tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19399876683257452262024-03-13T09:48:06.637-07:00Elucidate PublishingIndie publishing company. Home of Write The Light In.LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-21681041345714740362017-11-14T10:04:00.000-08:002017-11-14T10:04:05.928-08:00TriangleI'm somewhat involved with PAD this year (Poem A Day through Writer's Digest), and by somewhat, I mean I have the first three prompts done, out of 14 posted. Yes, I'm bit behind. Nothing unusual. The catch up game is terribly familiar and I've learned to be pretty good at it.<br /><br />Anyway, the day 3 prompt is Triangle.<br /><br />Here it is, and the story behind it follows.<br />
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Although originally meant to be song lyrics for a novel in progress, it took another turn last night and this morning after a minor panic attack yesterday. So, a double entendre here. It refers to a memory of a person, but also to a panic attack, using personification.<br /><br />The beauty of writing it out is that as I wrote, I realized why I work so hard at not being too easily excited. Excitement means extra adrenaline. Extra adrenaline tends to lead to panic attacks. It's not great poetry. It doesn't have to be. It's about the expression, the release, the self-exploration.<br /><br />Are you journaling yet? You can't find the light until you acknowledge the dark. Write it out and keep climbing. <3 </div>
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<br />LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-86641210390021296552017-10-03T08:30:00.002-07:002017-10-03T08:30:57.426-07:00White Iris<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was accused of being fragile the other day.</span><br />
Obviously, this person does not know me. She made the assumption based only on a couple of my comments on social media. In my mind, I know I should blow that off entirely, based on the fact that she has no clue who I am or what I've been through. I know I am not fragile. I know I have been through things she couldn't imagine dealing with and still coming out mostly unscathed. I know I have learned plenty from all of those challenges and scares and sometimes soul-wrenching times. I know this. She does not.<br />
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It's easy to call someone names somewhat anonymously, even easier when you know nothing about that person and they clearly do not matter you in the least. Easy. And so very wrong.<br />
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The thing is: Sometimes I do feel very fragile. <br />
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I feel fragile after events such as yesterday when so many innocent people are simply wiped out by hate. It's senseless. It's scary. It reminds us of our fleeting mortality. It makes us wonder how our loved ones would cope if it was us. It makes us, if we're human at all, so very sad for those lost who had so much left to do and for their loved ones who will hurt forever.<br />
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I feel fragile when I get hit after hit while trying so hard to build my health up, or while trying to build my career up.<br />
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I feel fragile when, after all of the strides I've made against my social phobia, I have a set back and want to hide in my house again. My last big set back was a year ago at a book event. That same event is coming up very soon and it's kicking those feelings right back in again. I don't want to go. I want to hide in my house or play in my garden and ignore the fact that half of my job is to market my own work.<br />
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Yes, I feel fragile now and then. The thing is, while I might FEEL fragile at times, I am not fragile.<br />
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I am not.<br />
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Yesterday after dwelling on the event longer than I should have, I finally stepped away from my desk, away from the news, and dug into deep cleaning my house. I clean when I'm mad. I also clean when I'm upset. It's my way of bringing some control and order back into my world that feels too chaotic and unsettled than I want to deal with. I turned on my music, loud since no one else was here, absorbed myself in the beautiful music and lyrics, and made one of the places in my house organized, spit-shined, and pretty to look at. Today I will do more of that.<br />
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I am fighting my third virus in four weeks and my energy is low, but last night I re-started my system cleansing and healthy habits. Taking control as much as I can, although I can't control the viruses my system can't fight off.<br />
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Yesterday, I could not write. I was far too distracted and distressed, first by the nasty comments that were so fully unnecessary (not only am I and others who agreed with me fragile, apparently, but we are part of the problem by being military related and for refusing to allow victimhood), and then by the tragic, senseless murder of so many beautiful souls out enjoying music they love and having a nice time. I couldn't write yesterday.<br />
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Today, I am writing, starting right here. It's not easy to write this. It won't be easy to go on about my business and work on a story. But I'm not fragile and this is what I do. I refuse to give in. I refuse to give up. Writing and music have pulled me through a heck of a lot over a lot of years, and they will again.<br />
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Last night before bed, I even responded on that post again. I shared a music video: Hank Jr.'s "I'm For Love" with the line "if you don't like it, can't you just let it pass..." One of those who had been debating against my stance jumped in and liked the video and joked about it and you know what? That felt a whole letter better than leaving it as it was. Now, she wasn't the one making those comments. But I can now let that go and move along.<br />
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Back in May, I took photos of the beautiful white Iris I'd planted the fall before in my flag garden. Later that day, it rained. Hard. It rained hard enough to flood part of the yard.<br />
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Yes, I was concerned about my white Iris in gorgeous full bloom. I didn't want them to fade before their time. I wanted to enjoy them as long as possible.<br />
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After the rain, I had to go back out and check on them. You know what they looked like after such a deluge? They looked like this:<br />
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Iris look terribly delicate and fragile. They're beautiful. They're artistic. They're soft and unassuming.<br />
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Apparently, they are also terribly hardy against elements that try to destroy them. White stands for purity. That's why I specifically planted white Iris in my flag garden. Atop the pole that shows in the first photo flies the US flag and a POW flag. I am not fragile. I am not part of the problem. I am the strong, hardy-through-rough-elements wife of a retired soldier who has been through hell and back with him, and I am still standing, still climbing. I am part of the solution, or at least that's my goal.<br />
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I am also an indie author with social phobia, bucking trends instead of going with the flow and staying true to myself rather than taking the easier route, and instead of hiding from that event that already has me on edge, I'll be there. Will it induce another set back? Possibly. But I'll be there.<br />
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Yes, I have fragile moments. No, I am no more fragile than those white Iris I look forward to seeing next spring. Maybe I'll even add more this fall.<br />
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By now, after sitting and writing this, I feel stronger already, ready to dust off the last few days and prepare for the next challenge.<br />
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So... onward and upward... and here's a tune to take with you.<br />
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LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-27991482073443415822017-08-26T07:35:00.000-07:002017-08-26T07:45:54.666-07:00Imagining A New Story: Flying High<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The little one in this photo lives in the Mid-Atlantic. Her cousin, three months older than she is, lives in the West. Fortunately, visits back and forth have been often enough they do know each other well. They met at six and nine months. Even then, Mr. J., the crawler, would get a toy for Ms. A. who was still barely creeping. He could see she had more trouble getting around and often helped her out with what she wanted. They ate in side-by-side chairs with trays and had no trouble sharing their food back and forth, both taking and offering and even feeding each other. I've spent a lot of time with little ones, and that sharing thing is not at all typical of the age. Such a wonderful thing to see. They were best buds from the start.<br />
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Of course the bad part of visits is having to leave. Both little ones pout for several days after they're parted and they constantly talk about each other. Thank goodness for modern technology so they can <br />
