Guest Author CJ West

CMash December 15, 2012 Leave a Comment

Today I have the distinct honor to introduce you to a very busy, talented and author of 7 novels, as he kicks off his virtual tour with Partners In Crime Tours. Please help me give a warm welcome to Mr. CJ West!!!!

CJ WEST

C.J. West is the author of seven suspense novels including The End of Marking Time and Sin and Vengeance, which was optioned into development for film by Beantown Productions, LLC (screenplay by Marla Cukor).
Connect with CJ at his website, blog and Facebook.

GUEST POST

Does This Label Make Me Look Sexy?

My research for Dinner At Deadman’s took me to some places that might make you feel queasy and to some estate sales where people love to browse, but some can’t bring themselves to buy because they feel icky buying something from a dead person. My hero, Lorado Martin, has made a hobby out of spotting the treasure in heaps of old junk and he’s pretty darned good at it in real life, too.

A great example is the brown jacket in my Facebook profile pic. It’s my favorite jacket and I wear it often to conferences and signings. It feels lucky after I’ve worn it so much. You’ll have to judge if it’s sexy or not. My brother Lorado (yes my protagonist is created based on my brother), bought that same jacket from a charity called GiftsToGive. Same color. Same label. Much bigger size! But the price was the big difference. I paid $70. He paid $3.

That started me thinking about how much we pay to feel sexy. The only difference between my jacket and his is the store where it was purchased.

My sneakers are another example. I paid about $30. Kids spend a hundred for the cool brand of sneakers so they can fit in on the playground. Luckily at my age I know I’m cool. I don’t need the right pair of sneakers to tell me so. That doesn’t stop the kids (and even some grown women) from scoffing at the label on mine.

Now I’m going to tell you a secret that could crash the American economy. So keep this to yourself… My brother sells ladies handbags for twenty-five cents. They open at the top. They zipper. And they have a strap to make it easy to carry things around. Still, my daughters both have bags that cost $300 and scream status. (Thanks to their mother. I’d never spend that much money on something so frivolous.)

So why do we spend so much money on things when we don’t need to? According to The Economist, it’s all about sex.

I wonder if we’ll ever evolve to a world where labels don’t make us special. Where frugality reigns and men select women who buy a $10 bag instead of wasting $300. Wouldn’t that be a lifelong recipe for happiness? Men continually complain about how much money their wives spend. Why not pick one who is frugal from the beginning?

Ladies, would you be caught dead with a twenty-five cent handbag? Or would it make you feel smarter than the average mom?

ABOUT THE BOOK

Lorado Martin has loved junk since his grandparents took him bottle digging in the backwoods of New England when he was a boy. The search for antiques and collectibles led him to a unique hobby: digging through the estates of the newly deceased, arranging the sale of goods for the heirs, and keeping the leftovers for himself.

To make a living he builds and maintains housing for recovering addicts and along the way he’s employed a number of his clients. The men wrestle with the siren call of drugs and teach Lorado about the difficult struggle to stay clean one day at a time.

When these two worlds come together, Lorado learns that not every elderly person dies of natural causes and that some estates are sold to benefit a killer. His latest project hits close to home. A woman he’s known since childhood haunts him from a fresh grave. Her grandson, an affable addict who has fallen off the wagon, stands to inherit a considerable sum whether he deserves it or not.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One
February 17th. Nineteen degrees on a Friday night and I was tucked in a dead lady’s bed trying to convince myself the pressure in my gut wasn’t worth risking the cold oak and then the bathroom tiles. Sound miserable? Not for me. I wasn’t thinking about the punk heir or how silly I looked in a pink comforter covered with big red roses. I was a pig, belly deep in mud. No part of me wanted to move because I’d been treasure hunting all day. Everything was sore, especially my right elbow, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
You’re probably laughing. Picturing a fat guy in a pink blanket who fancied himself a pirate. I was no swashbuckler. Unwanted treasure was my specialty. New England might not have had gold or oil, but it was packed with loot.My ancestors were either cowards or laggards. They landed on the Mayflower and walked inland far enough to get away from the Atlantic storm surge, but not so far they couldn’t run back to the boat if the Indians attacked. I couldn’t run back. I could walk if I lost a few pounds. Okay, probably not.
Every winter New Englanders dreamed of moving to Florida or South Carolina. Adventurous souls picked some island the rest of us had never heard of like Turks and Caicos. Not me. The South Coast was exactly where I belonged. New Bedford was the whaling capital of the world. Every old geezer who croaked had some scrimshaw or an oil lamp or something that had been around a few hundred years.In the old days people had a bottle dump at the back corner of the foundation. Old timers scoured the woods and picked through old homesteads that had rotted into the ground. My grandparents took me along sometimes. They built tiers of wooden shelves in their cellar, a spooky mildew-coated place that had one of the last stone foundations built in the area. They collected thousands of bottles from two-toned brown jugs to tiny blue medicine bottles. One day I found a Fairbanks & Beard soda bottle and my grandfather gave me ten bucks for it. Ten bucks for something I dug out of the ground! I was hooked.I didn’t wait for houses to fall down and their foundations to fill with leaves like my grandparents did. Yuppie kids called me even before their last parent was buried. They saw a house worth two hundred thousand, some cash, and investments. They browsed the jewelry and they were done. The rest of the stuff was just in the way. A bunch of junk that kept them from the big score. They wanted everything gone so buyers could start looking at the house.That was my domain. All the stuff they didn’t want. Some of it was worth a whole lot more than that old F & B bottle with the green glass and jagged top. My last thirty years were dedicated to learning the difference.
At forty miles per hour I could spot a barrel of Lincoln Logs in somebody’s trash and slam the brakes in time to swing around and pick them out before the garbage truck got there. Put me in an old lady’s house and I was in heaven.Everyone had some useless crap that never should have been made in the first place. Once that was gone, every single thing left was useful to somebody. The trick was matching them up. Every fork, can opener, end table, and cheesy 1970’s lamp was dying to make someone happy.In about a week I could have a house open for sale. Posted on Craigslist. In the Standard Times classifieds. A cardboard sign on every main road.

