Loving Conor: A Clairvoyant’s Memoir on Loving, Bonding and Healing by Tami Urbanek @tamiurbanek

About two weeks later, while I was still on maternity leave, Nyle came home for lunch. Bethany was in her crib sleeping while I was in the kitchen washing some dishes. Immediately walking in, Nyle lay down on the couch and asked, “What do we have for lunch?”
I could hear irritation in his voice and I wasn’t sure why he seemed to be in a bad mood.
“We don’t have any lunchmeat. I’m only buying frozen vegetables and meat for dinners and cereal for breakfast,” I said and starting to tense up.
He exploded in anger, “Why don’t we ever have fucking food in this place? I can’t even have anyone over for lunch, it’s embarrassing!”
I yelled back, “We don’t have the money! I’m sorry!”
“We never have any fucking money!”
“That’s not my fault, asshole! Why don’t you get a second job?”
“Oh, it’s always my fault, huh?!” He glared at me and sat up on the couch.
I walked over to the couch and fired back, “Maybe you could not be such a jerk when you come home!”
He kicked me so unexpectedly that I didn’t have time to move out of the way. He had never before touched me in anger. Between the force of the kick to my leg and my utter shock, I fell to my knees and grabbed the couch for support.
“You…hit me,” I said just above a whisper.
He got up off the couch and stood there looking down on me.
In that moment, I was done. Done with the yelling. Done with the fighting.
“I want a divorce,” I said with a flat voice.
“Fine,” he said, leaving and slamming the door as he went back to work. Gathering his things later, he went to live on base.
Very soon after that, Nyle’s mom called me on the phone.
“What happened?” she asked.
“We got in a fight over lunch meat,” I said, knowing she would not understand what had led up to that isolated incident.
“You don’t get in a fight over lunch meat and get a divorce,” she said in exasperation.
“Well…it wasn’t just about lunch meat,” I said, wishing it could have been different. I wished we could have created a happy little family.
“Don’t you think you should work this out? For the sake of Bethany? You know, this is a marriage, not just a relationship to toss away.” I knew she wanted me to feel guilty, and it was working. Maybe I should try harder. Maybe it was my fault. But even though I felt bad, I was not going to ask Nyle back. I was not going to ask him back because I was afraid he would have to babysit while I was working on the weekends and that he would be drunk. I feared that he would hurt Bethany through negligence. I was not going to risk that just because I was afraid that I would not, and could not, financially survive without him.
A week later, I called him to say, “I need money for the rent.”
“No,” he said.
I pleaded, “Please, Nyle. You know I have no money!”
“Too bad,” he said with complete indifference.
We had not gone through any divorce proceedings yet, so there was no mandated child support. I thought to myself, I am not about to be evicted with a month old baby!
I called his Commanding Officer and told him my situation and Nyle’s refusal to pay our rent.
He told me he would look into the situation.
The next day, Nyle came over with the rent money and left immediately.
Right after I told my parents about my separation from Nyle, they wanted to ensure that I would receive custody of Bethany. They also wanted to help me through my divorce. They found me an attorney and offered to pay him since I had no idea what I was doing nor did I have any money to pay anyone.
My parents met me at the law office, and the attorney was straightforward about the entire procedure. He told me how much child support I should expect to receive and since Nyle wasn’t contesting anything, he assured me it would be a simple and smooth procedure.
After we finished discussing the paperwork and the next steps involved, I looked across the table to see my parents looking at me with eyes full of compassion and love. I quickly looked away. I couldn’t continue to look at them; I didn’t want to cry in public. I was so grateful for my parents’ assistance, but at the time all I could do was say a quick thank you and go to my car where I sat with my hands on the steering wheel and my head on my hands while my body shook with loud sobs for fifteen minutes.
Later, in my immature and naïve way, I told my attorney to reduce the child support from $600 per month to $400. I knew how much Nyle was earning. What I should have remembered was that he had moved back into rent-free living.
I applied and qualified for CCAP (child care assistance program), LEAP (utility bill assistance), and WIC (Women Infant Children-food assistance). All of these helped me with childcare and utility costs, and the WIC program sent me coupons that covered some basic food items, such as peanut butter, milk, formula, eggs, cheese, and cereal. This, along with my parents’ occasional financial support, helped me to pay my bills, but even with the support, having enough money each month remained an issue.
It was not long before Nyle showed no interest in being an involved father. I found myself trapped in sadness, despair, and anxiety over my life. I didn’t realize at the time how Nyle’s choices would create so much pain, not just in my life, but in Bethany’s, and how this early abandonment by her father would later lead her on her own painful quest to find male love. I could not have predicted or simply did not predict the amount of work it would take to guide my daughter through her own adolescence. At that point in time, I was focused only on our survival. My mistake was holding on to the false belief that it required having a man in my life in order for us to survive.
That belief system would end up costing both Bethany and I a great deal.

Broke, with a month-old baby, nineteen-year old Tami Urbanek walks away from an abusive marriage only to find herself wallowing in anxiety and confusion, wondering how she will survive. At the time, she had no idea that the journey in front of her would guide her so far away from fear of financial survival and instead would push her into the realm of healing and spirituality. As the daughter of internationally renowned medium, Hossca Harrison, Tami seeks the assistance of her loving parents and a spiritual teacher named Jonah. With their help, she begins to understand herself and her daughter, whose adolescent path of destruction threatens to tear apart their relationship. As Tami’s own clairvoyant abilities surface, she is challenged with the task of helping not just her daughter, but the child that her sixteen-year old daughter is carrying: a child whose painful past life still haunts him and which must be resolved before his birth. Told with humor, insight and honesty, Tami’s story challenges readers’ minds as it touches their hearts, and when the last page is turned, it is a story not easily forgotten.

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Genre - Memoir

Rating – PG-13

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Quality Reads UK Book Club Disclosure: Author interview / guest post has been submitted by the author and previously used on other sites.

A Study in Sin by August Wainwright

Part 1

On Being Introduced to an Unexplainable Woman, Words Written in Blood, and a Lost Gold Ring

Chapter 1
Introducing Ms. Remy Moreau

I lost my grip on life in the same amount of time it will take you to read this sentence.

