What’s this Blog Tour de Troops all about anyway?
I don’t come from a military family, though my grandfather was in the army. He met my grandmother when he was on an injury leave in Miami Beach in the 1940s. She was a widow recovering from the death of her first husband. I like to think that fate soothed her grief enough to open her eyes to this sweet man who noticed her great gams and easy smile.
Whatever it was, within a month they married. She was grateful for this generous man with a huge heart who took in not only a widow in her thirties (remember what decade this was) but also a very small girl (my mom), whom he adopted and raised as his own. They had a son, and many wonderful years together, until he died far too young in the 1970s of stomach cancer.
What does this have to do me, my book A Walk In The Snark, free Kindles, and free eBooks for you?
I think we’re all connected in some way to our military folks, whether it’s a long-lost family member, a friend, or simply supporting our troops out there now defending our country. Did you know that the top request of our troops is books?
Which is why I’m thrilled and honored to be a part of the Indie Book Collective’s thirty-five authors offering our eBooks free to any commenters this Memorial Weekend who visit our blogs. In addition, each comment earns a free eBook for a troop! Plus, you’re entered into our free Kindle drawing!
Yep – we will get a copy of all our eBooks to a member of the military as well free Kindles – but we need your help. In addition to comments, we need donations – even a dollar helps! Click below too contribute.
But hey, you can also help in other ways – RT or share this blog post with everyone you know – share the free eBook love with your friends. Not only do they get a free copy of my book if they come here and comment, they can also designate another troop to receive my book also! AND they can also donate to our drive for free Kindles for our troops as well. Everyone wins!
Plus – check out all the other authors involved and their terrific books today – in fact, the author who ended yesterday’s blog hop, Roy Finch is here: read about his intriguingly humorous thriller The Emporer of Glitter Gulch in this brief synopsis:
Leonard Orton inhabits a part of Las Vegas that most tourists never see; the dirty underbelly of a city populated by hookers and strippers, juiced-up bouncers and semi-professional cage fighters. Leonard is in the process of running his flagging law firm into the toilet when a woman approaches him to handle a case that might prove to be his salvation. And even if he is a bad lawyer, and Leonard is certainly that — quite possibly the worst lawyer in all ofLas Vegas, which would place him high in the running for worst lawyer worldwide — Leonard has a chance to resurrect his career and gain a measure of retribution against his lifelong nemesis.
Also check out the next author in the chain, Fred Venturini here and his literary fiction fantasy The Samaritan:
Dale Sampson is a nobody. A small town geek with an ailing mother and a father who skipped town, Dale lives in the shadow of his best friend Mack, the high school baseball star. While Mack racks up one female conquest after another, Dale can't even gather the courage to talk to a girl . . . and when he finally decides to take a chance, he loses everything.
When he runs into the twin sister of the girl he loved and lost, Dale finds his calling--he will become a Samaritan. Determined to rescue her from a violent marriage and redeem himself in the process, he decides to use the only weapon he has, besides a toaster. This weapon, the inexplicable ability to regrow his limbs and organs, leads him to fame and fortune as the star of a blockbuster TV reality show. But he will soon learn that being a Samaritan can be a heartbreaking affair, especially when the one person he wants to save doesn't want saving.
Both books look amazing and I personally can’t wait to download them – how about you?
Okay, housekeeping:
• Leave a comment below and share with us your connection to our military – is it you, a family member, a friend? Also please remember to include your email or I can’t send you the free coupon code to download my book from Smashwords (in any format except print).
• Do you have a specific soldier in mind to receive my book? Let me know! Leave their info below in your comment (or if you’d rather do it privately, email me at rachelintheoc@gmail.com).
• If you just want me/IBC to designate a soldier, got it. Done.
• Please give me (and the other authors) a day or so to get through the comments and respond to you with the code. We know you want the books and we won’t forget – promise! But this is kind of a crazy holiday weekend so give us a moment to catch up! Thanks for participating.
• We’d ALL really appreciate a review on Amazon after you read our books. As indies, we count on you wonderful readers for word-of-mouth advertising *puppy dog eyes*
• Did you know you can LIKE our pages on Amazon now? Click here to LIKE mine *more puppy dog eyes*
Thanks for visiting me and I hope you enjoy my humorous (and at times poignant collection) of essays A Walk In The Snark. Please read this review by my review sponsor Alchemy of Scrawl aka @nownewstrue on Twitter. She rocks and is a super supportive reviewer/sponsor of indie writers. I’m so excited to also offer a free eBook to all of her commenters as well! Please support Coral and her review blog by following not only her blog but also Facebook and Twitter.
And let’s support our troops, baby….
Please share this post on Twitter, Facebook, or your own blog. Thanks!
I was recently featured in the Huffington Post Books section by Sean Gardner aka @2morrowKnight. You can also read my Addicted Love series on @Lifarre, the new network for women.