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Still, separation is hard for us adults, so you can imagine how these two, who we nicknamed Thing 1 and Thing 2 after a very active cousin visit when they were always in trouble together, feel about not seeing each other often when they don't really understand why they can't or how much distance there is across the U.S.<br />
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So yesterday when I had Ms. A. outside playing in the cool, pleasant Mid-Atlantic filtered sunshine, she decided to collect acorns. I suggested we could send some to J since he doesn't have that type of foliage out in the desert where he has to wait until evening to play outside. A promptly got a bucket from the sand box and picked up every acorn she saw and was then ready to give them to J. But, she wanted to give them to him in person. By her 3-yr-old logic, we could just go on an airplane and take them to him. Right then.<br />
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A bit of pouting happened when I said we could not just go right now because it was too far, but we could put them in a box and mail them. Being the imaginative little thing she is, A did not leave it at that. She made a new plan.<br />
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She took that bucket of acorns back to the porch to find her own airplane and stuffed as many of them as she could inside. I asked if she was sending them on a plane to J. She said, no, she wanted to give them to him herself, using her hands to show the act of handing them over. Then she walked a few steps away, acted like she was picking something up from the driveway, said she had "Little J" in her hand, and put him in the airplane, flew it a few steps, put it down, and opened the door. Then she was off running a short way, her arms wide open, and wrapped her cousin in her arms, pretending he was there with her so she could hand him the acorns.<br />
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Yes, that could sound heartbreaking, but in a child's imaginative play, I found a good lesson. She made things the way she wanted them, if only for a moment. The smile was real. The hug was real. The emotions were real. To her, it was real. She remade the story the way it worked for her. No "can't" or "too far" in her story. She simply made it happen.<br />
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This is the power of imagination, the power of writing your own story. If you can see it in your thoughts, you can make it real. Real is subjective anyway. Why not throw yourself whole-heartedly into what you want and make it happen, even if in your head momentarily? Even better, put it on paper. Write it the way you want it. For that time, it is real.<br />
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Who knows what can happen when you start seeing what you want as reality instead of as a pipe dream, or dwelling on why you can't have it? Go ahead. Make it real. After all, we authors do it all the time and it doesn't hurt our actual lives; it enhances them. The human brain is plenty strong enough to accept created reality and still jump back to actuality as needed. Trust me on this. Writing about what you want can make a real, true, actual difference in your life.<br />
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Try it. Let me know how it works.<br />
<br />LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-37179823610833447202016-08-17T09:02:00.001-07:002016-08-17T09:38:13.447-07:00A New School Year and Social Anxiety Disorder<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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Many kids have some anxiety about starting the school year and about being in school overall. That's fairly normal, and generally that dissipates as the year progresses, usually fairly quickly. For those of you struggling through that right now, take a deep breath, hold your head up, and know it will pass.<br />
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For a much smaller percentage, that anxiety goes well beyond the "norm" (norm can be hard to define) and the feeling doesn't pass. It's there all year. They must learn to handle it and continue going day after day after very long day until holiday breaks and summer vacation. They're anxious from the time they get up, with that anxiety increasing as they get ready to go, as they're on their way to school, when they get into the parking lot, and then it jumps into higher gear as they set foot in the door.<br />
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<b>Every day</b>. Without fail.<br />
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Until the final bell rings and they can walk through the halls, out the doors, back to the parking lot, and finally breath a sigh of relief when they get to their own yard/house and can actually breathe again without wanting to scream from the ridiculous amount of tension they hide inside while trying their best to act as normal as possible, to speak when spoken to, to not physically explode when called on to talk in front of the class while they stammer and feel their faces turn red and feel the stares because they're stammering and their faces are red and the room is suddenly a sauna with a loud thudding drum beating through their brains, even when seated at their desk and need only a few word reply. Let me tell you: they may be walking out those halls on the way home, but inside they're doing a sprint that would put most Olympic athletes to shame.<br />
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How do I know? I've been there. Every school year, all the way through two colleges. Every day.<br />
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It's torture. If you're rolling your eyes at the "torture" bit, then you don't have Social Anxiety Disorder and can't truly understand it. Please, try to understand. We are not simply shy. We are not simply nervous during public speaking (most people are). We are nervous when a friend speaks to us, even when a family member speaks to us, because we know they're expecting us to answer in some way and the thought of having to talk to someone, of saying something that we'll worry about how it sounded for days afterward is enough to freeze our otherwise very lucid thoughts and feel like complete morons, which we know is actually untrue, but many times, we're not sure it's untrue.<br />
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We're often thought of as much less intelligent than we are simply because we lack the ability to speak calmly and rationally out loud.<br />
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We know there's something very wrong with us. There is. Saying otherwise is a slap in the face. No one should have to feel that way every day of their life, day in and day out, other than when they're alone, and even then, they can be anxious when thinking over what they might have said and done during the day. We turn down invitations to things we would really love to do because we can't stand the thought of being around all of those people, even if they're people we know. We have trouble going grocery shopping because ... there are People there! Not because we're tired of putting up with some of the ridiculous or rude stuff some people do, but just because they are people. We can't even go sit around a campfire with a bunch of people we've know for years and relax and have fun. There is no such thing as relaxing if others are around. It doesn't happen.<br />
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That's not just regular social anxiety, which most people have to some extent. That's Social Anxiety Disorder, which used to be called Social Phobia, a term I still use. We all have traits of usually several disorders. There's nothing unusual about that. It becomes an actual disorder when it severely interferes with your life, such as someone with agoraphobia refusing to ever step out their door, or someone with mysophobia refusing to ever touch anything or anyone without sanitizing himself afterward.<br />
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<b>We need others to understand a few things:</b><br />
1- We are not being snobs. We are afraid to talk to you. It's really that simple, and that complicated.<br />
2- We are not stupid. You can't imagine the stuff going on inside our heads.<br />
3- If we walk past you while out and about and don't respond when you wave or try to speak to us, chances are very good that we did not see or hear you because we're intensely focused on not being overwhelmed by having so many people around us, and we have to block them out to survive the ordeal. Don't be insulted. It'll make things harder on us if we know we unintentionally insulted you.<br />
4- We can't stand it when someone mentions how quiet or shy we are. Trust me, we know. Mentioning it only makes it worse and makes us want to dig faster through that hole in the floor we already want to crawl into. Please don't.<br />
5- <b>Teachers</b>: Please, PLEASE understand what social phobia is and how much we're already struggling. Look it up. There are tons of posts on Pinterest that explain what we're feeling, and we'll never be able to tell you. Please, don't call on us unnecessarily. And above all, never make jokes about how quiet we are or how we have trouble making ourselves answer you.<br />