It turns out a hundred feet is a long way to fall, even when you're at thirty thousand in a commercial liner. But in a twin prop Dash 7, it’s an oh-shit-life-flash-before-your-eyes type of moment, although, it really doesn’t have to be anything more than terrifying. Unfortunately for me, I had just unbuckled and ducked into the back of the dark plane in search of an extra piddle pack. When we dropped, I went up into the ceiling, my head, neck, and back taking the brunt of the collision.

That night, my professional life ended; the night I cracked two vertebrae.

I grew up worthless and graduated high-school slightly less worthless. It wasn’t until I dropped out of community college and joined the Air Force that I realized I had something to give, that there was an ideal I could strive for.

When I broke my neck, I was in Afghanistan, volunteering with a Special Operations unit to set up communications for a new forward operating base. The transport I hopped was running from Bagram out to the new remote location when my accident happened.

The job defined me; there was no separation between who I was as a person and what I did as an Airman. It was all I’d ever wanted, without ever knowing it – to do something worth doing, to matter.

And as quick as it came, it was gone.

Originally, the speculation was that I might have a brain injury, so they flew me to Ramstein and on to Landstuhl in Germany, where I went through the tests that determined whether or not I was still good to anyone.

The consensus came back negative.

I remember the day they came into my room and told me the good news that my brain was ok, but that I’d broken two vertebrae in my neck. My first question was if I’d walk. Yes. My second question was whether my military career was over. Yes again.

When I started seeing the physical therapist, no one could say for certain why my left arm would go numb and my hand would shake uncontrollably. The therapy did little to nothing for me. The shakes got worse. I got pissed and yelled at the therapists and told them they didn’t know what they were talking about. And the shakes got worse.

In response, I was flown back stateside and honorably discharged. No real help, no real guidance; just “Thank you for your service.” Saying I was shell-shocked was like saying an anti-tank missile is a bullet.

I’m not sure why I moved back to Washington DC; I say moved as if I had someplace else to go, like there was someone waiting for me with dinner on the table. That wasn’t the case. DC just seemed like as good a place as any. I drew disability and started seeing a therapist, as well as a physical trainer to continue treatment on my arm. But nothing we tried helped.

For the first few weeks, I looked for a job. Or, a more precise explanation would be that I filled out resumes online and pressed the send button. I blamed my unemployment on the job market, on high unemployment, on Barack Obama, on whatever was comforting at the moment. Regardless of the excuses, I always knew that playing Call of Duty for six hours a day wasn’t going to get me hired.

But I didn’t care. The jobs I applied for were ones I thought sounded cool; the ones I was qualified to do, I wanted no part of. I didn’t want to go work as a contractor; I had no desire to get back into the military world, not after the way they had discarded me like a well-chewed rack of ribs.

It hit me one day, as I ate another frozen dinner for breakfast, that I was a disabled vet. I was a vet with no job, no college degree, no desires to work as a contractor or do anything military related, and no real way to pay the bills that kept piling up. In the past few months, I had burned through what savings I had drinking beer and paying rent. The money was all but gone, and if there was one thing I knew I could count on, it was that rent was due on the first.

It was early in the afternoon a few days later and I decided to postpone the “job search”, so I dropped into a local gastro-pub around the corner for a drink. It was my third round, finally facing the full gravity of the situation I was in, when I heard someone call my name.

“Jay? How are you, man? I haven't seen you in years,” called the voice from over my right shoulder. I turned to find Sam Bartlett, an old friend from my brief stint at NOVA, staring back at me. I must have been wearing a slightly dumbfounded look, mixed with more than a hint of irritation, because his large crooked smile immediately faded.

“It's me, Sam. I know, I know, I've gained a few pounds,” he said, grabbing at his gut. “Ok, more like fifty. But how about you, how are you doing?”

I realized I was staring at him and made a conscious effort to change my demeanor. Although Sam had never been a good friend, he was always one of those guys that was just around, the truth was that it was nice to see a familiar face. The last thing I needed was to be left alone to sulk and drown away in my sorrows. I asked him to join me, which seemed to make up for the cold way I had greeted him because he laughed out loud and yelled “Hell yea, of course I will.” We grabbed a table in the corner next to the front window.

I ordered us a round of beers and he insisted I bring him up to speed. So I told him of my better days. He sat listening with complete interest, slouching onto the table, his hand holding up his fat face. By the time I got to the end, I was ready to leave.

“And apparently you can't go unemployed and still pay rent in DC on just military disability,” I said, trying to finish my story.

Sam perked up, fighting against his own body to sit up straight.

“Can't find a place to stay? Interesting. That's actually the second time today I've heard someone say that.”

“And where was the first?”

“Down at the lab, near the university. I was there this morning and a friend, well, more like an acquaintance, was complaining she had found a great apartment near Dupont Circle and can't find anyone to go in half for expenses.”

“Honestly, I don't think I can afford to live in Dupont, even if I'm splitting it,” I confessed.

“I guess she's got a great deal lined up. She said she knows an old lady who owns a bakery that has a large apartment above it that's not being used. It's not on the market so nobody else is going to rent it. She just doesn't want to take on the cost alone.” He paused and I could see him thinking about something. “But, the more I think about it, I'm not sure she's the type of person you would really want to live with.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well,” he started, shifting and moving in his seat. I stared as his jowls shook like a bulldog; I was waiting for him to slobber, “She's a little odd. Extremely intelligent and spends a lot of time studying different subjects, but nice enough, I guess. Different, that's what she is, different.”

“So she's a student?”

“Oh, no. She doesn't go to school at the university, she just sort of hangs out there sometimes. And the lab isn't a part of the school anyways, it's more of a hangout than anything else. She studies and reads a lot and is really good with a computer, I know all that. But I really don't know what she does.”

“You're friends, and you've never asked her what she does?”

“We're not really friends. We just know each other. I'm not sure she has any real friends.”

“Either way,” I said, confused and irritated by the conversation and Sam's constant fidgeting, “I'd like to meet her and get the specifics.”

“I'm sure she's still down at the lab, we could drive over now if you wanted. Where are you parked?”

“I didn't drive.”

“I don't mind taking you.”