The people would fill the place shoulder to shoulder. Browsing. Smiling and sharing reminders of their childhood. Kids would pick up useless junk and laugh. An hour later an old lady would buy the very same piece. Young and old alike were struck with a combination of nostalgia and bargain fever, but every person who walked through the door had one problem. They were all trying to forget someone died in that house not long ago.
Death never bothered me much.

There’s nothing wrong with dead stuff. Road kill could make a great hat if the bumper didn’t poke a hole in the pelt. It was awful hard to mess up a raccoon’s tail with a car and those rings looked pisser dangling down the back of your neck. When you were seventeen anyway. Or maybe twenty. The raccoon didn’t care. He was gone.
People were different. They knew death was coming and didn’t want to entertain the thought any longer than necessary. Sometimes they got angry when they died. Sometimes I could feel it. That night working in Mrs. Newbury’s house I swore the old lady was watching me. And she wasn’t happy about me rummaging through her stuff.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know I was coming. My parents had known her a long time. They went to school together back when Rochester kids went to New Bedford High. Decades ago.

A year ago she’d hired me to replace her kitchen cabinets. And she walked me through the house when I was done. Showed me her treasures. Pieces of scrimshaw squirreled away in the attic. Plates I had to Google to find out what they were worth. Mrs. Newbury had some great stuff. She knew her grandson, Newb, wouldn’t appreciate any of it. Her telling me was a sign she wanted me to make sure the valuable pieces weren’t thrown away.
Sometime between showing me her house and dying, she’d gotten angry and decided to take it out on my stomach. Maybe I was sleeping on Mr. Newbury’s side of the bed, but that shouldn’t have mattered. They were together in Heaven. Or at least they should have been.

Maybe she’d changed her mind about me selling her stuff to strangers. The closet cramped with fifty years of floral dresses and skirts. Two bureaus overflowing with scarves and socks and underwear. Boxes, purses, and shoe trees pressed into every available space. The clutter slumped against the walls parted just enough to reveal the oak flooring along the weaving path Mrs. Newbury followed to the bathroom. The night light’s glow gleamed off those precious few boards and my gaze fell there as I struggled to sleep in spite of being haunted.

Old people got out of bed to pee a lot. Well, they couldn’t pee a lot, that’s why they got up so often. Anyway, the thing they feared most was a fall at night when no one could hear them and come to help. If you’d seen my big blue coffee cup you’d know I needed to get up a time or two myself. And at three hundred twenty pounds, when I fell there was damage. So I left the night light on even though I wasn’t keen on anyone seeing me wrapped in the old lady’s pink comforter. I’d have been under the pink sheets and rose-patterned blankets, too, if I wasn’t so worried about bedbugs. The look wouldn’t have changed. Only the temperature.

It’d be just like Roxie to swing by for a little action and snap a picture from the doorway. She was a whiz with the Internet. She’d email it to all our friends before I could get dressed and chase her home.
Giving her a key to job sites was a risk, but who knows what’d happen in those old neighborhoods. Junkies read the obits. They’d hack out every length of copper from the cellar if they thought no one was home. If they caught me sleeping and roughed me up, maybe she’d call the cops and save my ass. More likely she’d come by to give me a piece of hers. Sadly, three days after Valentine’s my stomach hurt so much I hoped she wouldn’t come.

My gut rumbled and I pulled the comforter tighter. Damned unromantic.
Wind whistled against the toothless exterior and found its way in through gaps around the windows. I’d pitched the kid a siding and window replacement job, but the only thing the vulture wanted was his grandmother’s place gone in a rush. Forsythia slapped the shingles and tickled the glass. The bushes could have been cut back enough in a day so you could see the street from the windows. The briars and scrub out back mowed with a brush cutter in three hours. Two hundred bucks to triple the yard and jack up the sale price at least three times that. No deal. No cash was going into grandma’s house. He wanted me to wring out every penny. Every cent he could get without lifting a finger or spending a dime.

Thankless cheapskate I worked for. Even worse when he worked for me.
A knot in my gut twisted so tight I forgot my annoyance with the kid.

The cramps forced me to wrestle out of the comforter and lumber down the path, hunched over in the dark, cradling my gut in my arms. On my second step, something jabbed the meat of my right foot. It pressed in so deeply, I hopped and crashed my right shoulder into the doorframe.
I swiped at the sole of my foot, feeling for blood, expecting a staple or a tack. A bit of broken plastic was all I found. It bounced into a corner for me to step on again later. The jostling hurt so much I thought my stomach was going to erupt horizontally. I wished I’d just kept walking and let the plastic burrow its way in. It would have been a lot less painful.

Four hobbled steps carried me through the hall into a bathroom that had been designed for tiny old people. Her toilet was wedged in a corner between the closet and the window. I leaned against the wall. Ignored the ceramic toilet paper dispenser digging into my knee. The cold air rushing through the window. Balanced there in the dark, the pain radiated lower.

Giving birth had to feel like this. It hurt too much to push. It hurt too much not to push.

The contents of my bowels willed themselves free with a liquid rush that went on far longer than should have been humanly possible. Stuff I’d eaten days ago freed itself from my body in a torrent that released so much pressure it felt as good as any orgasm.

Then my entire body seized in a cramp that folded me in half.

Women complain about cramps like it’s the end of the world. If this was what having a period was like, I’d take back every menstrual joke I ever told.

Forty minutes later I was still sitting there with the seat jammed so firmly into my backside the impression wouldn’t fade for a week. I’ll spare you the details, but stuff kept squirting out of me until I swore my intestines were inside out, hanging down there in the bowl getting a rinse.

I hate doctors almost as much as I hate health plans and the government sponsored socialist crap that forced me to pay for something I didn’t want so some lowlife could get free healthcare. My right elbow had hurt for two years before that night and I hadn’t seen a doctor yet. I’d rather wake up wincing in pain than pay some rich boy two hundred bucks to talk with me for seven minutes.
That night it hurt so badly I might have called an ambulance if I could have gotten my pants back on. Might have driven myself in if I could have taken a step away from the porcelain throne, but I was tethered by unrelenting cramps and the fear of my insides splashing all over everything if I stood up.
I clutched my gut and leaned forward, praying that somehow the pain would pass and I’d make it back to bed. Sleep would set me right. Little did I know sleep was coming in a rush. A nasty cramp hunched me right over forward and my foot slipped.