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<span style="color: #741b47;">True story: In college, I took a mandatory class called Senior Seminar. It was half graded on class participation. I could not get my degree without it. The professor, I was happy to find out, was a psychologist. As such, I expected he would understand when, during the mandatory "meet privately with the teacher" session, he explained that my written work was outstanding but my grade was suffering due to lack of participation. So, I told this college professor, a trained psychologist, about my social phobia and that I was trying very, very hard to make myself participate verbally and thought I was doing fairly well considering how hard it was. He told me I needed to try harder if I wanted a decent grade. I was literally shaking as I left his office: the meeting was so disturbing and uncomfortable and he was so condescending. And then he called me out in front of the class the rest of the year to push me to talk more, which had the opposite effect.<br />Result: a C in the class and a strengthening of the phobia due to being pushed and from, what I felt, was betrayal from someone in the field of my major I was supposed to be able to respect.<br />Teachers: Please, do not be this guy!</span><br />
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<b>What you can do if you suspect a classmate/friend has social phobia:</b><br />
1- Don't mention it unless you know her very well, and then ask how you can help. Never push.<br />
2- Don't laugh at verbal mistakes or stammering.<br />
3- Accept that she may want to just listen and include her in a conversation without pushing her to talk.<br />
4- Invite her to low anxiety activities such as a movie or a walk around the park. That can expand to few-people activities later.<br />
5- Realize although it may be uncomfortable for you, it's for worse for her and she's doing her best to not make you uncomfortable. Relax and accept the quiet.<br />
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<b>If you're struggling with social phobia/social anxiety disorder:</b><br />
1- Please know you're NOT ALONE. There are about 15 million of us in the United States, and that number is probably higher since we generally don't want to talk about it or admit it.<br />
2- It is NOT a life sentence. At least it does not have to be. It may never fully go away, but there are things you can do to lesson the anxiety and live a more normal life. Yes, you can.<br />
3- WRITE about it. Do it. Keep the journal or notebook where no one will find it and write about how you feel and how you'd like to feel, about bad days and good days and about your goals. On days you can't write about it but need release (what day don't you need release?), draw it out instead. Scribble. Doodle. Color. Whatever. Get it out. Or work with clay. Create what you're feeling. You can always smash it, if you'd like.<br />
4- Hang in there. Things will get better.<br />
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As a recovering social phobic, my goal is to try to help others recover now that I can make myself talk about. I'll be posting more about my path to recovery, along with setbacks. It won't be easy to do this article series, since <i>recovering</i> is not <i>cured</i>, but recovering is far, far better than non-recovering and I want you to be on that path, as well. <3<br />
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Please, share this with anyone you think might need a hand in recovery or who is dealing with someone close to them who is social phobic. I know it's not always easy for them, either. It took a lot of years for my husband to understand my SAD and to learn how to help instead of making it worse because they don't understand.<br />
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These days, I seldom want to crawl into a hole just because I'm talking to someone. I do book signings with few nervous issues and without an all day migraine the next day due to the extreme stress it used to be. I go to events with my husband's friends and am able to talk to them like a real person. I'm even running a local book festival. It's taken a LOT of years and a lot of back and forth struggle to get this far, but if you want it enough, you can do it.<br />
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Stay tuned. And take a deep breath.<br />
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<br />LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-44071662689502367392016-05-21T08:09:00.000-07:002016-05-21T08:09:20.790-07:00WTLI - On We Go...After a (writing) Loss<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise in Amarillo</td></tr>
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I've often heard writers say their books are like their children, usually when asked to choose a favorite which is often impossible.<br />
<br />
I always rebelled against that saying. Children are children. Nothing is like a child and nothing can stand up to comparison of beautiful little children in all of their innocent glory.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong: my books are part of me, also, as my children are, and I get that. It's still not the same.<br />
<br />
But I've finally come to understand why writers can say such a thing.<br />
<br />
Two months ago, my computer crashed. Yes, I have most of my stuff pretty well backed up, and luckily I was able to do a restore and it pulled back all of my writing (and photos, files). What it didn't save was my OneNote contents. I love OneNote. It's the best writing tool I've found other than pencil and keyboard. I do not love that the contents are NOT saved during a restore.<br />
<br />
In my OneNote, I had a folder for every book and within those folders I have outlines, research, notes, and even bits of dialogue I want to pull in at a later point in the story. Writers know that once you write those bits of dialogue, if you lose them, they're likely just gone. Vanished. I had a TON of them for my Rehearsal series, which is the closest book to being able to compare to a child I have -- I've been working on it since long before I ever thought about having children. It's a niche series, very long, very detailed, sometimes intense, and only a handful of readers will bother with it. I know this, but that doesn't matter. It's the story I most need to write for myself and my characters are truly a part of me. They are.<br />
<br />
My last OneNote backup onto a jump drive was in 2013. Losing every bit of research and notes, and especially that precious dialogue was devastating. It was devastating to the point I nearly stopped writing altogether. I just couldn't face it.<br />
<br />
It came to me yesterday that I was in mourning. My energy is gone. My impetus for jumping up in the morning to get to work is gone, other than my family, which yes, does matter more. My passion for writing is gone.<br />
<br />
I'm still doing short stories, on paper with pencil, for my own challenge of a story a week, although I'm far behind on it. But it feels like routine, a must-do, more than a passion.<br />
<br />
Trust me, I tried everything to get those notes back. I even went to an expert. He couldn't do it, either. For the past two months, I had a glimmering hope that there was one more way I could do it, but I couldn't make myself try because I wanted at least that glimmer of hope. Two days ago I made myself try. It didn't work.<br />
<br />
So, I took a deep breath and uploaded the saved files from 2013 and I'm in the process of trying to rearrange them the way I had a couple of years ago that made it all easier to work with. In the meantime, I'm working at overcoming that hole in my gut that makes me want to throw my hands up and walk away, and I'm starting again. (I've also started printing out my notes!)<br />
<br />
I've now and then tried to help console authors who lost chapters or such of their books by saying the next draft of it will be better and stronger, so I'm trying to take my own advice and believe what's really lost I didn't really need because something better will come. Sigh. I hope that's true. I have lost chapters before. I know that's tough. But this... losing dialogue and story pieces that help define characters and story, especially in a complex series that will end up around a million and a half words, is truly like losing part of someone you love. At least it is to me. I suppose that means the passion is still down within somewhere just smoldering and waiting through this necessary mourning period.<br />
<br />
Next month marks 20 years since I seriously started work on Rehearsal. I first started it about 35 years ago and had a couple of scenes on paper when all of my files were lost(?) -- paper files this time -- and I went back to just thinking about it without writing it anywhere it could be taken away. It's been a heck of a journey with this series. But you know, it matters enough to keep going. I have to believe there's a reason I've been obsessed with the story and characters most of my nearly 50 years of life. So on we go...<br />
<br />
As the photo above shows, the sun does rise again. You just have to let yourself see it.<br />
<br />
<br />----------<br />
Current link to the series (may change after a complete web redo mandated by also losing my very old web program I can't replace): http://www.lkhunsaker.com/Rehearsal/TheSeries.htm -- you can always find it through LKHunsaker.com<br />