I agreed, and waited for him to finish sipping his beer before we took off. I turned to face him as we walked out onto the sidewalk.

“So what's this odd acquaintance of yours named?”

Sam hesitated before answering, looking up at me as if he was sorry for something.

“Remy Moreau.”

Genre – Mystery / Thriller / Suspense

Rating – PG13

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Website http://augustwainwright.com/

Author Interview – Molly D. Campbell

This is an interview between “The New York Now” show and Mr. Fingal Strafer, successful prosecuting attorney at the prominent law firm, Strafer, Bangs, Stiffney and Shultz. Mr. Strafer has successfully prosecuted over one hundred cases without a single loss. (Cameras zoom in on the craggy Strafer, and Melanie Lusk, star reporter, wearing a sharkskin business suit and five-inch pumps.)

NYN: Mr. Strafer, how did you come to practice law, and why did you choose to become a prosecuting attorney?

FS: It’s pretty straightforward, actually. I was the nerdy child of two rather scatterbrained artists, who dressed me in unusual clothing and sent me to public school, where I was bullied from the age of seven. I soon learned that a quick wit and good sneakers were my best defense. I hated those who dominated my world with violence, and vowed to do something about it when I grew up. So I have.

NYN: So you target bullies?

FS:  I target those who assert power over others by putting them down. I have found that bullies usually grow up to do something unlawful during the pursuit of their power plays. I just make sure that they don’t get away with it.

NYN:  Do you ever come across female bullies?

FS: Of course. Women are just as fond of being in control of those weaker than they are as males. Women just use a different set of tools. Men commit crimes such as fraud, robbery, torture, and murder. Women do those things, but more often they are guilty of slander, sacrificing those who help them climb the success ladder, and ruining other people’s marriages.

NYN:  You sound a little bitter.

FS: I have been married four times. But only three of my wives were bitches. One died.

NYN:  How do you prepare for a tough case?

FS: I stay in shape physically. I like to run, and I generally do around thirty miles a week. I don’t drink while on a case, and I keep my mind sharp by studying codes and encryption. I love to write in code, and to code-break. Let’s just say I don’t like secrets.

NYN: (Clears throat) That is an interesting hobby. Do you have any other interests outside of those? What do you do for fun?

FS: I have sex with women. Other than that, I can’t think of anything. Well, I do enjoy chess.

NYN:  (Gulps) Ok then. (Shifts in her seat, and uncrosses her legs)  What was your most difficult case?

FS: About ten years ago, we prosecuted a man for running a Ponzi scheme. He had convinced a group of retired people that if they gave him their money, he would make sure that they had visitors every day at their nursing homes. At first, it was wonderful, but then the old people started dying. Their families, who up to this time had felt relieved that their aging parents had stopped calling them, discovered that entire estates had been engulfed and disappeared, and the shit hit the fan. We sent the guy to prison for twenty years. I tried to stipulate that he get no visitors, but failed. (He smirks)

NYN: (Leaning backwards just a bit in her seat) Interesting. Are you working on anything right now that you can share with us?

FS:  I am not able to say much. But it will make headlines. I can only say that if you have a dog, and you use a dog walking service, you should be careful.

NYN:  I see. (Raises eyebrows at camera two)

FS: Dogs are disappearing. That’s all I can say.

NYN: Goodness. Well, what a relief to know that you are working on this! Thank you for talking with us today. (Shuffles the papers in her lap)

FS: Do you have a dog?

NYN:  (Shifts in chair uncomfortably, and adjusts skirt) Again, thanks. We will be looking forward to hearing about your next case, and I congratulate you on your fine work.

FS: I used to have a dog but he died. (Sniffs audibly and leans forward, brushing against Melanie’s thigh with his hand) I love dogs. Just love dogs. (Sighs dramatically).

NYN: That’s a shame. (Blinks rapidly) And now, we go to London, where Dan Strank is reporting live about the latest financial crisis.

FS: Yeah, my dog’s name was “Slinky.” (Sniffs again, and wipes one eye)

NYN: (Whispering urgently) Cut, and that’s a wrap!

FS: (As production assistants lead him out) He had a little red bone….

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Genre - Fiction / Short Stories

Rating – PG13

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Website http://mollydcampbell.com/

The Kings of Charleston (Vol. 1) - Kat H. Clayton

Dad was getting the better end of this whole insane deal. He had gotten the offer from a longtime friend . . . supposedly. Tyson Roman had been one of Dad’s college classmates, according to his ramblings on the plane. They had been members of the same fraternity and lived in the frat house for two years together. They had pulled off several memorable pranks, which he had described in painstaking detail. Tyson was now a business tycoon in Charleston, with several construction companies to his name. This was the first time I had ever heard of him, and I was pretty sure it was the first time for Mother, too.

A few minutes later, we pulled up to the curb of our new home. Once the car stopped, I put away my headphones and looked out through the darkly-tinted window. Our house was really close to the other houses on the street . . . like, I could literally reach out a window and touch the other house. Palm trees lined the sidewalk, and most of the houses had short iron fences guarding their tiny, well-manicured front lawns. It was a big letdown. I was used to not having a single neighbor within earshot.

There were three imposing porches, one on each level of the house, that ran the length of the house. The exterior was a warm honey color with black decorative shutters. Its front façade reminded me of a grand plantation home from Gone with the Wind. I hated to admit the house was really pretty.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Dad asked, as he hastily got out of the car. I stepped out onto the street as well, but with less enthusiasm. The air was thick and muggy with humidity. It almost took my breath away. It was just as blistering in Kentucky this time of year, but the air didn’t have the same heavy, salty quality. I could almost taste the ocean on my lips.

Mother and I walked toward the house in a daze. Neither one of us uttered a word as Dad continued to gab away about the house.

“It was built in the late seventeen-hundreds—amazing, right?” He was still cheery, but it was obvious he was looking for a reaction from someone at this point. Mother and I shared the same stubborn quality. We walked in silence, ignoring his attempts to get us talking about how “amazing” all of this was—in reality, it was nothing more than a bad dream.

We reached the front porch, which had a beautiful wood floor that glistened like it was encased in glass. The front door was ornate, with white decorative molding and windows at the top and along both sides.