The bolt of pain in my groin erased any memory of the cramps. Blinding, mind-erasing pain that only men experience. My arms shot down to catch myself on the seat and free my crushed testicle.

The toilet seat broke free under my weight and I leapfrogged forward. The sharp edge of the vanity creased my forehead. That was the last pain I felt that night. My vision faded like an old tube TV, closing in from the outside to a point of light. As I lost consciousness I had the distinct feeling the old woman was cackling with delight.

Purchase Links:

AMAZON link
Barnes & Noble link

GoodReads link

Follow CJ’s tour here where you can enter to win a copy of Dinner At Deadman’s.

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.
ADDENDUM
I do not have any affiliation with Amazon.com or
Barnes & Noble. I am an IndieBound affliate.
I am providing link(s) solely for visitors
that may be interested in purchasing this Book/EBook.

Giveaway, Guest Author, Showcase

Guest Author Stacy Green and Giveaway

CMash December 14, 2012 7 Comments

So many amazing authors and books, so little time. I’m sure a lot of you will agree with me. When I was contacted by today’s guest, and she explained to me about her charity, I wanted the chance to introduce her to you. Please help me welcome Ms. Stacy Green to our group!

STACY GREEN

Stacy Green is fascinated by the workings of the criminal mind and explores true crime on her popular Thriller Thursday posts at her blog, Turning the Page.

After earning her degree in journalism, Stacy worked in advertising before becoming a stay-at-home mom to her miracle child. She rediscovered her love of writing and wrote several articles for Women’s Edition Magazine of Cedar Rapids, profiling local businesses, before penning her first novel. Her debut novel, Into The Dark, is set in Las Vegas and features a heroine on the edge of disaster, a tormented villain, and the city’s infamous storm drains that house hundreds of homeless. Available November 30^th, Into the Dark may be purchased for Kindle, Nook, Ipad, Kobo and all other digital formats, and on paperback via Amazon.
Connect with Stacy at her website, Facebook, Twitter and Email:
Stacygreenauthor@gmail.com

GUEST POST

I’m very happy to be visiting Cheryl’s blog today. One of the themes in my debut novel, Into The Dark, is about moving on from the past. Both main characters–Emilie and Nathan–struggle with bad decisions made years before, and throughout the book, have to learn from the past in order to ultimately save Emilie’s life.

I didn’t set out with that theme. I just created two characters with littered pasts because I love tortured characters. It wasn’t until halfway through writing Into The Dark that I realized I was drawing on my own personal issues.

My past is nothing like Emilie or Nathan’s, and yet, there are a few major decisions I wish I could take back. Decisions I’ve regretted for years and allowed to affect my outlook on life. In the grand scheme of things, they aren’t huge issues. I chose to major in journalism and put my fiction writing aside, and because I didn’t love what I was doing, I didn’t focus on my career like I should have. That meant not getting the big-time job I was supposed to. Instead, I got married–a decision I don’t regret–the day after I graduated college and took a paltry job at a little paper. I quickly realized I hated reporting, but I’d backed myself into a corner. Years (and huge loans) of college education wasted–or so I thought.

I eventually ended up in advertising until I had my daughter in 2005 and decided to stay home with her–another decision I don’t regret. But I still carried the guilt for my past decisions and felt as though I’d failed everyone who expected me to “be somebody.”

It wasn’t until September 30^th, 2009 that I got my head out of my rear. I’d just dropped my daughter off at daycare for a few hours and was on my way home on a road I travel every day. A road just a few blocks from our house. I was texting and driving. I turned right onto the road, and just ahead was a bridge. I looked down at my phone, and when I looked back up, my Intrepid was about to hit the curved concrete sidewall of the bridge. I braced for impact and remember thinking, “we cannot afford this.” But instead of hitting the bridge and stopping, the car ramped up the curved side, flipped over, skidded across the road on its hood, and ended up facing the opposite direction.
Suddenly the car stops, and I’m hanging upside down, saved by my seatbelt. That’s when the panic hit. All I could think of was “get out, get out, you’re going to get hit.” Both front doors were crushed from the impact, so I had to crawl through the back and out the passenger door.

It wasn’t until I got out of the car and to the side of the road that I realized I’d never let go of my phone. Mercifully, I walked away with only bruises, but the car was totaled. Another round of guilt set in, because my stupidity had earned us a car payment to deal with.

But then I realized I could have died. And I’d wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself, feeling guilty, and not doing the one thing I’ve always been passionate about–writing. And life is simply too short to waste our time being miserable.

So I got serious about writing and my dreams of being published. The idea for Into The Dark had been in my head for a while, and I started the journey of writing it. And because writing what we know is natural, letting go of the past quickly became the theme of my book. It’s taken a long time, but I’ve learned not to live with regrets and to keep looking to the future. We are the only ones who can change our lives, and there’s no reason to wait until tomorrow to get started.

To celebrate the release of INTO THE DARK, I’m giving you THREE ways to win a $25 Amazon Gift Card! Any one of these options will get your name into the drawing, which runs from November 1^st until the end of my blog tour on January 30^th. (see details below)

ABOUT THE BOOK

A two-hundred-mile labyrinth of dark storm drains serves as a refuge for the delusional stalker who will go to any lengths to possess fragile, emotionally isolated Emilie Davis. To survive, Emilie will have to confront the secrets of her past she has kept locked away from everyone, including herself.
Emilie is a master escape artist—she’s fled a manipulative mother and a controlling ex-husband. But it’s impossible to evade a stalker who uses a bank robbery as a ruse to kidnap her. He’s still out there, hiding in the Las Vegas tunnels and dodging police. Emilie’s life careens out of control as her assailant continues his pursuit. She has nowhere to turn but to Nathan Madigan, the hostage negotiator who worked the robbery.
Nathan is haunted by his failure to protect a loved one fourteen years ago and dedicates his life to saving others. Determined to catch the lunatic hunting Emilie, he finds himself losing his professional detachment. He fears history is about to repeat itself if he cannot protect Emilie from the Taker’s obsession.

