead. Still. You must find a way to forgive them.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage’s
mouth parted. The suggestion made a lump lodge in her throat. <i>Forgive them</i>.
Did the reader have it backward? The real question was, did they ever forgive <i>her
</i>for disappointing them? Even while patting her on the shoulder for
reassurance, they never looked her in the eyes.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Your
love life…”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
focused, shifting forward.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“…Tsk,
tsk, tsk.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“What
is that supposed to mean?” Sage asked.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“You
have caused each relationship to wither.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
gasped, visualizing her last two breakups which ended in yelling matches and
broken vases. And prior to that, a broken engagement.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“You
are spinning wheels, no? Your job no longer covers you.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
swallowed hard. The woman’s accuracy was cringe-worthy, not only about her
relationship with her parents, but her past relationships, and now, with the
latest card, the stress of her job. Had the woman gone through her trash and spied
on her at the office? The reading no longer amused her.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
reader turned over another card. “This means love is on the horizon, if you
follow your new path of steadiness.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
batted her eyelashes, waiting for the detonation of insults. She wanted the prediction
to come true, and when the woman came to a skeleton riding a white horse, she
started to explain about death.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“I’m
gonna get hit by a bus?” Sage joked, tapping her fingertips to the table.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“No,
no,” she said. “Death…” The woman coughed lightly at first until it turned
rough like loose phlegm rocketed up from her feet and shot out of her throat.
She violently wheezed and gasped for air.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
shifted forward, ready to assist. The woman patted her chest before looking up
at the corner of the tent. Turning sharp, Sage glanced over her shoulder to see
her friend Tan standing there, hip jutted out while gripping her elbow.
Obviously, she was tired of waiting.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage
smiled, letting her know the reading neared an end, at least she hoped so. She
expected the reader to continue. Instead, the woman frowned and cleared her
throat.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
reader wrapped her slender fingers around her teacup and attempted to sip, although
her hand trembled.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Sage’s
stomach knotted. What did she see in the cards? Or was she faking? But she’d
been spot-on up until this point. She could’ve made up anything and she wouldn’t
have known the difference.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">The
woman had spoken of her present situation and her past, but she stalled when it
came to her future. Finally, the woman looked at her through veiny, bulging
eyes, pleading-like and helpless. Her jaw fell in horror before she shouted,
“I-I cannot.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“What
do you mean?” Sage asked.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Beware.
Death follows you. Destruction awaits you.” The woman pushed away from the
table.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“What
are you saying?” Sage asked, thrusting back from the tabletop as well.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“No,
no. I can’t. No more.” She reached into her blouse and threw the money. Some of
it fell onto the wooden planks beneath their feet. The woman stood and pointed
to the tent’s opening.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Hey.”
Sage held her palms in the air. “You’re kidding, right? You throw out a card
with a dead man… thingy… whatever, riding on a white horse and you end my
reading like this?”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">“Go.
Just go.” The woman’s eyes filled with emotion. “So sorry.”<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt; tab-stops: 1.0in 1.5in 2.0in;">Tan
snatched the money from the floor and handed Sage the crumpled dollars before
she marched out of the tent. Sage picked up bills from the table. The woman’s
unsteady hand touched her chin. Her skin blanched like a ghost had lifted from
the cards. Her chest heaved as her breaths grew short, a tear finally escaping
her eye. Still, she remained defiant, demanding with a firm stance, that they
leave from her presence.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><b>Twelve Years will be available on Amazon, August 24th!</b><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-80987703369915982932021-03-30T11:57:00.000-07:002021-03-30T11:57:53.689-07:00 Book Release Announcement<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW3EbfqUDDPso3PcAjMbCG17Tfud1DHeJA4mr_GBB3EW9Dqv2jHWE5ZijIp7gBg39oanTxTeMqOYKyPK8SVPB9jGX0OXx1Hd3etCMsYU_dMcp_x8_VGGshyphenhyphen3IHM3egSZnVtWSHAn7WLC3Z/s1350/ty+for+mailchimp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW3EbfqUDDPso3PcAjMbCG17Tfud1DHeJA4mr_GBB3EW9Dqv2jHWE5ZijIp7gBg39oanTxTeMqOYKyPK8SVPB9jGX0OXx1Hd3etCMsYU_dMcp_x8_VGGshyphenhyphen3IHM3egSZnVtWSHAn7WLC3Z/s320/ty+for+mailchimp.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">I’m not only happy to release pinned-up winter anxiety to
get out and about, but I’m thrilled to announce the release date of my third
book, Twelve Years, which is August 24, 2021. Mark your calendars and put on
your sexy specs for a peek at the storyline of my latest project:<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Sage Jackson believed becoming a clinical therapist and
working on other people's problems, she’d solve her own. She couldn’t have been
more wrong. The nightmares that torment her are the manifestation of lies and
secrets.<br /> <o:p> <br /></o:p>A New Orleans trip, home to jazz bands, French Creole
cuisine, and Voodoo, was just the place for a relaxing weekend. She decides on
a tarot card reading—just for fun. Fun turns into an unsettling prediction that
leaves Sage in more turmoil.<br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /></span>She can barely keep it together since her trip, and when an
abuse victim shares her story, Sage realizes no matter how educated or the
numerous professional awards she's won, she can no longer hide her pain under
her designer clothing. She needs to escape and regroup.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>The only promising force growing in her life is the
charming, Brian Foster, who left Atlanta and found success in Los Angeles. But
should she accept his offer to move in with him? After all, a new life might
allow her to bury the past for good. She knows it’s a lie as the past never
stays buried for long.<br /><o:p> </o:p></h3><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><b><u>For more about me or my books, go to:<o:p></o:p></u></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share">https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15114076.Pamela_Towns">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15114076.Pamela_Towns</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Website: <a href="https://www.pamelatowns.net/">https://www.pamelatowns.net/</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-4574886138198401792020-11-30T11:42:00.000-08:002020-11-30T11:42:52.191-08:00<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size: large;">MAKEUP, RACE, AND OVEN MITTS</span></b><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><b></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoHdaXQ19RAsyuLwhIy16m8FOr1TI7HdB0xflr4kCsYk3BN6iJDY-8xkdPsbGqfD2wi6uQLkuc5090ZW0GFPS89N7Ns9tVdTiFwcB-45FK4rcimopuI24OUqiLCZHiGe-NjpB1dWIETP1/s910/makeup+brushes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="910" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGoHdaXQ19RAsyuLwhIy16m8FOr1TI7HdB0xflr4kCsYk3BN6iJDY-8xkdPsbGqfD2wi6uQLkuc5090ZW0GFPS89N7Ns9tVdTiFwcB-45FK4rcimopuI24OUqiLCZHiGe-NjpB1dWIETP1/s320/makeup+brushes.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></div><b><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Long before my family and I sat at the dinner table overlooking
a spread of macaroni and cheese, turkey, dressing, kale, cranberry sauce, and
potato salad, I felt thankful. It seemed a month-long theme, which I had summed
up with this list: Makeup, race, and oven mitts. I’ll explain it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">A week before Thanksgiving, I had a casual conversation with
a friend. We discussed makeup. Now, she’s pretty without it, but I reach for my
undereye concealer to take a brisk walk! The conversation veered to something
more essential than covering up one’s dark eye circles, though. It was about
embracing who we are on the inside. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next day, as I shopped for skincare, still aware of
yesterday’s conversation, a woman carrying an assortment of wrinkle creams and cleansers
asked my opinion about the products she contemplated over. We both concluded that
finding the right item for our needs was quite a chore. “In the end,” the woman
said, “it’s all going to sag. It’s about what’s on the inside anyway.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Was the universe trying to tell me something? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">The day after Thanksgiving, my family and I went for a brisk
walk. My daughter Faith was more concerned about beating her dad at a race he’d
promised her. As they took off, I could see them both trying their hardest to
pass the other. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">“Who won?” I asked when I caught up to them. My daughter
happily announced herself as the victor, raising her arm high into the air. My
husband was winded, bent over with his palms planted on his knees. A moment
later, I asked my daughter how’d she do it. She calmly said, “I paced myself. I
did exactly what he’d told me to do.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was a metaphor for many of life’s issues. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">MAKEUP: Make sure to beautify your heart. Be willing to
empathize with others, judge less, love more, be kinder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">RACE: Pace yourself through life, projects, relationships,
and even the awareness to slow down and rest.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">OVEN MITTS: Life’s intensity can feel like an inferno, but
we are protected and don’t have to carry a load of turmoil, grief, and sadness.