It was very different from our home in Kentucky, but no less impressive. My mother had extravagant taste and Dad would do anything to please her. When she had complained that the original house had been too small, he had a contractor on hand the next day. The new house had marble floors, mahogany paneling, and gold-plated fixtures throughout its massive structure, which spread across the farm like a miniature White House.

Dad finally reached the front door and unlocked it cautiously. It creaked as he swung it open. A crystal chandelier dangled from the tall ceiling, which cast a tranquil glow across the foyer’s wood floor. I looked to the right of the front door. A dark wood staircase wound up like a mahogany corkscrew to the second floor. A long hallway stretched ahead of us toward a set of frosted glass double doors. I took a few steps toward the left to a set of pocket doors. With a little effort, I pulled them apart and revealed a large formal living room.

I was shocked by all the furniture that was perfectly arranged in the room like a museum exhibit. I walked across the hall and opened another set of pocket doors next to the stair case. They squeaked from disuse, and once again I found furniture in perfect arrangements.

It looked as if someone already lived here and we were the house guests. Everywhere I looked there were ornate furniture, antique wall hangings, and luxurious velvet curtains enveloping both rooms. My mother was not into antiques. I didn’t see any of these things lasting very long.

“I thought that our things were being shipped?” she asked, her jaw tight as she paced between the two adjacent rooms.

After several hurried looks back and forth, she stopped next to a round table placed in the center of the foyer. She touched the large silk flower arrangement on the table and frowned. She jerked her hand away as if she would be infected with some terrible interior designing disease. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched one perfect eyebrow, as if to say, You better have a good explanation.

“Some of them are, but the house came completely furnished. The things already here would match the style of the house much more than our own would. Besides, if we empty out the other house, we won’t have anything to sit on when we visit.”

“Fine,” she responded, pursing her lips. It wasn’t like my mother to give up so easily.

“So, what do you think, Casper?” he asked, avoiding any further confrontation with Mother, who had disappeared into one of the rooms.

“No!” squealed Mother. There must have been more fake flowers. I smiled for the first time since we’d left.

“Do you like it?” Dad stood next to me and nudged my shoulder. I let my guard down, feeling a little bit sorry for him for some strange reason.

“It’s pretty Dad.” He didn’t look convinced. “Really,” I repeated.

He finally smiled and took in a deep breath. “Why don’t you go upstairs and pick out a bedroom? There’s four on the second floor and three on the third.”

I nodded and dutifully made my way up the stairs. The staircase curled up the side of the house. I could imagine all the families who had made their first trek up this very staircase and I was comforted by their lingering spirits—as long as they didn’t show up in the middle of the night. Ghost hunting was not on my bucket list.

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Genre – YA / Mystery / Suspense

Rating – PG13 (No sex scenes, some violence)

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Website http://kathclayton.com/

Anniversary of the Veil by Vanna Smythe

Chapter 1 - Aftermath

The chill of spring dawn seeped through the broken shutters of Kae's hut deep in the Forest of the Dead. It woke him better than sunshine would have, better than any bell. Dawn colored the sky a pale gray and sunshine was still hours away. Just as well he was up so early. The trek to the House of Troth, to Issa, would take the better part of the morning.

Kae pulled his ratty blanket over his head and imagined a roaring fire warming the room. Yet that exercise hardly ever worked back when he was still a trainee at the Protectors' Keep, and didn't work at all now.

Besides, remembering the Keep only brought Entan's pale dead face to join Issa's slack and lifeless one as he closed his eyes. Even in memory, Issa's eyes remained still blue pools. Her brilliant light was forever gone.

He'd not visited Issa for many days. But somehow, instead of fading, the vision of her in his mind grew stronger.

Does she wonder why I've not come?

Of course not. Issa had no knowledge of the world around her, not since the Joining at the Anniversary of the Veil. They ripped her essence right out of her chest then, used it to destroy the Veil that separated the world. Left her a mere shell of her former self.

Issa hadn't spoken since that day. Had hardly acknowledged anyone except the skinny young lord, her other half, whose hand she clutched day and night. She knew Kae not at all.

He threw back the covers and leapt out of bed as though sudden action could chase away all those oppressive, suffocating, sad thoughts.

Kae's fault Issa was now a lifeless, spent twin. Kae's fault that Entan was dead, the Protectors all scattered and hunted. Kae could have stopped it all. But he was too late. Always too late.

A heel of five-day-old bread was all that remained of his food. Spring was in full swing, the farmer in the town up river from Kae's hut would need help plowing today. Kae could go find work. Get more bread, maybe cheese and sausage too.

But he'd not been to see Issa in days.

When he walked outside he saw the bread was covered by a thin green coating. He tossed it into the bushes.

The Watchers would give him food once he got to the House of Troth.

Kae walked slowly to the river running deep and wild not far from his hut. Sometimes, during still nights, its whooshing current lulled him to sleep. Allowed him to feed into it all the visions of Issa's expressionless face, her lifeless eyes, all the memories of Entan's terrible secret, Kae's horrible failure.

He stripped on the riverbank, then waded into the icy green water. Shivering, he submerged his head and opened his eyes underwater. Dark reeds, like so many black snakes, swayed in the current all around him. Nothing stayed drowned in those depths. All bubbled back to the surface eventually, too soon.

Would that he could still call the fog. Thick and moist, keeping all pain in the world away for as long as Kae willed it to. But the Life Force was gone, taken when Issa lost her essence.

Kae came up for air and smoothed down his brown hair, tying it back into a knot. It reached his shoulders now and was in need of a wash, but soap was another thing he ran out of.

I should go into town and find some work.

But no.

He'd not been to see Issa in days. Tomorrow he would find work.

***

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Genre – Fantasy, Paranormal Romance

Rating – PG13

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Website http://vannasmythe.com/

Spare Change - Bette Lee Crosby

“But, Mama,” Olivia interrupted, “didn’t you think you’d missed out on something you truly wanted?”

“Think?” Her mother laughed. “With eight little tykes hanging on to me, I didn’t have time to think!”

It seemed that no matter who she asked it was the same story. “Bounce a baby on your knee, and you’ll forget about everything else,” Sara Sue said. 