The police close in on the Taker’s identity as Nathan and Emilie grow closer to each other and to resolving the misery of their own pasts. At the height of The Taker’s madness, his attempt to replace someone he’s lost will either kill them all or set them free.
Purchase links: Amazon (PB) Amazon (EBook) B&N Muse

Read an excerpt:

Nathan peered through the chain link fence. “Is that it?”
“I didn’t even know this culvert was here.” Chris started to climb. “I drive over it every day, too.”
“That’s why they call them box culverts,” Johnson said from the other side of the fence. “You don’t see them unless you’re walking inside.”
“Why couldn’t we just cut this thing down?” Nathan huffed as he made the short trip up and over the wobbly chain link barrier. They were several blocks north of the raucous Freemont Street Experience and looking into the mouth of one of the storm drain entrances.
“Because no one in Metro wants to deal with the city officials over it,” Johnson said.
“Talk about spook central.” Nathan shined his light toward the culvert. Bathed in shadows, it stood silent and empty. A chill of foreboding washed over him.
“Watch yourselves.” Johnson led the way as the three men entered the culvert, weapons ready. “Anything could be lurking.”
Standing water covered the toes of Nathan’s boots. The air was thick with mildew. “Drain’s over there.” He shined his tactical light on the flood map. “To the right.”
The temperature dropped as they entered the large drain. Darkness engulfed them.
Chris’s whistle cut through the eerie stillness. “Wow. It’s a hell of a lot cooler in here. Place smells like feet, but I’ll take what I can get.”
Nathan shined his light on the walls. Colorful graffiti decorated the concrete. “Someone’s a talented artist.”
The darkness thickened with each step. The odor grew increasingly foul.
“Jesus, I can taste the stench in my mouth.” Chris gagged and spit into the dirty water.
Nathan didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to keep the contents of his stomach down and wondering how the people who lived in the tunnels stood the smell and the constant dangers. The drains provided relief from the sweltering desert heat, and free housing, but they were death traps. Large portions ran directly underneath the city streets and inhabitants risked carbon monoxide poisoning and the frequent threat of flooding. Growing up poor in North Las Vegas gave him a better perspective than many, but he couldn’t imagine having no other alternative than to live minute-by-minute.
“We shouldn’t run into any camps,” Johnson said. “They’re deeper in. One of the biggest is right under the Strip.”
“You know we aren’t going to find shit,” Chris choked out. “It’s too dark. Guy planned this for months. He knows his way around. We need to get out of here and check on Adam.”
“Medic called me when they got him to the hospital,” Johnson said. “He’s going into surgery. All we’d be doing right now is sitting around waiting. Still have to do our jobs, Holt.”
“He’s just a rookie. I should have been in front of him.”
“Stop,” Nathan said. “You followed protocol. That was a lucky shot.”
“Doesn’t make it right.”
Silence fell over the men as they moved farther into the stinking drain. Something hard crunched underneath Nathan’s boots. He nervously shined his light into the black water. Crawfish swam around his feet, probably on their way to the Las Vegas Wash. A mushy white glob looking suspiciously like used toilet paper floated by, and he focused his light away from the stream. Better not to know what he was stepping on.
A loud splash ahead brought all three to a halt.
“You hear that?” Johnson asked.
“Sounds big.” Chris stepped in front of Johnson and raised his Glock.
“Las Vegas SWAT,” Johnson shouted. “Identify yourself.”
Nothing.
“Maybe it was an animal,” Nathan said.
“That’s even worse than a junkie,” Chris said. “With my luck, Cujo’s
man-eating cousin will show up and give me rabies.”
“They have shots for that now.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
A second loud splash was followed by the distinct sound of footsteps plodding through the water.
“That’s no dog.” Chris sprinted after the runner with Nathan and Johnson closely following. The beams of their lights flashed haphazardly against the walls making the tunnel even more ominous.
A strange brightness glowed several yards ahead of them. Their quarry came into view. He was too short and stocky to be their man, but he could have information.

Stacy is hosting an incredible Charity giveaway. Here are the directions:

1) Go to the Darkly Fabulous Contest page on my blog and leave a note about which blog you heard of me at. Make sure you are logged in or have left your email address.

2) Donate to HELP of Southern Nevada. The INTO THE DARK Charity Blog Tour is the most important part of my promotion, because I’m trying to raise money for the homeless. You can go to HELP of Southern Nevada, the organization that aids the homeless featured in INTO THE DARK, and donate. Email me the receipt – all you’ve got to do is copy and paste proof of the order into the email. No personal information needed.

3) Email me your receipt of purchase of INTO THE DARK (personal info excluded) OR answer this question: in what state was the Taker born and raised? Email me your answer @ Stacygreenauthor@gmail.com

The homeless living in the storm drains of Las Vegas played a vital part in INTO THE DARK, and I want to give back. From November 1^st until February 28^th, participants will have several options to enter the raffle, including donating to HELP of Southern Nevada. The grand prize will be a $100 donation from me in the winner’s name to the homeless shelter of their choice.

Enter here for the INTO THE DARK Charity Raffle!

Giveaway, Winners

And the winner is…….

CMash December 13, 2012 Leave a Comment

…of Falling off the Wind by Richard Meibers

3 Anita Yancey Be a Public Follower of ‘CMASH Loves to Read’

An email has been sent to the winner and she has 48 hours to respond with her mailing address or another winner will be chosen. Thank you to those that entered.

2013 Challenges, Challenge

2013 Challenges

CMash December 13, 2012 1 Comment

shhhh…this is a very quiet post….especially since I said I was going to cut back this year, BUT, I just can’t resist. I am signing up for just a ~~couple~~ few more. I would try to sneek them in but I have to follow the rules and they say I have to post…so here goes.