<br />LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-59658974774357466412015-10-14T09:47:00.001-07:002015-10-14T09:48:46.502-07:00WTLI-Author Andra Marquardt<p><i><a href="http://almarquardt.com/" target="_blank"><font size="2"><img title="AndraMarquardt" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="AndraMarquardt" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-GVe1I-60tbM/Vh6HKEwM1WI/AAAAAAAACxw/7vAuAT5OKaQ/AndraMarquardt%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="188" align="left" height="216"></font></a><font size="2">“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”</font></i><font size="2"> ~ Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings </font> <p><font size="2"><i>“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”</i> ~ Ernest Hemingway </font> <p><font size="2"><i>"The words and I will be locked in mortal combat until one of us surrenders.”</i> ~ G-Kar, Babylon 5 - Season 5, Episode 1 <br></font> <p><font size="3">LK asks the question: How did (does) writing save me? The question brought up so many memories, it's difficult to pin down just one. I will give it a go, however.</font> <p><font size="3">As a young teenager, writing meant little to me. I wrote only during school assignments such as essays, or the occasional letter to a family member. When I was in junior high, I had to write an essay about a famous person (I don't remember who). Uncertain how well I did, I asked my mom to read it.</font> <p><font size="3">Her response, “This was very well written.” I could tell by her expression that she was actually impressed, an emotion she didn't show often (her standards for her two daughters were quite high; but she also knew we were capable of it. Thanks, Mom).</font> <p><font size="3">I reread my essay with more objective eyes and had to agree.</font> <p><font size="3">Fast forward a year or two.</font> <p><font size="3">I hated my teenage years. For one, I was far from popular, often teased and called names. One friend even went so far to tell another friend that she didn't want to hang around me anymore because, “I would keep her from being popular.” Add to that the normal confusion that comes with being a teen – neither child nor adult, wanting more responsibility, but not, aching to be an individual yet pressured to be like everyone else, and all the physical changes that goes with it.</font> <p><font size="3">Communicating with speech was never my strong suit. Still isn't, which is why I avoid confrontation at almost all costs. I like to say God didn't attach my mouth to my brain properly. The thoughts in my head never come out of my mouth the same way, and as such I am often misunderstood. Frustrating to say the least. Lonely at worst, because no one knew or understood what I was going through. Not their fault; I simply had no means of expressing it well enough. Heck, I myself didn't know what I was going through. My thoughts and emotions were so jumbled and intense that I coudn't make sense of any of it.</font> <p><font size="3">I don't know what started it, but I began writing a journal when I was about 13 or 14. What I found after reading what I wrote, <i>it all made sense</i>! Especially during those highly emotion-charged moments when I couldn't give voice to why I wanted to scream, lash out or cry. Once I saw it on paper, however, I understood the why. And in understanding the why, I could push through all that icky angst, and better, know I was going to survive. How's that for an epiphany?</font> <p><font size="3">I still have the journals I filled up from the age of about 15-17. They're simple spiral notebooks that barely held together by the time I was done with them. I also have a notebook filled with miscellaneous sheets of paper, some torn from other sheets of tiny poems, thoughts or story ideas.</font> <p><font size="3">No matter where I was, even during a concert at church with no lighting, I would put pen to paper and let my hands fly. Oddly enough, some of my best poems came from writing in the dark when I had no idea what I was writing at the time.</font> <p><font size="3">I often miss those days.</font> <p><font size="3">Now as an adult with a full-time job and taking care of my family, finding time to sit and write has become more of a challenge. I don't keep a spiral notepad on hand, but I do have my iPad mini with a ZAGG keyboard. I've been caught by my boss several times furiously writing a thought on said iPad. I know. My bad.</font> <p><font size="3">Part of the reason writing can be torture as the quotes above say is because writers pore out everything they are into them. That includes the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. Scary stuff. But as the quote by Maya said above, keeping it in is worse than letting it out.</font> <p><font size="3">Writing can be hell, but it can also be our salvation, often at the same time. It has for me.</font> <p><font size="3">All I can say at the end is thank you, God, for the gift of language. It has saved me in more ways, and more times than I can count.</font> <p><font size="3">~~~ ~~~ ~~~<br></font><br><font size="3">Andra Marquardt works as a Land Surveyor in North Dakota, is happily married and has a young son. She writes Christian science fiction and likes to throw her opinions around on her blog at </font><a href="http://www.almarquardt.com/blog"><font size="3">www.almarquardt.com/blog</font></a><font size="3">. <br><br>~~~ ~~~ ~~~</font></p> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:7b65553a-2309-46f6-96c0-ca426e44e412" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/A.L.+Marquardt" rel="tag">A.L. Marquardt</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/writing" rel="tag">writing</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/inspiration" rel="tag">inspiration</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/sci+fi" rel="tag">sci fi</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Christian+fiction" rel="tag">Christian fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Write+The+Light+In" rel="tag">Write The Light In</a></div> LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-13197050540414958962015-06-20T09:38:00.001-07:002015-06-20T09:38:33.582-07:00WTLI-Poet Catherine Moore–One Healing Center<p><font size="3"><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-NXXkOn8rIJo/VYWXAypV__I/AAAAAAAACr4/8PNZyfBsJ6g/s1600-h/CatherineMoore%25255B12%25255D.jpg"><img title="CatherineMoore" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="CatherineMoore" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-H-tA9Q98umY/VYWXB6xUwII/AAAAAAAACsA/O_q4hEhI1Ik/CatherineMoore_thumb%25255B13%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="214" align="left" height="274"></a>They are asked to paint the cancer. Most reach for the ochre, the black, the red, and their paper becomes hideous, jagged, ferocious, infernal, howling, and torched. An enemy drawn in its vilest forms. The tall woman does none of this; she proceeds to paint a beautiful garden, a bright sun, a lady sleeping on the cool patch of grass. The tall woman, is always quiet and composed; as a painter this manner intensifies. Her flower blooms are gifted with bees and butterflies. The following week they add narrative to the paintings. Most are stories of the grotesque, some stay in the darkness, some stories move to the light. The tall woman went last, after a stretched sigh, she holds up her painting of the wonderful summer scene. She points to the small area in gray, in the stone path, there hidden, a shadowed face, its cloak, and its sliver-like sickle. She reads, “Once upon a fine day it emerged from its silent tomb to slay the woman.” The horror in the room is palpable, this tall woman is 32 years without cancer, if she’s still hostage when will they ever feel free?</font> <p><font size="3">He declines the magnetic poetry board. Many do. Composing a “poem” is unnecessary stress in a room of the necessary. Forty-five minutes into the first hour he wanders around the art corner like a caged panther. He briefly picks up the mallet and taps a few notes on the Chakra chimes. The next day, about an hour after he returned from lunch he asks about the paper cranes hanging in a mobile made from wire clothes hangers. He expresses an interest— in seeing it done. And watches the slow careful creases become a bird of flight. Then silently nods and returns to his usual bench to stare out the window in concentration, as if folding it all over and over again in his mind. Weeks later, at four and a half hours into confinement he picks up an errant magnetic board that someone placed in front of him when leaving the waiting room. He flicks at the words in the determined way of working an abacus. Then he begins to move the words pushing left to right, up and down, like a slide across puzzle. When he scrambles for the car in his routine gallant way of whisking his wife away, we see the intimacy of the words he left behind. Some random. Some in margins. Some grouped naturally in a haiku-ish formation— one clearly intact.</font> <p><font size="3">s urge blood shot<br></font><font size="3">in whisper watch goddess<br></font><font size="3">boil scream</font> <p><font size="3">These stories are from my experience as a volunteer with an art therapy initiative at an oncology center. When people are going through illness or any stressful time, creating art, or more specifically journaling, is a very powerful tool to help cope. It can open a portal for reflection, growth, and healing by forcing us to think more clearly, giving a sense of purpose, being visual proof of having accomplished something, survived. Just seeing your thoughts and feelings written down somehow validates them, even if you are the only one seeing them. Don’t judge what you write, just write.</font> <p><font size="3">After my own cancer diagnosis, I often wrote as a way to expel the darkness and anxiety I naturally carried about my prognosis. Sometimes it was the only ventilation for my most distressing emotions. A journal is a place where the writer does not have to put up a brave face. Its primary purpose, like any art therapy, is catharsis.