We can cover ourselves with all that elevates us to press on.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Let the warm
thoughts continue through the rest of the year and into 2021! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Check out my books on Amazon! Go to: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share">https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-85436479499861173562020-09-30T13:11:00.004-07:002020-10-03T17:59:58.667-07:00STRINGS OF LOVE<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEZJU9r3DbLjCS21FEvXGovY0OIR91LzuMFysY2YVAdevuGGt319uPXhG7s8d593u7iOs9nCvqOeViVo1EFWLPBw_NED8cXww4RYqh0PpD19m2gwKJcR7ifhdbfwhlsZDO1CL6N69W75P/s2048/violinist+cale+brandon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEZJU9r3DbLjCS21FEvXGovY0OIR91LzuMFysY2YVAdevuGGt319uPXhG7s8d593u7iOs9nCvqOeViVo1EFWLPBw_NED8cXww4RYqh0PpD19m2gwKJcR7ifhdbfwhlsZDO1CL6N69W75P/s320/violinist+cale+brandon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Earlier this month, my husband and I celebrated our 25<sup>th</sup>
wedding anniversary with a private serenade from the violinist, Cale Brandon. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With a few guests seated in our backyard, socially
distanced, Cale took his bow and slid it across the strings of his instrument,
and I swear, beneath the sky with a setting sun, the heavens opened! It was truly
romantic. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Per my request, the serenade ended with a song I love by the
composer, Joe Hisaishi, <i>Memory</i>. Afterward, I shared a running joke about
myself. “Everything is about death with you,” a friend teased. “What can I say,
I’m fascinated by the subject. After all, at least one character from my books usually gets the ax.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The group at our anniversary chuckled. “Wouldn’t you know
it,” I said. “The song we just danced to, <i>Memory</i>, was from a foreign
film. And you guessed it… about death!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In truth, it is not so much that death intrigues me but what
one does with his or her life before transitioning is what I find fascinating. At
the point of my toast, I used the analogy of music. When we got engaged, it was
at a concert. During our marriage, and to this day, we have date nights. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We’d
often attended the famous Bakers’ Keyboard Lounge in Detroit. And upon adopting
our daughter, Faith, the music continued when she’d take her little fingers and
intertwine them through ours, making us bob our knees to a musical tune.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">In closing, I lifted my glass to the crowd, and said, “Now
you all are a part of the fabric of our story. Even during these tumultuous
times, music is still at the helm of our lives.” I turned to hubby, and somehow
managed to sidestep my usual <i>ugly cry</i>, and said, “Honey, I’m so happy to
spend my life with you. I know we will continue to make beautiful music
together!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Thirteen days later, Ruth Bader Ginsburg died. Oh. I did
mention this was about a celebration. Indeed, it is, phasing out from this life
to the next, leaving the very best part of yourself behind is cause for a
celebration, and the onset of a different kind of anniversary!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Feel free to check me out:<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">My website: <a href="http://www.pamelatowns.net/">http://www.pamelatowns.net</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Amazon: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share">https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share</a><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-88947202027464927352020-08-27T11:17:00.003-07:002020-08-27T14:25:27.747-07:00A FLICKER THROUGH THE DARKNESS<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCvE82G__AN4tzkAio16GBJ-nfj8VPfBr7Z8iRPQtIBeDTbtDf44ew_U_b5vmzVreP_tEnCLF28bFsD5hTNcwSNyjVG6Zq-caxSYjGwrHkp4ZEA_fUSKMhH8WN36voa7aurTmmHoWdEDe/s615/second+candle+in+the+night.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="461" data-original-width="615" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifCvE82G__AN4tzkAio16GBJ-nfj8VPfBr7Z8iRPQtIBeDTbtDf44ew_U_b5vmzVreP_tEnCLF28bFsD5hTNcwSNyjVG6Zq-caxSYjGwrHkp4ZEA_fUSKMhH8WN36voa7aurTmmHoWdEDe/w400-h300/second+candle+in+the+night.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"></h2><h4 style="text-align: left;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Recently, and for the first time, our dog Apollo experienced
one of Atlanta’s severe storms. It was heartbreaking watching him whimper as he
sat by the kitchen door, away from the rumbling thunder and the violent flashes
of lightning.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />My daughter Faith and I knew to take cover at this point.
Apollo gladly followed suit, planting himself between us and placing a paw on
my thigh as we huddled on the floor in our designated spot. I could feel his
little body trembling just the same.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />But not long ago, I too had been in Apollo’s position with a
more severe storm, windows vibrated, winds whistled, heavy rain down poured at
a slant, all the while the weather alert on the television delivered a
minute-by-minute countdown! Anyone who has studied film or creative writing
knows this tactic for heightened excitement and fear. I was living it.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><br />My daughter, nestled close to me on the floor in our
protective corner and said to me, “Mom, I’m scared.” Little did she know I had
tears welled up in my eyes, and I was thinking, <i>me too</i>! But I had to be
brave for both of us. As our storms go, we lost power. I’m a pro now, though. I
walk through the darkness to where I keep all the candles for situations like
this, and I light them, freeing a way for us to see clearer. The same analogy
has been true for my characters in each of my books.</span></p><o:p> </o:p> </h4><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4bOJG69Ada_HhufsdC3-H88yhK-4rsfS82RznqshHa5ZrKRr_AZjE7KLrOgdTEc4ws6T_37rdFHFNe3NxFhq-AyltSh-J-nT_ISf7l5OBoOJBQMurwaGj6YXxvE1JmVvNX_ac8UBNqZi/s400/moment+of+certainty+front+cover+only.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV4bOJG69Ada_HhufsdC3-H88yhK-4rsfS82RznqshHa5ZrKRr_AZjE7KLrOgdTEc4ws6T_37rdFHFNe3NxFhq-AyltSh-J-nT_ISf7l5OBoOJBQMurwaGj6YXxvE1JmVvNX_ac8UBNqZi/s0/moment+of+certainty+front+cover+only.jpg" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">MOMENT OF CERTAINTY:</h3><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Karen Williams’s storm is a mound of secrecy from her deceased mother and her sister. There’s so much resentment she has built up over the years. For years, this poor behavior plays itself until she decides to try a different path. But when the hidden truth unfolds, it sends her spiraling. But can she see her way clear to the light?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhss_AsAMsjpx2Dq1jqpxS3oMS9A7uvO5U9a-rSd-ntkH4wENStaP-4CJTy8uUUMgVtBHz_XFSkY8FqYnTf1hG5KyFcfRqPMVohgpQmKwkDuiYuq-3Uc0bMUKurSa2IWHYzrjFgkE_0xRmA/s720/never+too+late+3d+image.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhss_AsAMsjpx2Dq1jqpxS3oMS9A7uvO5U9a-rSd-ntkH4wENStaP-4CJTy8uUUMgVtBHz_XFSkY8FqYnTf1hG5KyFcfRqPMVohgpQmKwkDuiYuq-3Uc0bMUKurSa2IWHYzrjFgkE_0xRmA/w400-h400/never+too+late+3d+image.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><o:p><h3 style="text-align: left;">NEVER TOO LATE:</h3><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Brenda Fairbanks grew up disbelieving people and their true
motives. It is no surprise she now exhibits the same behavior in her marriage.