Since it is obvious, the problem that I have, it only makes sense that I sign up for this one:

Hosted by Bev at My Reader’s Block

Some of us have a bit of a problem.

Some of us have a huge problem.

Cheryl from CMash Loves to Read and Gina from Hott Books are two such people. And they are the founding mothers of the Reading Challenge Addict Blog. Bev from My Reader’s Block is one with a HUGE problem and the current author and caretaker of the Blog. We each can stand proudly and say,

I am a Reading Challenge Addict.

So we are challenging each of you who can also say that you also are a Reading Challenge Addict.
There will be random prizes and recognition for those who are meeting their own expectations by completing the challenges they’ve entered.

How addicted are you? I don’t quite know yet what level I will sign up for until all of 2013 challenges have been posted.

Easy as Pie: 1-5 Challenges (Entered & Completed)
On the Roof: 6-10 Challenges (Entered & Completed)
In Flight: 11-15 Challenges (Entered & Completed)
Out of This World: 16+ Challenges (Entered & Completed)

Rules:

We’re not making this a difficult challenge, actually, it’s going to be very simple!

The newest edition of the challenge will begin on January 1 and end on December 31, 2013.
Write a starting post joining the challenge and outlining your challenges.
Track all of your challenge accomplishments – good & bad.
Stop by to join us in the mini-challenges, updates & extra giveaways throughout the year.
Comment like crazy and offer support for your fellow addicts.
Have FUN!

Easy, right? Who wants to be in on the fun? What else will be on offer? Random giveaways for participants to enter and unannounced special drawings for commenters on the site so be sure to leave your email address with your comment! Are you ready?

This reading challenge is hosted by Reading Challenge Addict. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.

The next one I failed miserably at in 2012, so until I get it right, will be signing up again. Plus I really like the button.

Hosted by Bev at My Reader’s Block

Last year I had several folks either discover this reading challenge late in the game or who enjoyed it so much that they asked me to host again. Just this week I’ve had requests from the color fans asking for another round. So, for your challenge reading pleasure, I will once again host The Color Coded Reading Challenge beginning January 2013. Since this is my third year in, I’ve loosened the categories up a bit–I will now accept any shade of the required colors.

Here are the rules:

*Read nine books in the following categories.

1. A book with “Blue” or any shade of Blue (Turquoise, Aquamarine, Navy, etc.) in the title.

2. A book with “Red” or any shade of Red (Scarlet, Crimson, Burgundy, etc.) in the title.

3. A book with “Yellow” or any shade of Yellow (Gold, Lemon, Maize, etc.)in the title.

4. A book with “Green” or any shade of Green (Emerald, Lime, Jade, etc.) in the title.

5. A book with “Brown” or any shade of Brown (Tan, Chocolate, Beige, etc.) in the title.

6. A book with “Black” or any shade of Black (Jet, Ebony, Charcoal, etc.) in the title.

7. A book with “White” or any shade of White (Ivory, Eggshell, Cream, etc.)in the title.

8. A book with any other color in the title (Purple, Orange, Silver, Pink, Magenta, etc.).

9. A book with a word that implies color (Rainbow, Polka-dot, Plaid, Paisley, Stripe, etc.).

* Any book read from January 1 through December 31, 2013 will count.

*Crossovers with other challenges are fine.

*Everyone who completes all nine categories will be entered in a year-end drawing for a book-related prize package.

*Please post about the challenge on your blog. Sign ups accepted until Nov 30, 2013.

*Please sign up using the Linky [at the host’s site]. Give your name & blog (Example: Bev @ My Reader’s Block) and use a direct link to your challenge post as your url. Please don’t connect to just your home page. Links to a list on GoodReads or other social media sites are also acceptable.

*Please use the Review Page to post review links and a final wrap-up post when you finish the challenge. (Review Page Link coming soon)

*No blog or GoodReads site? That’s okay. Post a comment [at the host’s site] to announce your entry into the challenge and when you have completed the challenge just post a comment at the review site with a list of your books.

This reading challenge is hosted by My Reader’s Block. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.

Want to join me? Just click on the link to sign up. I am sure there will be a few more.

Booking Thru Thursday, Meme, Thursday Memes

Booking Through Thursday

CMash December 13, 2012 Leave a Comment

http://btt2.wordpress.com

Today’s question:
So … you’ve just finished reading a book. For the sake of the discussion, we’ll say it was everything a book should be—engaging, entertaining, interesting, thought-provoking. The kind you want to gush over. The question is—do you immediately move on to your next book? Or do you take time to contemplate this writerly masterpiece and all its associated thoughts/emotions/ideas for a while first?

My thoughts:
What a great question! Don’t you think?

I have 2 responses since my reading habits have changed since I became active in this community of book bloggers. Before blogging, I would have gone instantly onto the next book. But for the past 3+ years, I don’t and the reason is reviews.

I just finished reading Goodnight, Brian by Steven Manchester a 5+ emotional read. This story will stay with me for a very long time as did his other novel Twelve Months. Since I write my review of a book before starting another, I would say that I do take time comtemplating the read, pulling my thoughts together, thinking about it’s pro and cons, if any and what I felt while reading it. However, when I’m almost done with the book, I may start thinking what book I should read next. But sometimes, a book touches me so deeply, like Goodnight, Brian did, that I have to take a couple of days before picking up another because the next book has to be just as good. I wrote my review yesterday and still can’t decide what my next read will be.

What about you? Do you rush and start the next book because there is so little time and oh so many books or do you take your time?

Guest Author, Partners In Crime Tours, Showcase

Guest Author Jon Land and Giveaway

CMash December 12, 2012 5 Comments

I have the distinct honor to introduce you to the very busy, multi talented author and fellow Rhode Islander, as he kicks off his virtual tour with Partners In Crime Tours. I ask, if you would please assist me, in giving Mr. Jon Land a very warm welcome to CMash Reads!