<br></font>~~~ ~~~<br><br><font size="3">Catherine’s work appears in <i>Ars Medica </i>Journal, <i>Snapdragon: A Journal of Art & Healing</i>, and an upcoming anthology with the College of Physicians of Philadelphia. She is an eight-year cancer survivor. </font><a href="http://about.me/catherinemoore"><font size="3">http://about.me/catherinemoore</font></a><br><br>~~~ ~~~ <p><br> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:84cb9017-da70-4be0-8615-d56d1fb58e36" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Catherine+Moore" rel="tag">Catherine Moore</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Write+The+Light+In" rel="tag">Write The Light In</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/poets" rel="tag">poets</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/poetry" rel="tag">poetry</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/writing+therapy" rel="tag">writing therapy</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/journaling" rel="tag">journaling</a></div> LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-53602288089945286052015-04-29T07:44:00.001-07:002015-04-29T07:44:38.135-07:00WTLI–Author Malla Duncan-Writing the Journey Within<p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-KszBKSelnOc/VUDuUdaOrFI/AAAAAAAACnc/0655FZs8Em8/s1600-h/MallaDuncan%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img title="MallaDuncan" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="MallaDuncan" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-f6YRBhFamQ0/VUDuU5_6kPI/AAAAAAAACnk/xh-OvxAPks0/MallaDuncan_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="210" align="left" height="244"></a></p> <p><font size="3">I was very kindly invited by accomplished writer, LK Hunsaker, to guest post for </font><font size="3">“Write the Light in” – so thank you LK for the honor of being allowed to contribute here. </font> <p><font size="3">The question she raised was: what is the emotional effect that writing has had on my life. I believe that writing has a profoundly emotional effect on anyone who engages in it – whether you just enjoy letter writing, journal keeping, or simply like to clarify problems by writing them down – we create on paper the mood, the moment, the meaningfulness of our inner thoughts. We make our minds visible and intelligible through the act of describing our feelings on paper. </font> <p><font size="3">For me, writing is about discovering my own power. I say power and not talent because writing is fundamentally for everyone. We can all engage in its journey of discovery in our own private ways. Writing is the most individual imprint we can make on our daily experience; it is the closest, most intimate connection we can make between our world within and the world without. </font> <p><font size="3">My discovery of the power of writing (aged 7 when I penned my first poem) has driven me emotionally all my life: when I can write; what I can write; what will connect with the reader; what can I say that is fresh and different. </font> <p><font size="3">I can honestly say, that I have no idea what my life would have been like without writing – I cannot imagine a life where there is not something interesting going on in my head, or where there is only daily work in the week and empty spaces to fill at the weekend with general family and friends – and the same the next week and the week after that. While for some this <i>is</i> life – and a perfect life – for me it presents a quiet fear. What if I am wasting time on other things when I could be writing? </font> <p><font size="3">Emotionally, writing has made my life purposeful above all other things. It has been the subconscious force in all my life choices: to settle, to be quiet, to be alone and enjoy that aloneness, to continually organize my life with time for writing in between the daily busyness. Writing gave me my dream when there were both good and unhappy times. Writing has moved me from inner dwelling to an inner journey. It has developed my mind, my way of thinking, my insight and capacity for emotional intelligence. Without it, I believe, I would be half the person, half the intellect I have made myself. </font> <p><font size="3">I am a poor cook, a rotten gardener, a scrappy housekeeper. But I can write a credible thriller or two – and I sometimes wonder how well I might have excelled in these other areas had I not let my fascination for the written word supersede everything else. Writing has made me a dreamer, a bit of a loner, but definitely a happier, more positive person. I am driven by the passion of new ideas wrapped in the passions of imaginary people. </font> <p><font size="3">When I see unhappy people or discord in relationships, I want to reach out to those people and say, write! Start a journal, write what you feel, put your mind where you can see it and it will speak to you. Writing is a mirror of the mind, it shows us all the shadows and the light. Writing gives us the brushstrokes for the bigger picture. </font> <p><font size="3">Whether you write a journal, poetry or embark on the great journey of a novel, writing allows you a very individual key to personal freedom and power. It shows you the inner map of who you are – and astounding potential for new journeys.</font> <br>~~~ ~~~<br><br>Malla Duncan writes psychological suspense thrillers, cozy mysteries, and children’s fantasy. She hales from South Africa. Visit her at <a href="http://www.malladuncanbooks.weebly.com/" target="_blank">malladuncanbooks.weebly.com</a>. <br><br>~~~ ~~~</p> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:bd51af5d-ae21-40f2-a866-1bb47ab39ef8" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Malla+Duncan" rel="tag">Malla Duncan</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Write+The+Light+In" rel="tag">Write The Light In</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/writing+therapy" rel="tag">writing therapy</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/journaling" rel="tag">journaling</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/authors" rel="tag">authors</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/books" rel="tag">books</a></div> LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-33779146883011186042015-01-05T09:39:00.001-08:002015-01-05T09:39:47.285-08:00Words Are Powerful<p><img title="MaryCassatt-ThePensiveReader" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="MaryCassatt-ThePensiveReader" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-bqOreiT29IU/VKrMYSNnaTI/AAAAAAAACh4/-zewui60c34/MaryCassatt-ThePensiveReader%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="194" align="left" height="244"><font size="3">It was 1996, 20 years ago next year, </font><font size="2">and I was living in a place I didn’t like. Okay, let’s be fully honest. I detested the place. It was the antithesis of everything I wanted in a place I had to live.<br><br>I couldn’t just move. My life then was Army. An Army spouse, subject to the whims of wherever they decided to send us. <br><br>At the time, my husband had been sent to Korea for a year, with only three weeks at home in between. I was an 18 hour drive away from my family. I knew two of my neighbors and talked with them at times, and my husband’s good friend was down a couple of streets, but due to protocol, he came into the house only when my husband was home. By all rights, I was on my own most of the time. With two young children. In a place I hated. Doing a seasonal job to help pay bills that caused anxiety attacks, along with family issues back home I couldn’t be there for.<br><br>Let’s just say that when you’re prone to depressive episodes, this is a situation you strongly want to avoid.<br><br>Back in high school, I started creating a story in my head based on a “okay, but what’s behind the scenes that we don’t hear” continually burning question in my mind. The characters became very real to me. I’d been writing or creating since I was able, so it was second nature already. I only wrote one scene of it, but a whole long, involved story had formed.<br><br>Then I gave all that stuff up for college, marriage, babies, and moving.<br><br><font size="3">At some point, you have to return to who you truly are inside.<br></font><br>So, on a very low point on a day I finally got my rambunctious, stubborn 4-year-old to take a rare nap that I needed far more than he did, I knew something had to change. That one scene I’d written was long gone – disappeared somewhere along with a bunch of other starts and letters and such in my file box.<br><br>It came back to me that day. I could see the dock in that scene I’d written years ago. I could see the couple. I knew them inside-out already. I knew their story mattered, at least to me. So I wrote the scene again.<br><br><font size="3">That simple act of writing on a piece of lined notebook paper with a well-sharpened pencil snapped me back to who I was.<br></font><br>I didn’t stop. I filled page after page with any spare moment I had. My fingers cramped. Then my wrist got sore. The pain started to creep from my wrist up my arm into my shoulder and I finally had to stop using it for some time while my wrist was in a brace to let it rest. So I learned to write again with my left hand, as I had to do once when the same thing happened during a 20 page term paper in high school, and I kept going.<br><br>A funny thing happened. That “I can’t take this anymore” depression lifted with each page. It was a badly written story since I had no actual novel writing instruction, but at the time, that didn’t matter. It was for me. It kept me sane through very long days and nights of wondering how I’d get through the next one, through not wanting to be out among the place where I was stuck for over five years. The place that took my social phobia and exasperated it to my wits’ ends.<br><br>The act of writing that story (and it could have been any story) returned my wits.<br><br>Writing is a powerful thing. It’s soul-searching. It’s problem-solving. It’s awareness-raising. Most of all, it’s healing. <br><br>I encourage everyone to write something regularly. If you want to burn it afterward, do that. If you want to share it or lock it in a fire safe, do that. If you want to put it in an elegant journal or plain lined or unlined notebook, do that. But write. Anything. Just start with a simple thought and let it go from there.