When she thinks the worst and decides enough is enough, will she make her way
through the darkness to get at the truth and forgive?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">To to Amazon to find out how these characters maneuver through the
darkness in hopes of getting to the light. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share">https://www.amazon.com/Pamela-Towns/e/B01ETM80I8%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_rwt_scns_share</a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /></o:p><p></p></div>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-86139349638504696952020-06-29T13:55:00.000-07:002020-06-29T13:55:57.023-07:00Her Own Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcpzUCSe7PlRMhuwY6hXAvM2WUtbh-EEGANHLb6yrX5yu3B166eW5WqVRHhuHZ_-yzfm0p3enAMpbCVfst2yeL41E_OSUN-UNWAb8Y3lvdBHgnkg95rY1Fjwc-hS_7zKjLZU8spQ-Orfi/s1600/a+rose+for+book+advertisement.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDcpzUCSe7PlRMhuwY6hXAvM2WUtbh-EEGANHLb6yrX5yu3B166eW5WqVRHhuHZ_-yzfm0p3enAMpbCVfst2yeL41E_OSUN-UNWAb8Y3lvdBHgnkg95rY1Fjwc-hS_7zKjLZU8spQ-Orfi/s320/a+rose+for+book+advertisement.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Imagine my delight when readers started to ask, “How’d you get the idea for your story?” The question comes up often enough to where I am now giddy to
share the origins of my first book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Moment
of Certainty</i> with you all!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Moment of Certainty
came to me when I sat in the doctor’s office. Earlier in the day, a light
temporarily blinded me in one eye. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
waiting to be seen, a nurse tended to an elderly woman in a wheelchair. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(I could still see with my good eye!)The nurse
bent down, gently touching the woman’s shoulder as she spoke. The elderly woman
smiled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The gesture intrigued me with possibilities delving into
their relationship. I wondered about each of their personal lives. Where’d they
come from? What brought them to this point in time? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For me, the story never comes to fruition
until the characters’ have burrowed under my skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hence, the feisty, petite, Karen (Keekee) was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her physical appearance formed in my head
when I watched a dance show, and a petite dynamo with blown-out hair took
control of the stage. In my protagonist’s own words, here’s her first-ever
interview:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: So, how’d you come about? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: I guess ‘cause I’m flyy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: I understand you weren’t necessarily liked in
the beginning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: Well, dang, you ain’t liked either asking me
questions like that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t
mean to offend you. What I’m saying is you had a very compelling arc, one that
eventually won over readers to where they cheered you on.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: Who told you that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: It’s on Amazon, Bookbub, Goodreads, and other
sights. Readers said so in their own words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: I suppose. I was told I have layers, you know, like
an onion, based on how Mama raised me, and how Val treated me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: Since you brought her up, tell me more about
Val.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why’d you ask
me like that? Like Val’s special or something? Well, Val is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">special,</i> but she’s special to me, you
know what I mean? At this point, people will have to judge for themselves about
Val. I know how I feel but, well. It’s complicated.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: Tell me about Hershel, the neighborhood friend.
Ah, the question made you blush. Why?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: ‘Cause. What can I say about Hershel? The dude is
tops in my book. We connect more than anybody. When other people wanted to
change me or be somebody I ain’t, Hershel accepted me, never judged me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: What about Ms. Blout. After all, you were
assigned to her. Did she stand-out over your other patients?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: Oh, my God. Ms. Blout. You know I used to call her
Satan’s Grandma. But, Ms. Blout, she knew a lot of people before she got, you
know, sick.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: It seems there’s something deeper going on.
Yes? You’re shrugging your shoulders.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: I just think you gonna think of Ms. Blout as a rose,
either the soft smell-good part or the thorny part.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: Judging from your story, you’d gone through so
much, you and Val, and it’s quite a remarkable story, one in which you allow
readers a front-row seat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: I don’t know. But, I try not to let just anybody hang
with me, get to know me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: This story, I understand, is inspirational, one
with a twist at the end. Did you suspect the ending?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: Nope. I was like a dope-on-a-rope. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
INTERVIEWER: Will we see more of you? Will there be another
book? Many readers have stated they’d love a sequel.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
KAREN: Don’t know, but I got plenty more to say and do, so I
can handle my part. You gotta talk to the lady who wrote the book, not me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To learn more about Karen’s story, along with Val, Hershel,
Ms. Blout, and more, go to my website: <a href="http://www.pamelatowns.net/">http://www.pamelatowns.net</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Amazon: <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Moment-Certainty-Pamela-Towns-ebook/dp/B01CM629TE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=">https://www.amazon.com/Moment-Certainty-Pamela-Towns-ebook/dp/B01CM629TE/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=</a></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29623251-moment-of-certainty">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/29623251-moment-of-certainty</a></div>
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<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-47213856257915946612020-05-08T14:33:00.000-07:002020-05-08T14:33:18.035-07:00THE TWO-TONE JEANS WRITING ERA<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2s36GOKCwB_GY5R8EX2JQre5WPptUkebv-15kjEGCdNaFCOVEIc7S4ggPlpY9dzEVPkCv1EgsnhH8tRYLqNrOPTgzBU-btVVJ6IAUBJdSH05P_xtWFE1-MGveLmuCT9bP4pq7Dr88ZfH-/s1600/paper+pen+flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2s36GOKCwB_GY5R8EX2JQre5WPptUkebv-15kjEGCdNaFCOVEIc7S4ggPlpY9dzEVPkCv1EgsnhH8tRYLqNrOPTgzBU-btVVJ6IAUBJdSH05P_xtWFE1-MGveLmuCT9bP4pq7Dr88ZfH-/s1600/paper+pen+flowers.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At ten, I didn’t realize my fierce letter-writing efforts
with my pen-pal would contribute to my path to becoming a novelist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back then, Eisenhower graced an eight-cent
stamp, and all I cared about was spraying the right scent on the floral pages I
labored over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The letters spanned close to thirteen years of
correspondence. We wrote about the boys we liked, and the ones who broke our hearts. We gossiped about the goings-on of singers and groups like the Silvers
and the Jackson 5, contemplating who we thought was the cutest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">As I grew into a young woman, the letters became infrequent,
while my life’s journey took center stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d found it difficult to focus on the type of writing I wanted to
achieve, mostly dabbling in poetry and article writing while still maintaining
a journal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">By the time the letters stopped, I attended college and pursued writing. My first published
article appeared in Essence magazine. But, did those pen-pal letters help? What
did it all mean for my writing future?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Today, I am a published writer, happily writing novels. I
love the labor of shaping a story into something my characters tread through. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day, though, I plan to write a book about
my pen-pal and the letters we so eagerly wrote ending them with a phrase that went something like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>P.S. Hugs, kisses, baby doll dreams. Stay cool, keep the faith, will write again soon.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Check out my books! Go to: <a href="http://www.pamelatowns.net/">http://www.pamelatowns.net</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-3568695216752744962020-03-29T11:28:00.000-07:002020-03-29T11:28:03.249-07:00WE ARE RESILIENT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyHzQCssM4fhT0VBnU8_TmDYyJ4T49lFz1uKxA3rxnHE9HrkFnrMaKNmL_grqSgvJPpHj-tx2qxoLsX-VPmhiObK3CmMVFnd33uziCz9RmLs-ktL_WtGMslKbKlfTIDM2gHb4s44La5_3/s1600/me+walk+park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1182" data-original-width="887" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLyHzQCssM4fhT0VBnU8_TmDYyJ4T49lFz1uKxA3rxnHE9HrkFnrMaKNmL_grqSgvJPpHj-tx2qxoLsX-VPmhiObK3CmMVFnd33uziCz9RmLs-ktL_WtGMslKbKlfTIDM2gHb4s44La5_3/s320/me+walk+park.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Like most, my hubby and I didn’t foresee the pandemic that
bulldozed its way into our lives and across the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Suddenly, our walks through the park became more relevant
and checking one another’s health each day, now the norm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">The moment I find myself sinking, I refill my cup by
meditating and gravitating to my writing. I continue to read books and watch old
movies, in addition to goofing off with my family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Even neighborhood walks remind me that we are all in this
together. Yet, we’ve always been <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in this</i>
together. The human race. Life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">These days, neighbors wave and speak more while delivering a
knowing nod. I smile back and perform a hop-skip walk over yet another large area
of sidewalk chalk artwork. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We will all get through this. I’ve seen it over and over amid
the toughest of times; we have it within us to rise to the occasion of being
kindhearted and connected. Now that I think of it, this is cause to celebrate!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Feel free to check out my books, Moment of Certainty / Never
Too Late on Amazon.com, or my website: <a href="http://www.pamelatowns.net/">http://www.pamelatowns.net</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-84051192556865329442020-02-04T10:39:00.000-08:002020-02-04T11:59:02.934-08:00AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: BARBARA RUSSELL<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7hjAHSxHaPgaaJNEILUhQBVXdpAUuQ7srdoBopxUC8SjAHaXJjIcKgWJkH1EUNE5Qdo79vPxGodJSjgTbqkNYho9DyadzDPPMDUv1IcmgdfHXcNfCHBK0QgdgjCHnMzk5pIM-3gd6oJy/s1600/barbara+russell+photo+for+sl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="396" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB7hjAHSxHaPgaaJNEILUhQBVXdpAUuQ7srdoBopxUC8SjAHaXJjIcKgWJkH1EUNE5Qdo79vPxGodJSjgTbqkNYho9DyadzDPPMDUv1IcmgdfHXcNfCHBK0QgdgjCHnMzk5pIM-3gd6oJy/s320/barbara+russell+photo+for+sl.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">In addition to writing books, author Russell is an
entomologist and a soil biologist. She jokes, stating, “Which is a fancy way to
say that I dig in the dirt, looking for bugs.” She admits that nature and books
have, for some time, been a passion of hers. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“I was a kid when I read The Lord of the Rings and fell in
love with fantasy novels.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">She adds, “When I discovered cozy mystery and crime novels,
I fell in love with Hercules Poirot and Sherlock Holmes. Then I grew up and… nah,
I’m joking. I didn’t grow up. Don’t grow up, folks! It’s a trap.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I had a chance to delve into <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The pact of the White Blade Knights </i>for myself<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a satisfying read!