“But,” Olivia questioned, “weren’t you planning to be a newspaper reporter?”

“At one time, maybe,” her friend said. “But once Willie came along…”

As the days went by Olivia started to imagine a heavy weight tugging at the hem of her skirt, and at night when she closed her eyes and waited to drift off to sleep she could hear a baby crying. One night she dreamt of sitting at the switchboard with a stomach so large and round that, try as she may, she could not reach across the tandem board far enough to connect a call. 

The following Saturday Francine Burnam stopped in for a visit.  Eight months ago she had added another one to her litter, and she was accompanied, of course, by all four children, the youngest of them howling like a banshee.  “He’s teething,” Francine apologized and jiggled the baby from one shoulder to the other. Olivia was about to suggest that Alma Porter used a piece of ice to soothe her baby’s gums, but before the words were out of her mouth Francine, who already looked like a woman on the edge of a nervous breakdown, started to wail. “Oh, Lord!” She flopped down onto the sofa. “What have I let myself get into?”

“The baby crying has probably gotten you a bit frazzled,” Olivia suggested. “Once his tooth comes in, everything will be just fine.”

“Fine?” Francine exclaimed. “Fine?!  Maybe for you! You’ve got a job where you’re appreciated! Try taking care of four kids, and then see how you feel!”

Olivia was taken aback by the outburst. “But surely Joe helps?” she said.  

“Oh, yeah,” Francine answered. “He helps—helps himself to a piece of pie and tells the kids to shut up because the noise is giving him a headache. He’s got a headache. Ha, that’s a joke! He’s concerned about his headache, never mind that I’m the one who listens to their carrying on every hour of every day.”

“But…”

“That’s not even the worst of it! Now that he’s got me knocked up with a fifth kid, I find out he’s carrying on with some redhead who works in his office. He bought that little whore a fur coat,” she moaned. “Imagine that! A fur coat, when I’m wearing dresses older than the kids.”

“If I were you, I’d divorce him,” Olivia growled.

Francine started to cry even harder. “Oh, yeah,” she sobbed, “and just what am I supposed to do with all these kids?” Just then Joe Junior, the eldest of the bunch, punched his brother in the face, and a new level of wailing ensued.

Suddenly Olivia could see the bars of an invisible cage, and she told herself that this was the truth of what happened. First came the itch, then the babies, then a woman was forever locked into a lifetime of drudgery. It happened to Francine, a woman who’d once worn chiffon dresses and polished pink fingernails, a woman who’d read poetry and loved music. It happened because Francine allowed it to happen. She’d donned a white satin gown and pranced down the aisle like a happy cow unknowingly headed for the slaughter house. If it happened to Francine, it could happen to anybody. 

Two weeks later Olivia slipped the diamond ring from her finger and returned it to Herbert. She claimed that although she cared for him, marriage was simply out of the question. 

“But, sweetheart,” he said bewilderedly, “have I offended you? Have I done something to cause such a change of heart?”

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Genre – Literary Fiction

Rating – PG13

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The Tortoise Shell Code by V Frank Asaro (Excerpt)

They moved with the rhythm and power of the sea and she grasped him with surprising strength, her arms locked around him, her legs encircling. Responding weakly to a sudden resolve he tried to break the hold, but knew he would fail. He wanted to fail. They rolled from the crest of the dune into the wash of the sea. A power drove him beyond his senses, his mind flying under a force that demanded he break down the gates. Through the barriers he burst and they lay entwined in a shimmering world on the apron of the sea. Overwhelming peace enveloped him, carrying him away on a flood tide of diamonds and stars.

Mild waves ebbed in ripples on the shore and lapped at his toes. He awakened, rose, tugged her hand and they stepped onto dry sand. She shook the terrycloth and they toweled each other vigorously. He wrapped the towel robe-like around her and slipped on his bathing suit. Wet head against wet head, they began their walk back to the smoky glow in the circle of sand.

“Anthony,” she murmured, “why do we have to wait? I can’t take this. With me working, we’ll have enough to live on.”

He stopped and looked out to the moonlit sea, beyond dim silver flashes into total darkness.

“I know you’re having a hard time saying it,” she said, “but you’ve already decided to go to Berkeley. Haven’t you?”

He didn’t reply.

“I knew it. But you don’t have to go to Berkeley. You could go to law school here at night instead, or later. Don’t you think?”

He sighed and leaned his face on her damp hair. “Please listen, Cheryl. The scholarship. I have to accept it. I just have to. Besides, we’re still too young to get married. And while I’m away you could finish college.”

She gave him a bewildered look. “School and work; that’s all I ever hear from you. I know how you feel about achievement. I know how you hated the bums and weeds and railroad tracks where you grew up and you want your kids to belong to golf and riding clubs, like Susan and Melissa and John. But they’re snobs.”

“Hey, wait. They’re my friends.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t really mean that. They all like you. You fit in. But I don’t. I’m not at home with them.”

“Have you considered maybe that’s because they’re finishing college and you dropped out?”

“No, that’s not it. I felt that way in high school, too. Have you forgotten who my folks rent our apartment from? And who my mom checks bags for at the supermarket?”

“I didn’t think that was such a big deal with you.”

She gazed toward the glow of the bonfire, and the shine in her eyes brought back the ache in his heart. “Anthony, I don’t know what you want me to do. When my parents leave next week, its permanent, and they want me with them. They don’t want me to stay behind alone.”

“I know, but I have a different goal, Cheryl. It’s like you said: When I have kids someday, they’re not going to sleep next to stinking alleys or live around winos and violence. I have to get so far ahead that no matter what, those things would never happen to a family of mine.”

Like pages of an open book flipping in the breeze, her expression changed from hope to worry, back to hope, then to helplessness. “Then take me with you,” she whispered, “to San Francisco.”

“Let me get a year or two more school out of the way, and we’ll see how it goes. Cheryl, now is not right.”

“Then what should I do? Go with my folks or stay here and wait? I mean, what do you want me to do?”

He tried to think of an answer. He tucked her cheek against his neck and pressed his chest to hers. Her nipples were now cool and he could feel her heart pounding against his. Yet their interests were so different. He knew he loved her and wanted her, but just because there’s love, does that mean two people are the best match for each other? Maybe it was just bad timing: too early, too young.