JON LAND

Jon Land is the critically acclaimed author of 32 books, including the bestselling series featuring Texas Ranger Caitlin Strong that includes STRONG ENOUGH TO DIE, STRONG JUSTICE, STRONG AT THE BREAK, STRONG VENGEANCE (July 2012) and STRONG RAIN FALLING (August 2013). He has more recently brought his long-time series hero Blaine McCracken back to the page in PANDORA’S TEMPLE (November 2012). He lives in Providence, Rhode Island.

Websites & Links: www.jonlandbooks.com

ABOUT THE BOOK

What if Pandora’s box was real. That’s the question facing Former Special Forces commando and rogue agent Blaine McCracken who returns from a 15-year absence from the page in his tenth adventure.

McCracken has never been shy about answering the call, and this time it comes in the aftermath of deepwater oilrig disaster that claims the life of a one-time mem-ber of his commando unit. The remnants of the rig and its missing crew lead him to the inescapable conclusion that one of the most mysterious and deadly forces in the Universe is to blame—dark matter, both a limitless source of potential energy and a weapon with unimaginable destructive capabilities.

Joining forces again with his trusty sidekick Johnny Wareagle, McCracken races to stop both an all-powerful energy magnate and the leader of a Japanese dooms-day cult from finding the dark matter they seek for entirely different, yet equally dangerous, reasons. Ultimately, that race will take him not only across the world, but also across time and history to the birth of an ancient legend that may not have been a legend at all. The truth lies 4,000 years in the past and the construction of the greatest structure known to man at the time:

Pandora’s Temple, built to safeguard the most powerful weapon man would ever know.

Now, with that very weapon having resurfaced, McCracken’s only hope to save the world is to find the temple, the very existence of which is shrouded in mystery and long lost to myth. Along the way, he and Johnny Wareagle find themselves up against Mexican drug gangs, killer robots, an army of professional assassins, and a legendary sea monster before reaching a mountaintop fortress where the fi-nal battle to preserve mankind will be fought.

The hero of nine previous bestselling thrillers, McCracken is used to the odds be-ing stacked against him, but this time the stakes have never been higher.
Watch for my review in the near future.

Read an excerpt:

The Mediterranean Sea, 2008“It would help, sir, if I knew what we were looking for,” Captain John J. Hightower of the Aurora said to the stranger he’d picked up on the island of Crete.

The stranger remained poised by the research ship’s deck rail, gazing out into the turbulent seas beyond. His long gray hair, dangling well past his shoulders in tangles and ringlets, was damp with sea spray, left to the whims of the wind.

“Sir?” Hightower prodded again.

The stranger finally turned, chuckling. “You called me sir. That’s funny.”

“I was told you were a captain,” said Hightower

“In name only, my friend.”

“If I’m your friend,” Hightower said, “you should be able to tell me what’s so important that our current mission was scrapped to pick you up.”

Beyond them, the residue of a storm from the previous night kept the seas choppy with occasional frothy swells that rocked the Aurora even as she battled the stiff winds to keep her speed steady. Gray-black clouds swept across the sky, colored silver at the tips where the sun pushed itself forward enough to break through the thinner patches. Before long, Hightower could tell, those rays would win the battle to leave the day clear and bright with the seas growing calm. But that was hardly the case now.

“I like your name,” came the stranger’s airy response. Beneath the orange life jacket, he wore a Grateful Dead tie dye t-shirt and old leather vest that was fraying at the edges and missing all three of its buttons. So faded that the sun made it look gray in some patches and white in others. His eyes, a bit sleepy and almost drunken, had a playful glint about them. “I like anything with the word ‘high.’ You should rethink your policy about no smoking aboard the ship, if it’s for medicinal purposes only.”

“I will, if you explain what we’re looking for out here.”

“Out here” was the Mediterranean Sea where it looped around Greece’s ancient, rocky southern coastline. For four straight days now, the Aurora had been mapping the sea floor in detailed grids in search of something of unknown size, composition and origin; or, at least, known only by the man Hightower had mistakenly thought was a captain by rank. Hightower’s ship was a hydrographic survey vessel. At nearly thirty meters in length with a top speed of just under twenty-five knots, the Aurora had been commissioned just the previous year to fashion nautical charts to ensure safe navigation by military and civilian shipping, tasked with conducting seismic surveys of the seabed and underlying geology. A few times since her commission, the Aurora and her eight-person crew had been re-tasked for other forms of oceanographic research, but her high tech air cannons, capable of generating high-pressure shock waves to map the strata of the seabed, made her much more fit for more traditional assignments.

“How about I give you a hint?” the stranger said to Hightower. “It’s big.”

“How about I venture a guess?”

“Take your best shot, dude.”

“I know a military mission when I see one. I think you’re looking for a weapon.”

“Warm.”

“Something stuck in a ship or submarine. Maybe even a sunken wreck from years, even centuries ago.”

“Cold,” the man Hightower knew only as “Captain” told him. “Well, except for the centuries ago part. That’s blazing hot.”

Hightower pursed his lips, frustration getting the better of him. “So are we looking for a weapon or not?”

“Another hint, Captain High: only the most powerful ever known to man,” the stranger said with a wink. “A game changer of epic proportions for whoever finds it. Gotta make sure the bad guys don’t manage that before we do. Hey, did you know marijuana’s been approved to treat motion sickness?”

Hightower could only shake his head. “Look, I might not know exactly you’re looking for, but whatever it is, it’s not here. You’ve got us retracing our own steps, running hydrographs in areas we’ve already covered. Nothing ‘big,’ as you describe it, is down there.”

“I beg to differ, el Capitan.”

“Our depth sounders have picked up nothing, the underwater cameras we launched have picked up nothing, the ROVS have picked up nothing.”

“It’s there,” the stranger said with strange assurance, holding his thumb and index finger together against his lips as if smoking an imaginary joint.

“Where?”

“We’re missing something, el Capitan. When I figure out what it is, I’ll let you know.”

Before Hightower could respond, the seas shook violently. On deck it felt as if something had tried to suck the ship underwater, only to spit it up again. Then a rumbling continued, thrashing the Aurora from side to side like a toy boat in a bathtub. Hightower finally recovered his breath just as the rumbling ceased, leaving an eerie calm over the sea suddenly devoid of waves and wind for the first time that morning.