Author Russell has a way of drawing you into the story with characters Tyon,
Hazel, and Aleximanus’ at the center, a web of good and evil that keeps you
guessing at every turn. The author uses beautifully constructed metaphors that
practically dance as she unfolds the layers of each character. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">From the start, you understand Hazel’s desire for Tyon, and
the complexities he presents with allowing her to get close to him. With
awesome description, the reader becomes enchanted almost with how eloquently
the story flows through the plot.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Hazel, now working for Tyon, is drawn into unforeseen
danger. Aleximanus, who breathes sins, is the arch enemy of Tyon. As the story
unfolds, it is Hazel who denies herself the truth. But will she discover it
fully? Will she find love after all? I highly recommend this book, and other
books by author Russell! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I had the pleasure of interviewing this author. I must say
her wit and charm are delightful! Here’s what she had to say:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Given the fact you
began writing as a young girl, what influenced you more regarding your
endeavors, a parent, friend, or fantasy stories?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">After reading <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lord
of the Rings</i>, I wanted to be like Tolkien (so silly of me, LOL. There’s
only one Tolkien.) Still, I can remember the awe while I was reading and the
feeling of wanting to do the same, to be able to picture a scene only with
words.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I wrote my first novel when I was 10. Well, for me it was a
full novel, haha, but the word count was merely 800 words. Anyway, it was the
story of a space bear that lived on a planet populated by bears. Each bear had
the coat of just one color, while the protagonist had a multi-colored coat, and
everyone gave him sideways glances for that. He started a quest to find someone
who could dye his coat and turn it completely brown. He traveled up and down
the galaxy and found nothing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">At the end, he said, “Screw it,” and he kept is multi-colored
coat. Now, before you think that the story has a moral, that it’s about
accepting yourself, etc… let me tell you this: it doesn’t. I just got tired of
writing and ended the story there, LOL.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">Are you encouraged or
disappointed by aspects of the writing business for indie authors?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Both. I like the freedom of choosing all the details about
the story, the cover, and the type of writing style I want. I have some books
traditionally published and while I love my editor, sometimes I have to change
my style to adapt it to the publisher’s house style, and I feel like my voice
is different. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">But, promoting a book is expensive, time consuming, and not
rewarding at all. I’m not good at it, LOL.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">What are the biggest
pitfalls you see new authors slipping into?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ha! Not knowing how to promote their books (like me). You
can’t be just a writer, you have to be a publicist, a marketing expert, a
statistical analysis expert… it’s a bit too much.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;">What inspired your
book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Pact of the White Blade Knights</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></b><br />
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">I did a lot of research on the Victorian Era for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Heart Collector</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Clockwork Victoria</i> (Coming soon) and I
loved it. I also collected a lot of material so I wanted to write something
else set in that historical period. Also, I’m a bit lazy, LOL. After all the
effort that research took, I thought to use it as much as possible before
starting research on something else.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Want to keep in touch with this author? Check out the following links:<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/barbara-russell">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/barbara-russell</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/brussell84kiwi">https://twitter.com/brussell84kiwi</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Facebook: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/RussellBarbara84">www.facebook.com/RussellBarbara84</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">My GrouP: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/2500803636871995/">https://www.facebook.com/groups/2500803636871995/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/BRussell84/">https://www.facebook.com/BRussell84/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Amazon: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07HHJGBBX">http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B07HHJGBBX</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Blog: <a href="https://barbararussell.blogspot.co.nz/">https://barbararussell.blogspot.co.nz</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">All-author: <a href="https://allauthor.com/profile/brussell/">https://allauthor.com/profile/brussell/</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Goodreads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14108003.Barbara_russell">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14108003.Barbara_russell</a><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Landing page: <a href="https://mailchi.mp/f3c0a9bf3544/barbararussell">https://mailchi.mp/f3c0a9bf3544/barbararussell</a></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-48039747857412028122020-01-06T15:37:00.000-08:002020-01-07T11:55:23.132-08:00LET’S THROW OUR ARMS AROUND 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNMZfh48QZLjlnkoPu2WgckCZqJflrMSe_GbKwvHRztp_oIzKerf45Z6-CiJ4wTVxXeGyNtQxzG69HYXoPxO-2T7c9BMQA1U1GUSfEBDuCayNsjIdEl9c-n_2v9kCGk2xn-uZn7UT7JyR/s1600/2020+goals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNMZfh48QZLjlnkoPu2WgckCZqJflrMSe_GbKwvHRztp_oIzKerf45Z6-CiJ4wTVxXeGyNtQxzG69HYXoPxO-2T7c9BMQA1U1GUSfEBDuCayNsjIdEl9c-n_2v9kCGk2xn-uZn7UT7JyR/s320/2020+goals.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Most people
attempt some sort of a New Year’s resolution with good intentions, only to have
their goals fizzle faster than Alka Seltzer Plus tablets! Yet, how do we stick
to our plans for tackling new home improvement projects or bettering ourselves
in the area of education or shedding a few pounds? Let’s face it: Sometimes
life can get in the way, forcing us sideways when we want to go straight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Early on, I
used to jot down a long to-do list, changes I wanted to make, and hardly
checking off any by the end of the year. It felt overwhelming and I simply gave
up. Over the years, I’ve mastered the process. Here are my suggestions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Small lists work wonders. I limit my
objectives to two or three, which allows me to remain focused. I don’t feel
overwhelmed with seemingly impossible tasks that I may not complete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I am reasonable with my goals. I
don’t tell myself I’ll run a marathon when I don’t enjoy walking more than two
miles. (I barely will complete one!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Often, I incorporate my goal/s with
my daily meditation so that I am reinforcing my plans regularly. They are
always at the forefront. Because of this, I tackle some aspect of my ambitions,
drawing me closer to my desired result.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: .75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Depending on the resolution, I may
use a vision board. For right-brainers, this works wonders because you see your
plans before you with pictures, objects, and cut-out lettering.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finally, I
leave you with this sentiment as you trek through the New Year: Honor your
gifts. Set realistic goals. Do the work. Don’t give up. Sidestep negative
energy. Respect your dreams. Have integrity. Embrace individuals from diverse
backgrounds. Cling to your faith. Meditate. Focus on helping others. Learn to
relax more. Laugh. Be the light when you enter a room. Celebrate your
uniqueness. Keep your word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-8792024861900569832019-12-20T08:38:00.000-08:002020-01-14T16:08:20.311-08:00A SPECIAL HOLIDAY WISH FOR EVERYONE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3tissZpA_qGyfZ5E1O5s8a0txCn6mavkzLOCwWw2Ac2qM-YVtYiUAIWjH7WhkhUGjXqjyjahTruzeJtCCkmHtURr2OEn2_aTXRayAAPN9mCuTg1_jKxt7_W9M_pTNJwtpPJUvg1Bhmji/s1600/my+door+wreath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge3tissZpA_qGyfZ5E1O5s8a0txCn6mavkzLOCwWw2Ac2qM-YVtYiUAIWjH7WhkhUGjXqjyjahTruzeJtCCkmHtURr2OEn2_aTXRayAAPN9mCuTg1_jKxt7_W9M_pTNJwtpPJUvg1Bhmji/s320/my+door+wreath.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I can hardly contain my excitement regarding the upcoming holidays! If you're like me, you get a kick out of gift-giving, dinner with family, and good times with friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After each celebration, the memory lingers until the following get together. But, I know for many, this time of year can bring sadness, especially for those who've lost a loved one, or for those who're going through heartache watching someone dear suffer from an illness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This season, my wish for each of you is peace in your spirit. We should all keep close to our hearts, the true meaning of the season, and to cherish precious moments with those we love.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Until next year, I wish each of you a wonderful Merry Christmas!</span>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-17242295401936864422019-11-27T10:52:00.000-08:002019-11-27T10:56:04.293-08:00FEELING THANKFUL THIS THANKSGIVING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7W1Sra2I8uRe1wPyfR2gvlXhznA4Sllt5j8O0-ON2ajD2gi1pbUJ9ds7PEnNXu3VWl1u-JoloV8Y5djuudmew7aRFlXSeNDY40Y9TNcVH-vlITmtH-xS0NdYx2ppTlqDyaKzMMq2KrDf4/s1600/thanksgiving+image+for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1312" data-original-width="1600" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7W1Sra2I8uRe1wPyfR2gvlXhznA4Sllt5j8O0-ON2ajD2gi1pbUJ9ds7PEnNXu3VWl1u-JoloV8Y5djuudmew7aRFlXSeNDY40Y9TNcVH-vlITmtH-xS0NdYx2ppTlqDyaKzMMq2KrDf4/s320/thanksgiving+image+for+blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<h1 style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 26px; line-height: 32.5px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444;">Perhaps fall is one of my favorite seasons, because it kicks off thoughts of family, fun, and having an overall sense of gratitude.