“Why are things so complicated?” he implored. She did not reply, and the silence floated on the moon-spangled surf. Then a transport ship’s sad bass horn echoed in the distance.

She held him at arm’s length. “Do you want to get something to eat? My stomach is aching. If we keep talking it’ll only get worse.”

“I’m starving, too. Oscar’s?”

“Sure.”

Hand in hand they walked back to the glow and laughter of the valley between the dunes.

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Genre – Legal Drama

Rating – PG13

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Jack Canon’s American Destiny by Greg Sandora

“Off!” One final command and the powerful machine instantly fell into motionless repose.

“Jack! Driving with you feels like sitting in a rocket sled perched on a banana peel. I feel like I just lifted off in the space shuttle. You’re  impossible! Really, Jack, you try sitting in the death seat with someone driving  like that! I nearly put my foot through the floor trying to stop the car  myself.” Sandy threatened with a look like she’d never get in my car again. This  time I think she meant it.

“We have to take the elevator. This skirt is too tight for me to climb stairs.” I was laughing, exhilarated as we hurried towards the exit. Sandy was  trying her best to keep up, one hand on my shoulder the other on my arm for  balance. I pushed the button and showed her my watch, “See we made it.”

“Jack, we’ve only made it to the elevator,” she said slightly exaggerated,  out of breath. She was shaking a bit. I grabbed her by the shoulders and looked  down deep into her eyes.

“Don’t worry, I sent everyone a text before we left to hold off for 20 minutes. I just wanted to take you for a ride and have some fun. Wasn’t that an  awesome adrenaline rush?”

“I just didn’t want them to blame me for making you late.” Sandy’s eyes were  a little watery. She grabbed a tissue out of her purse and dabbed them dry.

“It wouldn’t have been your fault. Don’t cry Honey; I’m sorry you’re upset.”

“I’m not crying. Sometimes you’re a little wild Jack, really! When did you  even decide to buy that car? Usually you have me check around…”

I cut her off, “It was a gift. Somebody Bud’s been working with, they just  dropped it off.”

She cocked her head to the side and, wide-eyed, looked at my face, “Who would  just give you that?”

I explained, “One of our key supporters in the East. I’m anxious to meet him.  He’s throwing us a big fundraiser the night of the New Hampshire Primary in  Upstate New York. Bud’s working out the details. I want you to come with us;  it’ll be fun. Maybe you’ll meet some rich guy that drives his Benz like a little  old lady.”

“Very funny, Jack. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with driving the speed  limit. The way you drive, you’re gonna get somebody killed. Why did he give you  the car though?”

“He wants to be sure that when I’m president, I’ll take his call. The car is  his way of introducing himself. I’m not about to keep it. I’m gonna auction it  off for charity after the election.”

“That’s some introduction, Jack. They sure know your weakness. I wish someone  would give me a car.”

“Sandy, the super rich are drawn to power like moths to a flame.”

“Do you know what this means?” Sandy looked into my eyes, “You’re going all  the way!”

I reached to her shoulders, “Sandy, we’re goin’ all the way!”

“Jack, I can’t wait until you expose these people.”

Take a Journey for the Greater Good in this intensely gripping, loving thriller. Join Jack Canon and his insanely loyal team of friends and family as they make their all-or-nothing run for the presidency. You’ll laugh out loud and have your heart ripped in two; all while holding your breath, sitting on the edge of your chair. You’ll become emotionally committed as you find yourself standing behind your new courageous – unstoppable heroes – forced to take unimaginable steps to reach their goal. You’ll be shocked at the heart-wrenching cost.

JACK CANON’S AMERICAN DESTINY – TO SOMEDAY HAVE THE POWER, TO DEDICATE THE HIGHEST OFFICE IN THE LAND–TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT. THIS TIME HE’S ALL IN.

Meghan’s Review. this reader captured the essence of the Story of Jack Canon. Both men and woman will enjoy the book.

“‘Jack Canon’s American Destiny’ is one of those intense political thrillers that simply deserve to be made into a movie for full, complete enjoyment. This is especially true right in the wake of the recent Academy Awards and movies like ‘Argo’ and ‘Lincoln’ bringing home the bacon. But on its own, this book is immersive—you can live and breathe in the world of Jack Canon—his full range of concerns, from picayune to grandiose, consists of things that are close to every American’s heart.

Jack Canon is an everyman—you can relate to his positive traits, even his minor character flaws, and mostly you can relate to his will get the presidency. Cleverly written, sprinkled with the right amount of “spice” to keep the level of interest high, ‘American Destiny’ is a tale that grips your heart and squeeze it—Jack Canon’s mission to redistribute wealth and give everybody cheap energy is not exactly acceptable in the eyes (and pockets) of those whose businesses will be affected. And from there, the plot thickens.

Finishing the book, your heart aches because you know Jack Canon isn’t real—he’s an ideal, made magically alive by the sheer talent of Greg Sandora. But that doesn’t mean we cannot aspire. As in the book’s timeline, 2016, maybe the book is telling us to be really, really wise in our choices. Meanwhile, download a copy of this book and sink your teeth in the kind of literary entertainment I’ve never seen since Alex Cross.”

Joanna’s Review. “Jack Canon is an idealist. He’s on the road to fight the good fight and the only road that will allow him to do that is the one leading to the White House. Great plan, but plans don’t always end up going the way we want. This Senior Democratic Senator from Kentucky is a kind, smart, charismatic family man. He is a man of superior intelligence who isn’t afraid to admit to a mistake. He has always been faithful, but he has a very intimate, hands off relationship with Sandy his assistant. Hopefully this won’t derail his campaign…

“Jack Canon’s American Destiny” is a sly ride on a slippery slope. This fast paced thriller is packed with political issues that mirror what we have going on today. If you notice, the villains are a conglomerate of who we have deadly problems with right now, so it echoes what we deal with on the global level at this time.

The author, Greg Sandora, manages to introduce all this well written madness in a way that will keep you glued to this book. Sandora has used well flushed out characters, timely villains, an image of our present president therefore the actions are very relatable to the reader.

Want to have some fun? Want to read something that will have you dangling over the edge of a cliff in that good way that starts your heart pumping and your adrenaline kicking in?”