“This can’t be good,” said the stranger, tightening the straps on his life vest.

* * *

The ship’s pilot, a young, thick-haired Greek named Papadopoulos, looked up from the nest of LED readouts and computer-operated controls on the panel before him, as Hightower entered the bridge.

“Captain,” he said wide-eyed, his voice high and almost screeching, “seismic centers in Ankara, Cairo and Athens are all reporting a sub-sea earthquake measuring just over six on the scale.”

“What’s the epi?”

“Forty miles northeast of Crete and thirty from our current position,” Papadopoulos said anxiously, a patch of hair dropping over his forehead.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Hightower.

“Tsunami warning is high,” Papadopoulos continued, even as Hightower formed the thought himself.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, we are in for the ride of our lives!” blared the stranger, pulling on the tabs that inflated his life vest with a soft popping sound. “If I sound excited it’s ‘cause I’m terrified, dudes!”

“Bring us about,” the captain ordered. “Hard back to the Port of Piraeus at all the speed you can muster.”

“Yes, sir!”

Suddenly the bank of screens depicting the seafloor in a quarter mile radius directly beneath them sprang to life. Readings flew across accompanying monitors, orientations and graphic depictions of whatever the Aurora’s hydrographic equipment and underwater cameras had located appearing in real time before Hightower’s already wide eyes.

“What the hell is—“

“Found it!” said the stranger before the ship’s captain could finish.

“Found what?” followed Hightower immediately. “This is impossible. We’ve already been over this area. There was nothing down there.”

“Earthquake must’ve changed that in a big way, el Capitan. I hope you’re recording all this.”

“There’s nothing to record. It’s a blip, an echo, a mistake.”

“Or exactly what I came out here to find. Big as life to prove all the doubters wrong.”

“Doubters?”

“Of the impossible.”

“That’s what you brought us out here for, a fool’s errand?”

“Not anymore.”

The stranger watched as a central screen mounted beneath the others continued to form a shape massive in scale, an animated depiction extrapolated from all the data being processed in real time.

“Wait a minute, is that a . . . It looks like— My God, it’s some kind of structure!“

“You bet!”

“Intact at that depth? Impossible! No, this is all wrong.”

“Hardly, el Capitan.”

“Check the readouts, sir. According to the depth gauge, your structure’s located five hundred feet beneath the seafloor. Where I come from, they call that impos—“

Hightower’s thought ended when the Aurora seemed to buckle, as if it had hit a roller coaster-like dip in the sea. The sensation was eerily akin to floating, the entire ship in the midst of an out-of-body experience, leaving Hightower feeling weightless and light-headed.

“Better fasten your seatbelts, dudes,” said the stranger, eyes fastened through the bridge windows at something that looked like a waterfall pluming on the ship’s aft side.

Hightower had been at sea often and long enough to know this to be a gentle illusion belying something much more vast and terrible: in this case, a giant wave of froth that gained height as it crystallized in shape. It was accompanied by a thrashing sound that shook the Aurora as it built in volume and pitch, felt by the bridge’s occupants at their very cores like needles digging into their spines.

“Hard about!” Hightower ordered Papadopoulos. “Steer us into it!”

It was, he knew, the ship’s only chance for survival, or would have been, had the next moments not shown the great wave turning the world dark as it reared up before them. The Aurora suddenly seemed to lift into the air, climbing halfway up the height of the monster wave from a calm sea that had begun to churn mercilessly in an instant. A vast black shadow enveloped the ship in the same moment intense pressure pinned the occupants of the bridge to their chairs or left them feeling as if their feet were glued to the floor. Then there was nothing but an airless abyss dragging darkness behind it.

“Far out, man!” Hightower heard the stranger blare in the last moment before the void claimed him.

BOOK DETAILS:
Genre: Thriller
Published by: Open Road Integrated Media
Publication Date: November 20, 2012
Number of Pages: 390
Purchase links: Amazon B&N IndieBound

Follow Jon’s tour here and enter to win a copy of Pandora’s Temple

THANKS TO AUTHOR, JON LAND, FOR THIS AMAZING GIVEAWAY:
Mr. Land will be giving away 1 ebook set of his McCracken
titles published through Open Road Media.
THE OMEGA COMMAND
THE ALPHA DECEPTION
THE GAMMA OPTION
THE OMICRON LEGION
THE VENGEANCE OF THE TAU
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Guest Author, Showcase, WOW Tours

Guest Authors Hollye Dexter and Amy Ferris

CMash December 11, 2012 1 Comment

If you are a visitor here at CMash Reads, then you know that Jodi, from WOW! Women On Writing, has introduced us to many amazing female writers. And today, we are in for a special treat, we are going to meet 2 authors. So without further ado, Ms. Hollye Dexter and Amy Ferris!!

HOLLYE DEXTER AMY FERRIS

About the Co-Editors:

Hollye Dexter recently completed a second memoir, What Doesn’t Kill You. Her essays have been published in anthologies (Chicken Soup For the Soul, Answered Prayers, and Character Consciousness) and in many online publications. She writes regularly for iPinion Syndicate and AOL Patch News. A singer/songwriter with four albums out, she also founded the award-winning nonprofit Art and Soul, running workshops for teenagers in the foster care system. In 2007 she received the Agape Spirit award from Dr. Michael Beckwith (from The Secret) for her work with at-risk youth. Together, with Amy Ferris she teaches writing workshops, helping others to find their authentic voices. She is on staff for the San Miguel Writer’s Conference and a visiting author at UCLA extension. She lives in Southern California with her husband and three children, where she hikes, plays music and blogs about living an authentic life at www.hollyedexter.blogspot.com

Amy Ferris is an author, editor, screenwriter and playwright. Her memoir, Marrying George Clooney, Confessions From a Midlife Crisis (Seal Press) is off-broadway bound, CAP21 Theater Company, March 2012. She has contributed to numerous anthologies, and has written everything from Young Adult novels to movies and films. She co-wrote Funny Valentines (Julie Dash, Director), and Mr. Wonderful (Anthony Minghella, Director). Funny Valentines was nominated for a Best Screenplay award, and numerous BET awards. She co-created and co-edited the first ever “all women’s issue” of Living Buddhism magazine. She serves on the Executive Board of Directors at The Pages & Places Literary Festival, Peters Valley Arts, Education and Craft Center, and is on the Advisory Board of The Women’s Media Center. She is on faculty at The San Miguel de Allende Writers Conference. She is a visiting teacher at the UCLA Writers Workshop (extension). She contributes regularly to iPinion Syndicate. Her number one goal, desire, dream: Is that all women awaken to their greatness. You can find her blogging in the middle of the night at www.marryinggeorgeclooney.com. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband, Ken.