<br><br><em>Today I thought I would … but…<br>I wonder why it is that …<br>… made me so angry today because …<br>I feel so guilty that …<br>What I love about this season is …</em><br><br>Just write it. And keep going.<br><br>You’ll be fully amazed at what you discover.<br><br><br> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:7495ba29-21cd-4631-8b43-5140bf1d82c1" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/writing" rel="tag">writing</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/therapy" rel="tag">therapy</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/journal" rel="tag">journal</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/write+the+light+in" rel="tag">write the light in</a></div></font></p> LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-81106046393481762282014-05-18T07:51:00.001-07:002014-05-18T07:51:11.606-07:00Indie Review: Bluegrass State of Mind by Kathleeen Brooks<p><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/69188" target="_blank"><img title="BluegrassStateofMind-KathleenBrooks" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="BluegrassStateofMind-KathleenBrooks" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-pHuH33GJ4Do/U3jI3Z1NRxI/AAAAAAAAAH4/TcB0sZ0aI_c/BluegrassStateofMind-KathleenBrooks%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="184" align="left" height="274"></a><font size="2">I picked up Bluegrass State of Mind by Kathleen Brooks as a free read from Smashwords. The first of a new series, it looked like a fun escape into Kentucky and its cowboys. It was a fun escape and a fairly quick read. Part of that was from skimming through all of the designer fashion descriptions of which I’ve never had any interest. I wouldn’t know Prada from Versace and it’s one thing I’m not interested in learning.<br><br>There are several things that stand out to mark this as “needs better editing,” which I try not to say. However:<br><br>1) Keeneston, Kentucky had a tricky way of switching now and then to Keenesland, Kentucky. I had to wonder for a while if they were adjoining towns since the author jumped back and forth between the two, and then there were instances I thought they were IN Keeneston and she mentioned going “back to” Keeneston (or Keenesland, take your pick). I’m still confused on that point.<br><br>2) I’m sorry, but McKenna in no way came off as a NYC attorney who had worked with the big boys club and got as high as she did. She comes off as a little princess the whole town of Keeneston/Keenesland swarms over and adores instantly, for no reason I could ascertain. A woman who has had so much loss so early (with no explanation as to how she was raised afterward) and works her way up to a big NYC corporate law firm would be far tougher and far more intelligent than Kenna comes off.<br><br>3) One week of early teen acquaintance didn’t do it for me to believe her instant “in love” with Will and vice versa. They hardly spoke to each other before they were both hooked. I can’t buy it.<br><br>Yes, I’m a tough critic, but even in a quick, fun read, believability is a must. As far as typos, I’m pretty lenient with indie works because I know it’s hard to catch them all and even big pubs don’t. But this one needed a bit more time from the author before it was released, even as a free read. Some smoothing over of sentences would be nice, as well, to get rid of the choppiness. And the dialogue… Well, not much about it was very believable.<br><br>Overall, yes, it was a fun story, although cliché here and there, and a few hours of escape where men are still gentleman. I can imagine that’s highly appealing to many female readers, as is Will, the hero, who does of course turn out to be a hero of sorts.<br><br>If you’d like to check it out yourself, click on the book cover to go to the book download.<br><br><br> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:2e9c71e2-71b7-4681-94d7-24193d83fbfb" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/romance" rel="tag">romance</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Kathleen+Brooks" rel="tag">Kathleen Brooks</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Kentucky" rel="tag">Kentucky</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/suspense" rel="tag">suspense</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a></div></font></p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-6763734934607169782014-05-17T11:10:00.001-07:002014-05-17T11:10:22.010-07:00Indie Review: 2 shorts by S. A. Williams<p><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/289509?ref=lkhunsaker" target="_blank"><img title="Angst-SAWilliams" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="Angst-SAWilliams" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-7jp0lCoWa-0/U3emCb2qgLI/AAAAAAAAAHg/-88uIEg_Y6g/Angst-SAWilliams%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="137" align="left" height="204"></a></p> <p><a href="https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/289504?ref=lkhunsaker" target="_blank"><img title="Parable-SAWilliams" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="Parable-SAWilliams" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-dj1RaN04RxM/U3emCw23zUI/AAAAAAAAAHk/2iWtVNyuJy0/Parable-SAWilliams%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="137" height="204"></a></p> <p><font size="2">S. A. Williams works as a college administrator and these two short stories show his natural affinity for that age group.</font></p> <p><font size="2">In Angst, a young woman attending college away from home, a rather dysfunctional home, gets a phone call that disrupts her growing independence and makes her reevaluate her family. Part of growing up is seeing things from a different perspective and Laura finds this out quickly.<br><br>In Parable, another teenager on a precipice of life relies on a friend to help him notice his viewpoint and reevaluate his past experiences to balance them with his present.<br><br>Both stories are deep and emotional, very realistic, and well drawn. I’m not sure I would have used quite so much flashback in a short story format, but it works well enough. My must have in shorts are endings that end, so to speak, but still make you think and so don’t quite end. Something needs to change, to grow, to happen. Williams accomplishes this brilliantly in a small space. At times the writing could have been a bit smoother, but S. A. Williams is definitely an indie author to watch!<br><br>(Click on the covers to find the books.)<br><br>----<br>Reviewer: LK Hunsaker</font></p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-65692876438984614962014-03-02T07:34:00.000-08:002014-03-02T07:35:04.459-08:00Read An Ebook Week 2014 Images<p><font size="3">We’re book and art lovers here at Elucidate, so as our contribution to Read An Ebook Week 2014, we’ve created a few images to use in marketing your ebooks this week! Right click and save to your computer.<br><br></font><font size="2">(All original art is from public files with artist name along the side. Please do not remove artist names and titles!)</font></p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-20CDsGs_1e4/UxNO6Rtpr6I/AAAAAAAAAGU/3d54zHCpi08/s1600-h/ReadAnEbookWeek2014-Cassatt%25255B18%25255D.jpg"><img title="ReadAnEbookWeek2014-Cassatt" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="ReadAnEbookWeek2014-Cassatt" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-u2uqTEs_hpo/UxNO6_kdE7I/AAAAAAAAAGc/MGGtkMmUbsw/ReadAnEbookWeek2014-Cassatt_thumb%25255B16%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="404" height="174"></a><br>Mary Cassatt – The Pensive Reader<br><br><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-lTnzsNHEuLk/UxNO7W84UoI/AAAAAAAAAGk/PEipS2rcN5Q/s1600-h/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Balthus%25255B13%25255D.jpg"><img title="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Balthus" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Balthus" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6mFLPb-Ad7U/UxNO7-exJJI/AAAAAAAAAGo/u3fJmbBp-08/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Balthus_thumb%25255B11%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="404" height="166"></a><br>Balthus – Katia Reading<br><br><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-4mTT_nJDzpA/UxNO8Z8teDI/AAAAAAAAAG0/sSYy8CLVPnk/s1600-h/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sargent%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sargent" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sargent" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-c51a89T6Rww/UxNO86HaY9I/AAAAAAAAAG8/5SPkPstQ9YY/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sargent_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="404" height="166"></a><br>John Singer Sargent – Man Reading<br><br><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0FKuABiLn_E/UxNO9fIx3GI/AAAAAAAAAHE/yqoQmRUGFB4/s1600-h/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sheri%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img title="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sheri" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sheri" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Hujiw5QKdr0/UxNO91Z_XPI/AAAAAAAAAHM/XjBS3QOKBLs/ReadAnEbookWeek2014--Sheri_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="404" height="166"></a><br>Irene Sheri – Poetry Reading</p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-92019482536141791222014-01-31T16:42:00.001-08:002014-01-31T16:47:26.883-08:00Indie Review: Jazz by Cristian Mihai<p><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/208078?ref=lkhunsaker" target="_blank"><img title="Jazz-CristianMihai" style="border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px; border-top-width: 0px" border="0" alt="Jazz-CristianMihai" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-B26rzdW08jM/UuxDCB7i1hI/AAAAAAAAAGE/CQavXguGUUo/Jazz-CristianMihai.jpg?imgmax=800" width="170" align="left" height="270"></a></p> <p><font size="2">Jazz is the story of Chris Sommers, a young man captivated by Amber, a girl of mysterious ambitions. In his quest to talk himself into telling her his feelings, he decides to shuck everything and jet over to Paris to find her.