<br /><br />I’m reminded often that, I should live in the moment, savoring the sweetness of my days no matter how simplistic, since there are people who'd give anything to walk in a park unassisted, enjoy a hot meal regularly, or delight in the fact a friend stopped by to chat about nothing of relevance.<br /><br />This season, between the servings of turkey and dressing, the apple pie and the cobbler, I want to admonish everyone to have a bigger heart and smile into the eyes of a stranger when you're out and about, help pay it forward in some manner! Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!</span></span></h1>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-29768370267741996362019-11-14T05:00:00.001-08:002019-11-14T05:00:07.879-08:00AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: DENISE WHEATLEY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLovi0zmKy4rfnzAj2y7tkH57nZk1_x4eo9IWjKwXERtxPWB7uzG4AFLGY-pNe8qdDPyGaQCNzXL5raXuT5kQkOduu9MSM-m7hVsGwcYlxEj5wtIyexfbehXeyeit8kA0zmVkiFN5vUpsm/s1600/denise+wheatley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1336" data-original-width="1025" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLovi0zmKy4rfnzAj2y7tkH57nZk1_x4eo9IWjKwXERtxPWB7uzG4AFLGY-pNe8qdDPyGaQCNzXL5raXuT5kQkOduu9MSM-m7hVsGwcYlxEj5wtIyexfbehXeyeit8kA0zmVkiFN5vUpsm/s320/denise+wheatley.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">You
don’t have to spot author Denise Wheatley walking down the street or dining out
to get wind of her insatiable and infectiously upbeat spirit. That comes through
simply viewing her social media sites. Her persona leaps off the page, and if
that doesn’t get you, her deep dimples will! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">But, make
no mistake, author Wheatley is more than a pretty face. She’s published several
books and novellas with Simon & Schuster, Red Sage Publishing, and eXtasy
Books/Devine Destinies, and has also written screenplays and ghostwritten for
several publishers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">I had
the opportunity to read her most recent book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wards of the Women</i>, which I describe as, “roll on the floor with
laughter” good! Wheatley masterfully weaves in sistah-girl humor so thick, you
feel you know these endearing ladies personally. I highly recommend this book!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">Wheatley, born and raised in Chicago, has plenty to write about based on her surroundings there as well as Los Angeles, her favorite city which she frequents often. Writing at a very young age, her literary talents have garnered celebrity acquaintances and opportunities with some of the entertainment industry's elite.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">Needless
to say, I was thrilled to interview the author and hip-hop music lover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">What are your biggest
challenges as an author?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">As an
author, my biggest challenge is oftentimes the editing process. I love creating
stories, building worlds, and bringing plotlines together, etc. But once the
book is written and it’s time to read it, then reread it, then reread it again,
I find myself becoming burned out. And I tend to be a perfectionist, so combing
through each page in search of errors can be quite daunting. Remaining
motivated while writing a book can also be challenging. Once I’ve penned my
outline, I’m excited to begin introducing the characters and setting up the
plot. But when I reach the middle of the manuscript, and it’s time to execute
the plot and subplots then tie the storylines together, that process can be
overwhelming/draining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">Where do you draw inspiration
for your stories and characters?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">When
it comes to my writing, I am oftentimes inspired by everyday sightings, stories
I’ve heard from family and friends, and various things I have personally
experienced. I also adore the city of Los Angeles and all things Hollywood, so
several of my books are inspired by that. My novel THE ROAD TO BLISS is about a
small town woman who falls in love with a movie star. THE HOLIDAY CHRONICLES
series follows an A-list publicist and her fiery, complicated relationship with
a bad boy celebrity client. The influence of LA is apparent throughout all of
those stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">Do you find it easier to be
part of the traditional publishing house or is it simpler to be an indie
author?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">At
this point in my career, I find it easier to be a part of the traditional
publishing houses. I’ve self-published in the past, and there’s definitely an
advantage to having full control over every aspect of your projects. But there
is a lot of work and responsibility that goes into indie publishing, so having
a publisher that can take on the bulk of that work is advantageous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m lucky in that I’ve worked with editors
and graphic designers who have taken my thoughts, ideas, and opinions into
consideration during the production process. So bringing my books to life has
been a collaborative team effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">What advice would you give
fledgling writers on rejection?<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">My
best advice is to always remember that creativity is subjective. We cannot
expect everyone to love our work, and throughout this literary journey, we’ll
probably receive more “no’s” than “yes’s.” However, that should never be a
deterrent. We write because we love to do so, and it’s our passion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Focusing on the enjoyment of the process, improving
our craft, and creating good work should always be in the forefront, as well as
never giving up. If we stick with our goals and remain consistent, the positive
results will come.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">For
book purchases and staying connected to this author, check out the following
links:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";">Social Media & Buy Links:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001KHBZ7E">https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001KHBZ7E</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.extasybooks.com/denise-n-wheatley/">https://www.extasybooks.com/denise-n-wheatley/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/denise_wheatley_writer/">https://www.instagram.com/denise_wheatley_writer/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://wwwtwitter.com/denisewheatley?lang=en">https://wwwtwitter.com/denisewheatley?lang=en</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/DeniseNWheatley/">https://www.facebook.com/DeniseNWheatley/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/authors/denise-n-wheatley">https://www.bookbub.com/authors/denise-n-wheatley</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3118421.Denise_Wheatley">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3118421.DeniseWheatley</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><a href="https://www.denisenwheatley.com/">https://www.denisenwheatley.com/</a><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-77507773647495269802019-10-10T09:22:00.002-07:002019-10-10T09:22:44.856-07:00EXCERPT FROM: NEVER TOO LATE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQHusulBKDPVjR7NylQa_2cgAXHnWZEkndifoP0T5Ly2wScd03j_pX2S_IBd7yZ5w9-lnJar9g9Kz0l-iUTNFU1gc_3RkIs1pBGBgd4j8yLiNIMwMTA71QgdLeBJYmOhR_g3R8JLIaIa1/s1600/me+in+white+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="353" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQHusulBKDPVjR7NylQa_2cgAXHnWZEkndifoP0T5Ly2wScd03j_pX2S_IBd7yZ5w9-lnJar9g9Kz0l-iUTNFU1gc_3RkIs1pBGBgd4j8yLiNIMwMTA71QgdLeBJYmOhR_g3R8JLIaIa1/s320/me+in+white+jacket.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Honestly, David.
You’re really going to make me do this?” I asked my husband of three
years. He sat two feet across from me on
the bed as he flipped his hand toward his face. “Come on. Hand it over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Negro tried
to appear serious, but he grinned broader than a crooked car salesman. I lifted
an eyebrow at him. He enjoyed this way too much, eyes practically danced with
anticipation over my enlarged breasts and swollen belly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I
play-pouted, removed my shirt, and flung it onto his head. “How do I know
you’re telling the truth, huh?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Because,
babe, <i>Shmetcher</i> is not a real word.”
He sniffed my shirt before tossing it with my footies which became wedged
against his backside. Evidence of another word I’d lost. Funny. Every game
David chose ended in strip something. Strip Monopoly; strip Pictionary, strip
Name-That-Tune. And usually I lost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Bren, you
should know better, being a writer.” He eyed me as though he’d won a large sum
of money.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “I never
claimed to be a pro speller or writer. I don’t want to play this game anymore.
Cheater,” I teased, giving a coy smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> He
chuckled, ogling my boobs darn-near busting out of my ill-fitted bra.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You’re the
one cheating,” he said. “Speaking of which, did you call Shana? I know you did after
you promised you wouldn’t. Admit it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <i>Can’t do it. I can’t look at him.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I lifted my
eyes to meet his sparkly brown ones, but my chin dipped, which was a straight
up giveaway. David pushed the board game aside. We’d played it for close to an
hour while sitting in our candle-lit room, nestled in our unmade bed. The smell
of strawberries had long departed, and traces of cracker crumbs and cheese
shavings rested on a tray by the corner of the nightstand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What
happened?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I held my
palms in the air. “She got upset when I asked why she didn’t come to the baby
shower. She said I didn’t have a right to disrupt her day with foolishness.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “See, babe.