ABOUT THE BOOK

In Dancing at the Shame Prom: Sharing the Stories That Kept Us Small (September 18, 2012, Seal Press), editors Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter encourage readers to confront this powerful emotion head-on. They gather together 27 gifted and talented writers who reveal, explore, and embrace the root of their shame, in the process demonstrating the strength that comes from defeating their demons.

In a brilliant display of bravery, these writers share their darkest fears, offer up their most vulnerable moments, and reveal jaw-dropping secrets. Journalist Nina Burleigh discusses the shame she felt at being coerced into posing for “artsy” naked photos in “Year of the Rat.” In “Playing Dead Under the Family Tree,” Monica Holloway shows how her husband’s infidelity initially isolates her with the shame of being alone. Meredith Resnick’s story “Original Bra” weaves together her complicated feelings about body image with her quest to buy her first bra. From spilling long forbidden secrets to revealing their innermost faults, these authors openly share poignant and life-changing moments of humiliation, embarrassment, and despair, along with the wisdom they learned from letting go of the shame that’s been weighing them down.

Freeing, provocative, and audacious, Dancing at the Shame Prom is about divulging the secrets that have made you feel small so that you can stand up straight, let the shame go, and finally—decisively—move on with your life.
Watch for my review in the near future.

THANKS TO CO-EDITORS, HOLLYE DEXTER & AMY FERRIS,
I HAVE ONE COPY OF THIS BOOK TO GIVE AWAY
PRINT-U.S. AND CANADA RESIDENTS OR EBOOK-OPEN TO ALL

CLICK HERE TO BRING YOU TO
THE GIVEAWAY ENTRY PAGE

DISCLAIMER
I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me,
in exchange for my honest review.
No items that I receive
are ever sold…they are kept by me,
or given to family and/or friends.

Author, Giveaway, WOW

GIVEAWAY ENTRY “DANCING AT THE SHAME PROM” by Hollye Dexter and Amy Ferris ENDED

CMash December 11, 2012 12 Comments

DECEMBER 11th to DECEMBER 26th, 2012

DANCING AT THE SHAME PROM
by HOLLYE DEXTER AND AMY FERRIS

SYNOPSIS:

Whether it was the one-night stand you always regretted, the family secret you never revealed, or the emotional abuse you endured in silence, there are some things you are so ashamed of you keep them hidden for a lifetime. Shame can hold you back from what you love, diminish your sense of self-worth, and prevent you from fully being who you are. But what happens when you finally relent and share that secret burden?
In Dancing at the Shame Prom: Sharing the Stories That Kept Us Small (September 18, 2012, Seal Press), editors Amy Ferris and Hollye Dexter encourage readers to confront this powerful emotion head-on. They gather together 27 gifted and talented writers who reveal, explore, and embrace the root of their shame, in the process demonstrating the strength that comes from defeating their demons.
In a brilliant display of bravery, these writers share their darkest fears, offer up their most vulnerable moments, and reveal jaw-dropping secrets. Journalist Nina Burleigh discusses the shame she felt at being coerced into posing for “artsy” naked photos in “Year of the Rat.” In “Playing Dead Under the Family Tree,” Monica Holloway shows how her husband’s infidelity initially isolates her with the shame of being alone. Meredith Resnick’s story “Original Bra” weaves together her complicated feelings about body image with her quest to buy her first bra. From spilling long forbidden secrets to revealing their innermost faults, these authors openly share poignant and life-changing moments of humiliation, embarrassment, and despair, along with the wisdom they learned from letting go of the shame that’s been weighing them down.
Freeing, provocative, and audacious, Dancing at the Shame Prom is about divulging the secrets that have made you feel small so that you can stand up straight, let the shame go, and finally—decisively—move on with your life.

THANKS TO AUTHORS, HOLLYE DEXTER and AMY FERRIS

I HAVE ONE ( 1 ) COPY OF THIS
BOOK TO GIVE AWAY.
HERE IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO WIN.

*USE THE RAFFLECOPTER FORM BELOW
IN ORDER TO BE INCLUDED IN THE GIVEAWAY*
BE SURE TO INCLUDE YOUR EMAIL

ADDRESS IN THE RAFFLECOPTER FORM
SO THAT I CAN CONTACT YOU IF YOU WIN
*LEAVE COMMENT: FROM READING THE SYNOPSIS,
HAVE YOU BEEN ABLE TO LET A “SHAME” GO?*

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*or EBOOK-OPEN TO ALL*
*NO P.O. BOXES*

**HONOR SYSTEM**
ONE WINNING BOOK PER HOUSEHOLD
PLEASE NOTIFY ME IF YOU HAVE
WON THIS BOOK FROM ANOTHER
SITE, SO THAT SOMEONE ELSE MAY
HAVE THE CHANCE TO WIN
AND READ THIS BOOK.
THANK YOU.

*GIVEAWAY ENDS DECEMBER 26th AT 6PM EST*

WINNER WILL BE CHOSEN BY RAFFLECOPTER AND NOTIFIED
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Giveaway copies are supplied and shipped to winners via publisher,
the giveaway on behalf of the
above. I received a copy of this book, at no charge to me, in
exchange for my honest review. No items that I receive are
ever sold…they are kept by me, or given to family and/or friends.

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