<br><br>I have mixed feelings about this coming-of-age/struggling artists in Paris short story. It’s reminiscent of the Fitzgerald-era jazz age authors with dark undertones that highlight the seedier side of life. The problem is: it’s too much imitation and not enough something new. I don’t get the whole thing with William and his family’s bankruptcy. It doesn’t feel developed enough to make me believe it and it never comes of anything after being such a big part of the beginning. The first half of the story jumps around too often and leaves the reader confused about just where they are. The plot never fully develops.<br><br>There’s also an issue with unnecessary over-description that made me start skimming and some that pulls the reader out of the story (“your eyes would dart…” in describing a painting instead of the MC describing it himself) as well as some staccato repetitive phrasing (He did this. He did that. He did the other. He did this…) and some grammar issues (“Me and Amber sat down…”).<br><br>On the other hand, Mihai has a certain voice that grabbed me and great imagery at times. I can easily see this young author developing into a nice writing talent.<br><br>Overall, I’d like to see Jazz developed into a full novel with a touch more work put into the technique. There’s much potential in this story and in this author. <br><br>~~ ~~<br>Find Jazz at <a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/208078?ref=lkhunsaker" target="_blank">Smashwords</a> and other retailers<br>~~ ~~<br><font size="1">*This book was purchased by reviewer. No compensation was given.<br></font><br><font color="#646b86">Reviewer: </font><a href="http://www.lkhunsaker.com/"><font color="#646b86">LK Hunsaker</font></a><font color="#646b86"> is the author of romantic women’s mainstream fiction as well as some straight literary ventures. <br><br></font> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:5486a393-9de5-4055-8172-760a88ccbd42" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Jazz" rel="tag">Jazz</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Cristian+Mihai" rel="tag">Cristian Mihai</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/coming+of+age" rel="tag">coming of age</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/literary" rel="tag">literary</a></div></font></p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-62218574963126752602014-01-21T08:05:00.001-08:002014-01-21T08:05:14.413-08:00Indie Review: The Kiss Instructor by V.Anton<p><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/256728" target="_blank"><img title="TheKissInstructor-VAnton" style="border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; float: left; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; border-left: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px" border="0" alt="TheKissInstructor-VAnton" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xKNaQ6eV100/Ut6auL7UckI/AAAAAAAAAFs/6WNf1LbrIus/TheKissInstructor-VAnton%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="179" align="left" height="266"></a></p> <p><font size="2">V. Anton’s debut YA novel, <em>The Kiss Instructor</em>, takes us inside the life of Alana Summer, a young ballet dancer dealing with a violent father and the mother she feels she should protect. Adin and Chris, both childhood friends, are always there for support, but Alana and Adin have mutual and unexpressed feelings for each other beyond friendship.<br><br>The main characters are likeable but somewhat shallow, which makes them feel a bit cliché at times. I don’t tend to read YA so with that in mind, I also found too much repetitive description and thoughts which slowed the story, and too many choppy sentences that felt like the author isn’t quite comfortable with her craft yet. There were also too many POVs for a short novel and I think the prologue could have been removed and filtered into the story instead. <br><br>However, the second half of the book moves along better and pulled me in. I loved the imagery in the Puerto Rico setting which was missing in the first half of the book in New York. I especially enjoyed the unique character of Alana’s great aunt. Overall, <em>The Kiss Instructor</em> is a nice first effort and an entertaining read for a cold winter’s day.<br><br>~~ ~~<br>Find <strong>The Kiss Instructor</strong> on </font><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/256728" target="_blank"><font size="2">Smashwords</font></a><br><font size="2">~~ ~~<br>*<font size="1">This book was purchased for review. No compensation was given.</font><br><br><br>Reviewer: </font><a href="http://www.lkhunsaker.com/"><font size="2">LK Hunsaker</font></a><font size="2"> is the author of romantic women’s mainstream fiction as well as some straight literary ventures. <br><br><br><br> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:b2e0d88a-fc6b-4317-922a-a06bc43992ea" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/authors" rel="tag">authors</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/books" rel="tag">books</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/YA" rel="tag">YA</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/young+adult+books" rel="tag">young adult books</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/V.+Anton" rel="tag">V. Anton</a></div></font></p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-9870394996555903482013-07-18T11:45:00.001-07:002013-07-18T11:47:00.091-07:00Indie Review: Beyond Birkie Fever by Walter Rhein<p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xrLMZpoODKU/Ueg35CmiLGI/AAAAAAAAAFU/S4Wq8iSfcN0/s1600-h/BeyondBirkieFever-WalterRhein%25255B21%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="BeyondBirkieFever-WalterRhein" border="0" alt="BeyondBirkieFever-WalterRhein" align="left" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-5nUHjK6krV8/Ueg35gEO9hI/AAAAAAAAAFc/eMgAwWIUtH8/BeyondBirkieFever-WalterRhein_thumb%25255B18%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="179" height="262"></a><font size="2">Beyond Birkie Fever tells the true story of the author’s account of working up to his first cross country ski race, the American Birkebeiner in Hayword, Wisconsin, and moving beyond that race to many other races and adventures.<br><br>I have to say that as a parent, I was alternately annoyed by the impertinent child Rhein says he was and amused at the way he laughed at himself. And then there’s the fact that most of us don’t strike gold enough to be able to jet set around the country and across the ocean to ski and race as we please, so it can be a bit hard to relate to all of that running and doing without more basic life balancing it. That said, I do enjoy history and learning new things and Rhein does share not only his adventures, but the history of the Birkie, with some great colorful descriptions of those he meets.<br><br>Ski fans and the ultra-competitive should enjoy the ride with a grin. The rest of us may shake our heads a bit. Overall, though, a quest to push yourself to the limits and see what you can accomplish is always an interesting journey.<br>~~ ~~<br><br></font><strong><font color="#0080c0"><font color="#000000" size="2">Visit Walter Rhein’s </font><a href="http://www.walterrhein.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><font size="2">Blog</font></a></font><br></strong><br><font size="2">~~ ~~<br>Reviewer:<br></font><a href="http://www.lkhunsaker.com"><font size="2">LK Hunsaker</font></a><font size="2"> is the author of romantic women’s mainstream fiction as well as some straight literary ventures.</font></p> <p><font size="2"><br></p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:a16194f3-3d64-48f7-a602-4a30f66effa8" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/books" rel="tag">books</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Walter+Rhein" rel="tag">Walter Rhein</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Birkenbeiner" rel="tag">Birkenbeiner</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Hayward+Wisconsin" rel="tag">Hayward Wisconsin</a></div><br></font> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-57569282578034276362013-07-15T08:00:00.001-07:002014-01-21T08:27:07.723-08:00Indie Review: Wander Home by Karen A. Wyle<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-aht0cttwXFk/UeQOk85MUJI/AAAAAAAAAE8/ad-utzePQ-o/s1600-h/WanderHome-KarenAWyle%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="WanderHome-KarenAWyle" border="0" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-p6H-TcosXVE/UeQOlfrZkWI/AAAAAAAAAFA/vWI-ISHZfUA/WanderHome-KarenAWyle_thumb%25255B11%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="258" style="background-image: none; border-width: 0px; display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" title="WanderHome-KarenAWyle" width="169" /></a>Wander Home by author Karen A. Wyle is a book that’s hard to put down. I loved how there were so many changes yet it didn't leave me behind. This is the story of a woman who is moving into the afterlife and adjusting to the changes and finally doing what she couldn't in life, becoming a mother a wife and being true to a person she never knew she was.<br /><br />It did leave me with questions and I would love to see a second book that had the answers, such as where does Cassie end up and how did she get into the afterlife anyway? It doesn't go into a lot of description with anyone about how they got there and I felt that kind of separated me from the characters but all in all it was an excellent read. I would love to see this become a series and possibly see it dig into the other characters’ lives before their afterlife and explain their deaths and therefore give the reason why they are on the other side. I loved the ability to travel with the characters and also getting to see one character’s point of view through another's eyes. Wander Home was well written and had good verbal usage. Karen A. Wyle could be the Judy Blume of the afterlife.<br /><br />~~ ~~</span><br /><span style="color: blue; font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Visit Karen A. Wyle’s</span> <a href="http://www.karenawyle.net/" target="_blank">Website</a></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /><br />~~ ~~<br />Reviewer:<br />Tammy Marsh is an avid reader volunteering for Elucidate Publishing</span><br />