I told you. I knew she’d have a lame excuse. Stop setting yourself up.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You’re
right. Shana claimed some phony illness I never heard of.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “What?”
David leaned back and brushed his big toe across my stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I arched my
upper lip and smacked his ankle. My mood switched that quick. Not because of
David’s hobbit foot, but the mention of my stepmother, Shana. I heaved a sigh
so tough my chest nearly deflated. It had been a year since my dad’s death and instead
of my relationship with Shana growing chummier, our distance intensified. “She
said she gets a dizzy condition whenever she has arthritis in her hand and a
sore hip at the same time.” I rubbed my stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> David repositioned
himself, his weight now on one elbow, and his face close to my thighs. “You
have got to be kidding? The woman is never going to change. You do know this.
Cut your ties now, before our son is born.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Son, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Son.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “You’re one
to talk. You allow your babies’ mama—”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I couldn’t
finish my ugly remark before his hand flew up in protest. Any statement that
started with <i>baby </i>followed by <i>mama</i> guaranteed mild irritation from
David. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “First of
all, you equate what I do for my kids as watching out for Julie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “But, Shana
is my mother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “Stepmother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “She’s my
mother,” I emphasized. “After all, she raised me. That’s why I continue to try.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> “She raised
you, all right.” His tone slammed my position. “People treat their dogs better
than she treats you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> He’d
uncorked my fractured youth, the part that wanted Shana to look at me and smile
because she thought I was pretty and smart and good. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> As grown as
I was, thirty-six and close to being in the “old mamas” club, my heart longed
for the warmth of her touch, to be seen by her, and to have her stroke my back.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I wanted
what my younger sister, Sherrie, got. But, of course, I didn’t come from
Shana’s womb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <i>I’m gonna be different with my baby. I’ll
give every ounce of love I have.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></i><span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">My eyes glazed
over by the time my thoughts returned to David. He leaned in and kissed my
knee, then my thigh, and my belly. He traced it with his fingertips to the
point it tickled, although I didn’t flinch. My baby—our baby—moved. I stared
down at David. He tilted his head up at me and gave a side grin. It was genuine
and full of promise for our future. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> I had
everything I needed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <br /><br /><!--[endif]--></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><i>Never Too Late </i>will be available October 23rd, on Amazon!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-57534799118307363152019-02-12T07:41:00.002-08:002019-02-12T07:50:37.725-08:00AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: KRISTINA LUCKEY<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5QJkeCZMcgLE1D2Si0_XeKJGqH7KiB9hs2Plr5yEHNptBdYsLmVLX_lSw-sasIbjGOBd68APIgKUr55nsgD3As7a1HRLhfsNRWVQUkJ3wS3Idge39xZE47pNuXI2xj33OjQjTNnFmc8e/s1600/kristina+photo+for+blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1079" data-original-width="1080" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE5QJkeCZMcgLE1D2Si0_XeKJGqH7KiB9hs2Plr5yEHNptBdYsLmVLX_lSw-sasIbjGOBd68APIgKUr55nsgD3As7a1HRLhfsNRWVQUkJ3wS3Idge39xZE47pNuXI2xj33OjQjTNnFmc8e/s320/kristina+photo+for+blog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Detailed to a fault, screenwriter turned author, Kristina
Luckey, was an animation writer and story editor on a number of popular series
such as The Pink Panther, Pup Scooby Doo, and The Smurfs. Look her up in
Wikipedia and her name surfaces among a few elite writers for Disney,
Hanna-Barbara, MGM and more.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Author Luckey, a Californian through and through, managed to
switch hats effortlessly, delving full force into contemporary romance with her
debut novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pleasure Cove</i>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This self-proclaimed foodie who has tangled with well-known
and obscure eateries from a laid-back Jungle Cry drink to Japanese cuisine, (kimchi,
buta shumai toko-ten, tempura, pistachio puree) has applied that same delicious,
mouth-watering flair to her writing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Steamy scenes practically drip off the pages of her
multi-layered and well-plotted stories. They would easily make Papa Smurf shift
from blue to bright red. There’s no doubt, Luckey’s characters, most of whom
are world-traveled and often indulge in the finer aspects of life, are for the
adult, savvy reader.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Pleasure Cove</i>
centers on Keely Mack, a past professional surfer and her former, yet painful, romance
with Brett Garrett. Together, these two ride a tumultuous wave, gliding in and
out of old wounds, leaving readers on an emotional edge as to the turnout for
the heroine and hero. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I was able to draw a bit more from author Luckey in this
eye-opening interview:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">How
did the story for Pleasure Cove come about? <o:p></o:p></b></div>
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All my life I’ve spent a lot of time on the
coast either in, on, or above the water and love anything to do with the ocean.
My family and I go to the Vans US Open of Surfing every summer in Huntington
Beach. I was mulling a trope in my head and watching the pros surfing when I
started asking myself questions about this lifestyle. There is a real
athleticism, beauty, and strength to both the rider and the environment that
led to Pleasure Cove. The idea grew like a small swell that turns into a large
wave I had to ride. Instead of grabbing a surfboard, I grabbed my keyboard and
turned the idea into a second-chance romance. I didn’t want the hero to be the
surfer and my heroine some surf bunny. I needed her to be as strong as the
hero. Keely, a professional surfer, was born and she’d need a conflict to conquer.
I thought about loss fear and what it takes to overcome them, then I decided
Keely would be a young widow who lost her husband in a surfing accident. Now,
what she once loved is the source of her pain and she’ll leave that world to
raise her daughter. Brett, her first love, who blew it the first go around
seeks another chance at being her hero. He knows he can’t approach her directly
and sets up a surf team to woo her back onto the water and him. I had my story.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What
process did you apply to create memorable characters?</b> <o:p></o:p></div>
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I always start with setting and careers for
my hero and heroine. Once I have that, I focus on my heroine, who will always
be strong, smart, and independent. With a strong heroine, you need an equally
strong hero to create the conflict and friction needed for a great romance.
Good conflict comes from within the characters. Each will need something
personal to overcome and a goal they must complete. Usually, these goals are
opposing and add to the conflict between the hero and heroine. In Pleasure
Cove, Keely’s internal struggle is about being true to herself and weighing the
risk involved in surfing and being safe and present for her daughter. Brett
must overcome his playboy past and prove he’s a changed man who can be trusted
by Keely. Then I add the layers to my hero and heroine. I ask myself questions
like what is their background? Ethnicity? Education? Social status? Finances?
What do they look like? Do they have a quirk? And on and on…once I have all the
ingredients, I drop the characters into the setting and career I started with
and let the sparks fly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What
are some of the pitfalls in this industry?</b> <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
I think there are different issues
depending on the route to publishing you take. Traditional publishing requires
the writer to seek an agent or query smaller publishing houses. The pitfalls
start with querying. Agents and publishers are receiving thousands of queries a
week. The writer is lucky if they get a response. Many agents and publishers will
state on their submission forms that a time period without a response is a no.