Diane’s review .“I rarely choose a book about politics, but since becoming addicted to the hit show Scandal, I thought Jack Canon`s American Destiny might be an interesting read. To my amazement, I totally enjoyed this political thriller.

Allow me to congratulate the author on his impressive debut. As a writer, he has a talent that allows an immediate connection with his characters, especially Jack.

The book moves at a relaxing pace. But I must admit, I became extremely absorbed when the author reveals an unexpected twist making it a suspenseful page turner!

I can’t wait to read the highly anticipated sequel.”

Jackie’s review. “Get ready to take a ride. The suspense, the loyalty, the inside world of politics all wrapped into a thriller you will not want to put down. I am recommending this to my book club and any book club who wants a good read for a change.”

Terry’s Review. I have read this book in it’s infancy stage and was amazed. The final product riveting. Ben Affleck, you are the perfect Director, Producer and Actor to be Jack Canon. It is ready for the big screen. Read it now and you will want more of Jack. This book will inspire your next election choice. We need a real life Jack Canon for President. Move over Alex Cross, here comes a new generation hero. This is a story that can take many turns and always keep you waiting for the next chapter. It is written from the heart with passion, but with some hope for all Americans that fiction can be real if you only want it bad enough. So for you politicians out there that want to be the next President, read this book.

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Genre – Political Thriller

Rating – PG

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Website http://www.gregsandora.com/

Greedy for Life: A Memoir on Aging with Gratitude by Lori Stevic-Rust

The weatherman, Dick Goddard, was reporting on the extreme cold temperatures and the risk for significant snowfall. It was November 1962, one of the snowiest and coldest winters in Akron, Ohio. The ringing of the phone in the kitchen woke my mother from a sound sleep. The clock on the nightstand next to her bed read 2:45 a.m. While she was in the process of jumping out of bed, my father was already in the kitchen answering the phone. He returned to the bedroom and said, “It was the hospital. Your mother has started to bleed internally and they are preparing her for surgery.” My mother recalls a feeling of numbness climbing over her and her voice repeating, “Oh my God. They said she wasn’t strong enough yet for surgery.”

Two weeks prior it was discovered that my grandmother had bleeding ulcers in her stomach. She apparently had been showing signs of bleeding, but she ignored them, believing that would heal on their own. One morning when she was on her way to work at the local diaper store at 4:30 a.m., she collapsed near the car. She had been hospitalized for two weeks while the doctors tried to stabilize her. They knew she had lost a significant amount of blood and was not strong enough for them to attempt to surgically intervene. Unfortunately, the bleeding had restarted and emergency surgery was necessary. My grandmother’s recollection of that evening was waking feeling weak and ringing for the nurse; then she began to see pigs on the walls, and everything went black.

My parents arrived at the hospital as my grandmother was being rushed down the hallway on a gurney with several doctors and nurses running behind. One of the doctors stopped to tell them that she did not have a pulse and admitted that things did not look good. They saw that my grandmother was catholic and suggested that now may be the time for the family to contact a priest. They went on to say that they had called a Dr. Fox, who was one of the best surgeons on their staff, and he was prepping for the surgery.

My parents joined my grandfather in the waiting room for what would be an all-night vigil that lasted until about noon. As family stories go, I am told that as the vigil of waiting for news of the surgery continued, the doors at the end of the hall finally opened. My mother recalls the hospital hallway being long and dimly lit, so when the doors opened, it created an image of a small silhouette of a man in a surgical cap walking toward them.

They all stood as he approached, anxiously searching his face for clues on what he was about to say. Dr. Fox, or as the family has referred to him over the past fifty years, “the man with kind eyes and God’s hands,” let them know that Nana was still alive but not out of danger. They had to remove three fourths of her stomach. He then gestured to my mother’s belly and instructed her to go home and get some rest, as she was nine months pregnant with me. He felt she should go home to prevent early labor as I was to be born two weeks later. As my mother cried, he assured her that he would sit with my grandmother through the night but it was now out of his hands and in God’s.

Whether God played a role in my grandmother’s recovery can be debated by many. For her, she believes that her purpose on earth had not been completed. At the age of fifty, my age, she felt she still had so much to accomplish and so much to see and enjoy with her family. She always seemed to understand and accept that she had a purpose for being alive. With age that purpose seemed to become clearer and the drive to fulfill it became more intense.

For me, I wonder what my life would have been like if she had died and I had never met her. When I track back in time, decisions that I made, beliefs that I hold, and values that I cherish, I wonder if I would have come to different conclusions without her voice in my head. I sit here today incredibly grateful that on that early morning in November 1962, somebody intervened and gave me the ultimate gift of my grandmother. I received the gift of time, time with her for the past fifty years.

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Genre – Memoir

Rating – PG13

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Website http://www.doctorlori.net/

The Sin of Forgiveness by Edward F. Mrkvicka, Jr. (Excerpt)

The Importance of Context

This book does not ask you to believe something “new,” but rather something old and true. Society as a whole, over the centuries, and especially in the last 50 years, has taken forgiveness to mean something not intended by the Bible. While we are to forgive, we are to do so as God directs, not as Dr. Phil and even some clergy suggest.

This treatise on the subject of forgiveness is not my opinion, but rather the result of a lifetime of Bible study and Bible-based counseling. There is probably no bigger mistake made by God-fearing Christians than not reading and understanding God’s Holy Word in context. I know I have made such error on numerous occasions, notwithstanding the altruistic nature of my biblical inquiries. It is just so easy to do, mainly because God’s Word is so direct and uncompromising. Consequently, when we read a verse in Scripture we immediately race to whatever seemingly obvious conclusion we glean based on the verse’s intent and the subject matter contained therein.