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EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-13393073917248240392013-06-13T14:43:00.001-07:002013-06-13T14:43:11.968-07:00Indie Review: Candlepower by Janet Doolaege<p><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6947470.Janet_Doolaege" target="_blank"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="Candlepower-JanetDoolaege" border="0" alt="Candlepower-JanetDoolaege" align="left" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-KbIkuNwJGVc/Ubo87luZfpI/AAAAAAAAACs/jeZGRoKjBMs/Candlepower-JanetDoolaege%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="183" height="254"></a></p> <p><font size="2">Candlepower is a subtle literary mystery that is truly unputdownable.<br><br> Beautifully written, it tells the story of Stella who lives on her own in a compact Paris apartment and her friendship with Rose, a neighbour with what appears to be strange paranormal powers, and dark-eyed Olivier with whom Stella falls in love. <br><br>There is a strange sense of imminence and fragility in this triangle of friendship - a fragility which carries through to so many other aspects: Stella's awkward relationship with her family, Rose's extraordinary affinity with birds but inability to be near anything electrical, Oliver's misunderstanding of both women's feelings, and how we impact nature when we force our lives and community on spaces that other creatures share. <br><br>If you'd like something different, delicate, intriguing and engrossing, then 'Candlepower' comes highly recommended.<br><font color="#666666">(Note: this review originally posted on Goodreads)</font><br>~~ ~~</font></p> <p><font size="2"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6947470.Janet_Doolaege" target="_blank"><strong>Visit Janet Doolaege’s Goodreads page</strong></a><br><br>~~ ~~<br>Reviewer:<br><a href="http://www.malladuncan.wordpress.com" target="_blank">Malla Duncan</a> is an indie author who writes women’s suspense thrillers. She often reviews on Goodreads.<br></font><font size="2"><br><br> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:8ccca6b5-62bb-411b-830c-bf8a59767e4a" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Candlepower" rel="tag">Candlepower</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Janet+Doolaege" rel="tag">Janet Doolaege</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/author" rel="tag">author</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/paranormal" rel="tag">paranormal</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a></div></p></font> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-84664750200972593582013-06-13T14:01:00.001-07:002013-06-13T14:03:28.686-07:00Indie Review: Paradise Squandered by Alex Stefansson<p><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17662135-paradise-squandered?ac=1" target="_blank"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="ParadiseSquandered-AlexStefansson" border="0" alt="ParadiseSquandered-AlexStefansson" align="left" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5snVaW5E6a4/UbozQQQ_S0I/AAAAAAAAACc/3fK0jyUgeWg/ParadiseSquandered-AlexStefansson%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="171" height="254"></a></p> <p><font size="2">Paradise Squandered by Alex Stefansson focuses on the angst of a recent high school graduate trying to decide his future, the end of his relationship with his girlfriend, and a journey to normalcy.</font> <p><font size="2">While the grammar and punctuation are all correct, it brings to mind a Seinfeld episode if Jerry were the only actor. The book at times seems overly descriptive with people and specific items, and at other times there is more need of explanation, such as the purpose of the volcano. </font> <p><font size="2">I did love the setting and the way it began. I especially enjoyed the witty grandmother and wish I could have spent more time interacting with her and tweaking the nose of the aunt. I could relate to the main character as I am sure many can because we have all been through something similar. </font> <p><font size="2">All in all, Paradise Squandered was a good read that left me wanting more. It could be an amazing story if it was condensed down to maybe 5 chapters and then expanded.<br><br>~~ ~~<br><strong><a href="http://alexstefansson.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Visit Alex Stefansson’s Blog</a></strong><br><br>~~ ~~<br>Reviewer:<br>Tammy Marsh is an avid reader volunteering for EP.<br><br><br></p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:5ea1ea2a-5f6f-4efc-a89f-30206bac4569" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Paradise+Squandered" rel="tag">Paradise Squandered</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Alex+Stefansson" rel="tag">Alex Stefansson</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/coming+of+age" rel="tag">coming of age</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/novels" rel="tag">novels</a></div></font> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-32638430204306287412013-06-13T13:14:00.001-07:002013-06-13T13:14:49.887-07:00Indie Review: Unexpected Legacy by Darlene Deluca<p><a href="http://www.threewritersofromance.com/all-about-darlene.html" target="_blank"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: left; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="UnexpectedLegacy-DarlenDeluca" border="0" alt="UnexpectedLegacy-DarlenDeluca" align="left" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-VuL_M16KE5k/UbooOPE7igI/AAAAAAAAACM/KwKqSEhc2Xc/UnexpectedLegacy-DarlenDeluca%25255B13%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="160" height="254"></a><font size="2">Unexpected Legacy tells the story of Matt Dalton, the sudden parent of a sixteen year old boy, his son Brady who has recently been injured in a car accident, and single and beleaguered high school principal Kate Austen. Shifting POV between the three, with an occasional aside from Matt’s family, this is a fun and serious story of relationship building, mending mistakes, forgiveness, career balancing, and trust.<br><br>Somewhat of a cross between mainstream romance, YA, and coming of age, the story includes plenty of cultural issues set around high school with the constant struggle between sports and arts and the common argument for and against funding for each, as well as misconceptions of both.<br><br>At times, I found Kate a little naïve for a high school principal with her lack of understanding both students and parents, and there was some repetition in her constant refusal to try to balance career and personal life that felt a little too forced. I also would have liked to see more real growth in the relationship between Matt and Brady because it felt too easy for the circumstances.<br><br>That said, I truly enjoyed the read and especially Matt’s well-drawn character, and I loved the excursion into Brady’s recovery. Overall, a well recommended read.<br>~~ ~~</font></p> <p><font color="#004000" size="2"><a href="http://www.threewritersofromance.com/all-about-darlene.html" target="_blank"><strong>Visit Darlene Deluca’s Site</strong></a></font></p> <p><font size="2">~~ ~~<br>Reviewer:<br><a href="http://www.lkhunsaker.com" target="_blank">LK Hunsaker</a> is the author of romantic women’s mainstream fiction as well as some straight literary ventures.<br></font></p> <p> <div style="padding-bottom: 0px; margin: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; float: none; padding-top: 0px" id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:3026cba0-489c-4f57-806b-b4256de46e4e" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent">Technorati Tags: <a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Darlene+Deluca" rel="tag">Darlene Deluca</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/Unexpected+Legacy" rel="tag">Unexpected Legacy</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/indie" rel="tag">indie</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/novels" rel="tag">novels</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/authors" rel="tag">authors</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/reviews" rel="tag">reviews</a>,<a href="http://technorati.com/tags/fiction" rel="tag">fiction</a></div></p> EP Staffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086003922435833668noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1939987668325745226.post-71474926438193473992013-05-01T08:05:00.000-07:002013-05-14T12:27:11.737-07:00Welcome!<span style="color: black; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our blog will feature reader reviews of independent books as well as short free reads and other notes and information about the self-pub world.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">For more indie arts reviews, articles, and features, please see our <a href="http://www.elucidations.us/" target="_blank">Indie Arts blog</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />LK Hunsakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10706929624587891992noreply@blogger.com0