Those times vary from 2 weeks to 3 months. If you get a response, then there is
the waiting time for them to read your partial or full. That read can take 3 to
6 months before you’re either accepted, rejected or asked to rewrite and
resubmit, and at this point, the writer is nine months into the query process. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Time is the big pitfall. If the writer has
all the time in the world then this is the route for them. I’ve found that the
traditional publishing world likes to ask for certain tropes and genres. Say
paranormal is selling big or chick lit. If the writer bends themselves to these
requests before they’re done with a manuscript or the querying process the fad
may be dead and publishers are now looking for something else. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
A pitfall of Indie publishing is that it
requires the writer to be a businessperson. The indie writer does everything a
publisher would do for the traditionally published writer. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
The indie writer must provide their own
funds to produce the book. If the indie wants success then they must have
professional looking covers, formatting, and editing. That costs money. The
indie needs to master marketing, which means understanding how to advertise,
which also means money out of the writer’s wallet. The indie takes all the risk
on themselves but when successful, the writer keeps more income produced by the
book than they would have if they were traditionally published. Another pitfall
is that many readers have been trained by indie writers to expect books for 99
cents or less. So, a writer’s ninety thousand word work of art is now worth
less than a latte that will be drunk in ten minutes. This is a writer’s
livelihood, not a hobby, and writers should value themselves, their work, and
charge a fair price.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">What
advice do you have for fledgling writers?</b> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
After you’ve discovered what genre stokes
your fire, find writers who have a similar style to you. Study their structure,
description, voice and then use that as a jumping off point to create your
world. Be open to criticism. Learn story structure and the rules of your genre
and then know when and how to break those rules. Read, read, read. Also, if you’re
seeing dollar signs and someone else’s success as motivation to become a
writer, then it is a disservice to the readers. I like to remind myself that
the next big thing isn’t being written by those emulating the last bestseller,
it’s being written by a writer who is creating their own world.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To contact this author and/or purchase her book, check out
these websites:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://kristinaluckey.com/">https://kristinaluckey.com</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.instagram.com/kristinaluckey/">www.instagram.com/kristinaluckey/</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.subscribepage.com/pleasurecove">www.subscribepage.com/pleasurecove</a><span class="MsoHyperlink"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40145273-pleasure-cove?ac=1&from_search=true">https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40145273-pleasure-cove?ac=1&from_search=true</a><o:p></o:p></div>
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Other sites include: IMDb<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-46759945866672095372016-02-22T21:37:00.000-08:002016-02-22T22:26:02.279-08:00THE BUZZ ABOUT MOMENT OF CERTAINTY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYG345UmUE9N_jnwwwi5pv-wLFwaxT10wc8KQbeOoKFP238vo1nfYLiXJAoIT7cz8ceZec04xh-YHwtVNwO4t_pKGDjjeKMaFis-SiUeEko-an-Y52lPAWFKW2B2VMynerC-xGrXg4cHn/s1600/moc+front+cover+only.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiYG345UmUE9N_jnwwwi5pv-wLFwaxT10wc8KQbeOoKFP238vo1nfYLiXJAoIT7cz8ceZec04xh-YHwtVNwO4t_pKGDjjeKMaFis-SiUeEko-an-Y52lPAWFKW2B2VMynerC-xGrXg4cHn/s320/moc+front+cover+only.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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Moment of Certainty by Pamela Towns is a journey to a moment
of clarity and deep understanding for the main characters, Karen and Val
Williams, in this Detroit story. But the real joy of this novel are the
characters that the two women meet along the way: Momma, the keeper of Val's
dark secret; senior residents of Golden Walk Nursing Home, Ms. Blout and Mr.
Hamilton; Hershel, Karen's heart's desire; Jessica, a friend that becomes a
rival; and the mystery man Frank who has a devastating effect on Karen and Val.
Their journey on the road of life is sometimes rocky but also illuminating. If
you're a reader looking for a debut novel with passion and drama, look no
further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
Terry W. Benjamin author <a href="mailto:Sexy@60"><span style="color: navy;"><em>Sexy@60</em></span></a><em>: Finding PEACE
and The ABC's of SUCCESS: Information for Transformation</em> <o:p></o:p><br />
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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By <a class="noTextDecoration" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/pdp/profile/A1BZAXQWXFHN31/ref=cm_cr_dp_pdp">Christy Nicholas</a> <span class="a-color-secondary"> </span></div>
<div class="a-row a-spacing-small" id="revData-dpReviewsMostHelpfulAUI-R3LU8X9940H9G3">
<div class="a-section">
I truly enjoyed this story, and it resonated with me on many levels, not the least of which it was set in a city I lived in as a child. Many of the aspects of the main character's life also mirrored my own experiences, though she had much more difficult hurdles to overcome. I was truly enamored of her well-developed relationship with her patient, and the consequences of that relationship. Ms. Towns has written an intriguing tale of the heartaches and joys of inner-city living, and a strong-willed heroine. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
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By <a class="noTextDecoration" href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/pdp/profile/A1DNV4UYE3V46Q/ref=cm_cr_dp_pdp">M. Penn</a> <span class="a-color-secondary"> </span></div>
<div class="a-row a-spacing-small" id="revData-dpReviewsMostHelpfulAUI-RYK8YRPDRO3DK">
<div class="a-section">
Moment of <nobr><a class="pxInta" href="http://www.amazon.com/Moment-Certainty-Pamela-Towns/dp/1518613292/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1456192433&sr=1-1&keywords=moment+of+certainty#" id="PXLINK_2_0_1">Certainty</a></nobr> is a great read. You'll laugh and cry along with Karen and Val as they courageously redefine their sisterhood. Pamela Towns is entertainment at it's finest. A must read for anyone who has ever grappled with <nobr><a class="pxInta" href="http://www.amazon.com/Moment-Certainty-Pamela-Towns/dp/1518613292/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1456192433&sr=1-1&keywords=moment+of+certainty#" id="PXLINK_4_0_3">family issues</a></nobr>. </div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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<o:p>The story was well told. I also liked those well placed literary gems. I would read it again. </o:p></div>
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<o:p>Dorrett Smith</o:p></div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p></o:p> </div>
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<o:p>When families conceal tragic secrets for years, revelation can hold the potential for staggering pain but also the promise of great relief and rebirth. In Moment of Certainty, Pamela Towns captures the emotional torment and reward that can arise when such secrets come to light. The tale is so well-done and the flavor so genuine, that the novel reads like a memoir infused with the ache of lost hope and the lingering promise of new beginnings. I recommend it, but be prepared to cry.</o:p></div>
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<o:p>Alexander Qi, <em>Circle of Nine Series</em></o:p></div>
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<o:p><strong>The novel <em>Moment of Certainty</em> is available on Amazon.com</strong>.</o:p><br />
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-48150128933940810922015-07-21T14:19:00.000-07:002015-07-31T15:12:41.277-07:00EXCERPT FROM: MOMENT OF CERTAINTY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVmr-BP4MKBhs786OQhSNGUw2GindsDQtqfV8qqkf5rs4SkjDe2Ce8JWP9V8jbKGcsMFiMapxv697IFTgg5HyG3ujnAgdfi5pd4eaEntrICWk1xgFh8qQT32ejAksImCFztXuG-9p2EqA/s1600/my+birthday+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVmr-BP4MKBhs786OQhSNGUw2GindsDQtqfV8qqkf5rs4SkjDe2Ce8JWP9V8jbKGcsMFiMapxv697IFTgg5HyG3ujnAgdfi5pd4eaEntrICWk1xgFh8qQT32ejAksImCFztXuG-9p2EqA/s320/my+birthday+015.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Karen Williams had her butt raised in
the air as she bent down under Mama’s sleigh bed, sifting through the clutter
of crumpled receipts, dated lottery tickets, and worn out pantyhose. Earlier in
the week, she’d clawed her way through the grimy attic with boxes and bagged
items, all of which were now a resting place for forgotten treasures. Giving in
to defeat, she sucked her teeth hard, plopping down on the wooden floor next to
the bed before releasing a set of twin cuss words. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">She closed her eyes to calm her racing
heart and thought about Mama saying, “Baby, just make somethin’ of ya’ life. Cut
out all this silliness and act ya’ age. That’s all I ask.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">But Mama was about as subtle as a
derelict dropping his pants and peeing in the middle of a first-rate restaurant.
She would take aim at the wall then throw a spoon or some other nearby object
before spewing out a string of expletives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The scolding came when Karen strolled in late at night after hanging out
with friends and hurling rocks off the overpass of the Davison Freeway. Unsuspecting
motorists swerved their cars toward other vehicles with near misses. Nonetheless,
she joked and high-fived cronies, saying the way she saw it, she too
contributed to the history of Detroit’s oldest freeway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Karen opened her eyes and gazed down at
her clasped hands, dust covering her fingertips and palms. Her hardheaded ways,
she knew, frazzled Mama’s nerves, especially when she acted like she was deaf.
That’s when Mama started in, bunching her housecoat into her fist. “You betta’
get right and stop all this foolishness,” she complained, her chapped, bottom
lip quivering. “You need to be in somebody’s church, girl.” Karen rolled her
eyes so hard her closed lids fluttered. It didn’t matter if it were Easter or
Mother’s Day. She wasn’t about to get out of her warm bed. She also ignored Mama’s
beseeching hands and claims of nice young men being present because, up till
now, the only “nice man” she wanted to get with was, Hershel Cummings, her best
friend since childhood. But that required a whole other strategy altogether. Now
that Mama was dead, Karen wished she could have taken it all back; the years of
smarting off and stomping around the house like she was killing jumbo-sized roaches.