And yet there are many of us who have a misunderstanding about this or that spiritually, which caused me to try and learn why people of good faith could often come to what seemed to be obviously erroneous conclusions about God’s intent. The answer is biblical context. Context means (1) the text surrounding a word or passage: the words, phrases, or passages that come before and/or after a particular word or passage in a speech or text and help explain its full meaning, and (2) surrounding conditions: the circumstances or events that form the environment within which something exists or takes place. The word is taken from the Latin word contextus, meaning connected or to weave together. Put more clearly, context is the equivalent of a tapestry. It’s not until every single piece of cloth is woven together that we can see the picture the artists intended to paint. Without the completeness of their effort, all we would see is a pile of disconnected nothingness that may or may not lead us to the truth. The Bible is much the same. A verse of Gospel may stand by itself, but more than likely it does not. It usually has other text that fleshes out the subject and explain the entire picture. The matter of context is vital whenever we are seeking biblical answers to problems or questions we are faced with. Make no mistake from the above; God does not hide from us. He has gone out of His way to make His Word easily accessible. So what is the problem? Unfortunately, we are often in a hurry, or we’re lazy. And while being in a hurry and/or being lazy puts us at the both far ends of the spectrum, the result is always the same, we only get part of the solution or come to one that has little resemblance to God’s actual intent.

My favorite analogy in this instance is that of a father trying to assemble a birthday present for one of his children. Let’s say it is the child’s first 2-wheeler. As all fathers know, the instructions will almost always invariably start by stating “You’ll need a pair of pliers and a screwdriver.” Would any of us, after reading the instructions no further than step #1, assume we’re done after finding the pliers and screwdriver, and that the bicycle is complete? Of course not. It would be patently obvious that step #1 was just that, step #1, and we’d have to complete the remaining steps before the job was complete. Looking for answers in the Bible is much the same. We cannot just read one verse (step #1) and assume we’re done, because we’re not. It is essential to prove this point in order to show how this concept pertains to forgiveness. To do that, I want to review a prominent biblical topic that hopefully will make clear how we can come to the wrong conclusion by making doctrine out of one verse of Scripture that was meant to be but a portion of the entire picture. We’re going to look at “honoring our father and mother” by reviewing the generally accepted meaning of the Fifth Commandment, and then show how our understanding changes when we review the topic in context. In the process, I hope to give you a new perspective on Bible study, one that will expand your vision and give you a desire to know God’s truth regardless of how long it takes, or how much effort is required. From personal experience, I can share this; once given a contextual perspective, you will read the Bible in a whole new light. You will be excited, because, perhaps for the first time, you will see and understand the truth as never before. When you know the truth, you are, in fact, free. No longer will anyone, including those doing Satan’s bidding, be able to lead you astray.

The Bible says we are to: Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the LORD your God is giving you. (Exodus 20:12) There are many, based on that verse alone, who believe we are to honor our parents no matter what they say or do. Yet, Jesus said,

Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to ‘set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law’; and ‘a man’s enemies will be those of his [own] household.

—Matthew 10:34-36

But how can we honor our parents when our Savior tells us He came to separate us from the very people should they stand against Him? Is this an irresolvable contradiction? Allow me to take this one step further to make the point. Are children of God to honor their earthly parents even if they are committing adultery? Ephesians 5:11 states, And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather expose [them]. 2 Thessalonians 3:6 says, But we command you, brethren, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, that you withdraw from every brother who walks disorderly and not according to the tradition which he received from us. In 2 Corinthians 6:14 we are told, Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness? Lastly, although there are other references, in 1 Corinthians 5:11 we read, But now I have written to you not to keep company with anyone named a brother, who is sexually immoral, or convetous, or an idolater, or a reviler, or a drunkard, or an extortioner – not even to eat with such a person.

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Genre – Christian Life

Rating – G

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Website http://www.edwardfmrkvickajr.com/

Tainted Waters by Maggie Thom (Excerpt 1)

Tainted Waters by Maggie Thom (Excerpt 1)

“You’re fired!”

Sam’s hands slammed down on the arms of the office chair as she jerked forward. “Because some dude stole a necklace from his wife, pawned it and got the insurance for it? And I had the nerve to tell the story?”

“You’re fired!”

There was so much more she wanted to say to him. To tell him. It wasn’t fair that she was getting kicked to the curb for other people’s lies and secrets. It wasn’t her fault that she felt truth should win out at all costs. Climbing to her feet, she stared hard at her boss, debating about telling him again why she’d written that story. The blue vein bulging from his forehead and the deep crimson color of his puffy cheeks told her it was pointless and might just cause a heart attack.

“The story didn’t run, so what’s the big deal?”

His mottled face started to shake with fury. Sam picked up her coffee which she was glad she’d set down when she came in and took a step back. The last man she’d seen that angry had thrown a punch.

“Only because I caught it. Nothing and I mean nothing, gets printed in this paper without my say so. Very sneaky Samantha. Not acceptable. You’re done here. And don’t worry you won’t ever work in this industry again.”

She shook her head hoping something would fall into place and this would all make sense. It wasn’t like it was any different than any of the other stories the newspaper wrote – they got details, or as many as they could and then skewed them sideways if that’s what made the tale sensational. Only she hadn’t needed to do that. The facts themselves had been enough to make the story astounding. For once the paper might have been able to print the truth and nothing but the truth. The informant who’d put her on to this situation had been right, it had been unbelievable. She wished she’d been able to thank him but that was part of the agreement – no names, no thank yous, no mention of where the story started. And she couldn’t tell anyone because it wasn’t actually supposed to have been hers to tell.

“I’m fired.” It didn’t compute.

“Of course. I don’t say things I don’t mean. Now get out.”

She eyed Mr. Donner, the man that she’d thought she was going to have a lot of respect for, the man she’d envisioned thanking in the future for all he’d taught her. For taking her under his wing and making her the exceptional journalist that she was. Okay she knew that was crap but she had hoped that her initial ‘feeling’ about him had been wrong. Besides she figured that even if he wasn’t more than a pompous figurehead, there had to be some people at the paper that she could learn from. To date, unfortunately, she’d only been patted on the head and given the lame jobs. Still, she’d actually started to believe that this work might be her calling. Well, until she’d taken it into her head to run with a tip she’d been given. It hadn’t really been meant for her but since Tom hadn’t been at his desk when his phone kept ringing and ringing, she’d figured it had been hers to run with since she’d been the one to answer it. She had planned to show them what she could do and that would have been the start to her amazing career.

Another damn dream dashed.

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Genre – Suspense

Rating – PG13

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Website http://www.maggiethom.com/