Even so, all she needed to do now was stick to the plan . . . and find that
doggone letter Mama was so secretive about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-73084804693417701552014-02-03T11:13:00.000-08:002014-02-03T12:00:10.430-08:00DON'T GIVE UP<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ57MpJjff9qggQLRyNnFHEqDzNMyNX3tpTuVwgd5xZ0f9-n4WxB_MGsDKAITrq8Gh0t7ghBq2_fILw4g-7xPFItcuUBNYeleCrjKbkzCan5JibWftCK6F4-bBrhWW-3kRZCmbJdas6e3f/s1600/dont+give+up+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ57MpJjff9qggQLRyNnFHEqDzNMyNX3tpTuVwgd5xZ0f9-n4WxB_MGsDKAITrq8Gh0t7ghBq2_fILw4g-7xPFItcuUBNYeleCrjKbkzCan5JibWftCK6F4-bBrhWW-3kRZCmbJdas6e3f/s1600/dont+give+up+pic.jpg" /></a></div>
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It’s taxing and downright annoying to have your work
scrutinized over and over. You’ve edited several drafts of your manuscript only
to find more revisions are needed. But, it is necessary, according to Rachelle
Gardner. In her blog post titled, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nobody
Writes Good First Drafts</i>, she notes that authors must be willing to make changes
to their work.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rachelle Gardner, who by trade is an editor, states: “When an
editor pushes you to be your best, or when you push yourself, you’re doing
exactly what’s necessary to rise above the hordes of regular writers to become
a good writer.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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In all fairness, writers shouldn’t expect their first draft
to be flawless. Even well-known authors make mistakes in the original stages of
their book, explains Gardner.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To see more of her article go to: <a href="http://www.rachellegardner.com/"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.rachellegardner.com/</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-71159153355113852332014-01-27T11:16:00.002-08:002014-01-27T11:16:27.774-08:00AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: TRICE HICKMAN<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxqlhZKH9LlWbbLfETiYNruDIy1YhEfypy7v9lEs0Zhm57Vgcq8CyLrqaRD1jI9njArCv8f0CN80G4PRV7jf4B81LtRpinD_IKndEibyvuSIa8bbFmGOHWggNlkPMuWSNLIw636XYhTSq/s1600/author+spotlight+trice+hickman+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxqlhZKH9LlWbbLfETiYNruDIy1YhEfypy7v9lEs0Zhm57Vgcq8CyLrqaRD1jI9njArCv8f0CN80G4PRV7jf4B81LtRpinD_IKndEibyvuSIa8bbFmGOHWggNlkPMuWSNLIw636XYhTSq/s1600/author+spotlight+trice+hickman+pic.jpg" height="320" width="220" /></a></div>
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Mention the name Trice Hickman among writers and you’re
likely to receive an array of pleasantries about the level of her craft. Among
certain circles, the soft spoken author is referenced as the writer’s writer
because of her high-ranking books and professionalism. But upon speaking with
the personable novelist with a dazzling smile, she’ll say she’s a southern girl
who grew up on the eastern coast of North Carolina.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Author Hickman earned a Master’s Degree from Wake Forest
University, and then began a varied career path that involved the corporate world
as well as the non-profit sector. Yet, her love for books and one day writing
her own, never waned. When her first novel, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Unexpected
Interruptions</i> hit the market, her dream had come true. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Her dedication proved worthwhile when her first novel went
on to win literary honors, hitting several bestsellers lists. Authors and
readers couldn’t get enough and delivered rave reviews such as this, by
Booklover68, who wrote: “I haven't written a review in a very long time but
after reading this wonderfully written story I had to write a review. Ms.
Hickman wrote a fantastic story and I can't believe that this was her first
novel . . .”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Since <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Unexpected Interruptions</i>,
the author has gone on to publish<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">,
Keeping Secrets & Telling lies, Playing the Hand You’re Dealt, Looking for
Trouble </i>and her latest, soon-to-be release work<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, When Trouble Finds You.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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When it comes to the markets, the author gives this advice: “There’s
no doubt in my mind that the changing market has created a wider, and in many
ways, more efficient pathway for writers. With today’s advances in technology,
social media, and the access to free computer software, authors are better able
to produce books and market them across the country, if not the world.” She
goes on to warn writers, “However, these same changes have also served to
create an over-saturated marketplace, making it a hard to penetrate the crowded
literary field that seems to be growing by the thousands each day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Author Hickman offers up additional guidance for writers
starting out in the business; she tells writers to do their research by
learning about the publishing industry. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“
. . . In today’s crowded literary field, writing a book simply isn’t enough.
You must understand the process and mechanics of what it takes to bring a book
to market, and then how to penetrate the market and build a solid readership.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Network, network, network!” is another admonition in this
business authors should adhere to, according to Hickman.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her last bit of advice is indicative of the author’s giving
personality to help others. “Never give up! You’ll hear the word no, more than
you’ll hear yes. But you can’t stop trying. You have to keep pushing forward in
your mission because if you stay the course you’ll find that behind every no,
there is a yes. And even if you continue to hear no, that just means it’s time to
create your own yes!”<o:p></o:p></div>
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To learn more about the author and purchase her books, visit
these websites:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.tricehickman.com/abouttrice.html"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.tricehickman.com/abouttrice.html</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/660878.Trice_Hickman"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/660878.Trice_Hickman</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=by%20author%20trice%20hickman"><span style="color: blue;">http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=by%20author%20trice%20hickman</span></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-71455527562702374592014-01-20T10:45:00.001-08:002014-01-20T14:56:48.967-08:00WHY WE REMEMBER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXps9BJQhbJhwEb4LLpZAeMaFcawF_P3IfJ2w1SgLj2lazhDZRv5eN-cpy6_WGZEscmxvKM3fu8LVFuGoPjEVhD9TgGhlJJYGMFHX_g4H0uyQfnPv3d3t1g2tI3_uEmEFhgpobUdR2TYGy/s1600/why+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXps9BJQhbJhwEb4LLpZAeMaFcawF_P3IfJ2w1SgLj2lazhDZRv5eN-cpy6_WGZEscmxvKM3fu8LVFuGoPjEVhD9TgGhlJJYGMFHX_g4H0uyQfnPv3d3t1g2tI3_uEmEFhgpobUdR2TYGy/s1600/why+pic.jpg" /></a></div>
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Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., a husband, father, Christian, political
advocate who became responsible for the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964
and the 1965 Voting Rights Act; moved thousands with his charisma and dedication
and shook the nation upon his assassination. <o:p></o:p></div>
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On this holiday, we ought not to forget the reasons why we
celebrate Dr. King’s legacy. We should keep about our shoulders, the spirit of
equality for everyone. We should take pride in the freedoms we are afforded,
but remain vigilant for those who can’t fight for themselves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because of King’s legacy, little children of all races can
dream big with the examples of those who’ve gone before them; and, we now have a
voice regarding the government we select to make relevant decisions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the spirit of Dr. King, let us respect one another and observe
the uniqueness we all possess. Let us build up individuals rather than tear them
down. Above all, let us embrace the importance of connection and loving one another
from the heart. Together we can make a difference!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-381747347718839400.post-6670111413771791452014-01-13T10:44:00.004-08:002014-01-13T10:52:27.994-08:006 WAYS WRITING CAN AFFECT READERS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiO-PcTYSwxZ-pHqwQ6jGOu0b-AMfsRjnKT5-n7JZaP5-uTFlWU2euRvmaW5QU2a5LE2rEJm5nKEqhVqf2lfBnTOcn24lyKsqxWo4aTU5NOT96lWdCeBHO__gb72Zrig2xXdPo7K5CuvNa/s1600/5+ways+writing+can+affect+readers+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiO-PcTYSwxZ-pHqwQ6jGOu0b-AMfsRjnKT5-n7JZaP5-uTFlWU2euRvmaW5QU2a5LE2rEJm5nKEqhVqf2lfBnTOcn24lyKsqxWo4aTU5NOT96lWdCeBHO__gb72Zrig2xXdPo7K5CuvNa/s320/5+ways+writing+can+affect+readers+pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
<o:p>
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Have you ever been outraged or moved to tears on the heels
of reading a book? You reach for the tissue after a heartfelt love story and
wish that the book hadn’t ended. Yet, this is likely deliberate by the author.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Readers
may bring on the waterworks</b>. Booklovers enjoy feeling emotion from literary
works. Readers love it when the heroine finds love, the good guy gains courage
and defeats his archenemy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Your
writing angers the reader.</b> This can be a good thing when the reader clings
to every page, waiting for the protagonist to gain control and defeat the bad
guys.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Your
words may cause changes within the reader.</b> Readers make declarations based
on works they’ve been deeply moved by, like starting a nonprofit. Never underestimate
the power of words.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Readers
are compelled to talk about your book.</b> Most good things have been shared
via word of mouth. Great books are no different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Strong writing
adds flair to your work</b>. Readers are apt to be more engaged with gripping passages.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6)<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">You, the
author, reveal a little about yourself with deep writing.</b> It’s a fact that
authors are aware of, but sometimes revelations blind sight the creator when
others expose an undeniable truth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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How does your writing affect readers?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
</o:p> </div>
Pamela Townshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08451449134547483140noreply@blogger.com1