He’s Just Not That Into You…
Is a bunch of insulting bullshit.
I finally watched that movie the other day. Wow.
I'm sorry, feminism.
According to the movie (I’ve avoided the book He’s Just Not That Into You, based on an episode of Sex in The City, so my ire is based solely on the flick), women are dumb ninnies who have no lives other than men.
Let’s deconstruct.
We women pine for men. We have no hobbies, interests, jobs where we actually work, or apparently even a computer or TV—the only thing a woman is capable of watching is her pink phone (groan), waiting for a man to call. The only topic chicks are smart about is listening to men, talk about men.
Because we have no other information source.
Also, women are desperate. We’re obsessed with men’s nonverbals, even if we’ve just met them. Wondering if they’re going to call is all we think or talk about with our girlfriends when we go out for girl’s night out. Oh, unless we're wondering if they're going to text or email (how could I have forgotten that?) My bad.
Those of us who are married are snipey, suspicious harpies (granted, the character seemed to have good reason given that her husband cheated with a slightly airy young singer/actress/yoga teacher blonde, but that’s beside the point). Which is such a reflection of how all wives act. Unless we’re being incredibly stupid, that is. And we wear little to no makeup and have no sex appeal whatsoever. Or lingerie. (Though we do read lots of home decorating magazines and drink lots of steaming mugs of hot tea in attractive turtlenecks that do nothing at all for our figures.)
And then there is the living-in-sin couple – who seem perfectly happy hanging pictures in their perfect apartment until one of the desperate coworkers cites a report that live-ins never marry. So she loses it, becomes a bitter harpy too, and breaks up with him. Til he magically sees the error of his ways and crawls back, ring in hand. Fairytale ending.
Also, men are always in charge of the relationships, not women. Even the chick who’s the mistress has no say in anything. She’s just a golddigger without a brain anyway. Who ends up alone and lonely (perhaps she’ll meet someone in India, where she decides to go to find herself at the end of the movie. No one saw that coming.) Is it any surprise that she’s buxom and blonde? Oh, and likes to be naked as much as possible? And has lots of lingerie?
Mostly I kept thinking hey, that’s the kid from Dodgeball (which was a far, far better movie by the way, and had stronger—and hotter--female role models) and was happy to see Kris Kristofferson is still alive--though I kept wondering how he ended up in this drivel.
It’s so great to see females portrayed as having come such a long way, baby. Particularly when it’s produced by Drew Barrymore’s production company, a chick who should know better. #boohiss
As for how the men were portrayed, I’d say they were an awfully chatty bunch who seemed to be really in touch with their emotions. I’d love if that were true. Most guys I know tend not to be so open with their feelings. They can be, but well, it's just not like it is in the movies...imagine that.
Apparently, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball….but you can’t dodge this freakin' movie. Ack.
I’d love to hear your opinion. It’s possible I’ve missed the point entirely. I felt sad that what seemed a terrific premise with a great cast was reduced to trite clichés. Please enlighten me.
Please leave a comment here, on Twitter, or Facebook. RTs and mentions loved.
Please also purchase my eBook A Walk In The Snark, available on Amazon for only $2.99 (no Kindle required). I was recently featured in the Huffington Post Book section by Sean Gardner aka @2morrowKnight.
You can also read my Addicted Love series on @Lifarre, the new network for women.
Be sure to come back on Saturday for my post for Blog Tour de Troops -- lots of great stuff happening! Check out this site for deets: http://blogtourdetroops.com
Here is my @IndieInk challenge from xander
Describe your day job in the style of a 1950s film noir. Bonus points for using the word "gams" in the appropriate context.
CLICK
Janey was sure the right guy was going to walk through her office door any moment now. Yep, any moment.
At least, that’s what she told her ma every time she called to ask why Janey was no longer working for that nice man down at the newspaper, typing up his little stories. She didn’t have the heart to tell her mother the so-called nice man had the roving hands of hungry bear and the mouth of a sailor on leave and she wasn’t gonna put up with it any more. Besides, the man was her neighbor Ethel’s husband and they often gave her mom rides to and from her job at the library. She didn’t want to mess things up for her ma. Life is hard enough as it is.
So she very quietly gathered her things when the prick was out drinking his lunch one day with the office lushes, conveniently forgetting to type up the day’s top story about the bank robbery around the corner. The very next day, she opened her own typing shop, advertising a hundred words a minute to any and all customers. The diner across the way was a goldmine—lots of cute fellas in there with no clue how to type up job applications, or songs for the gals they were sweet on.
Janey wasn’t rolling in it, but she was doing all right. At least, that's what she was thinking as she lit a cigarette for a long-needed break. She hadn’t realized how late it was or how dark it had become in her small, cramped office. She switched on her desk lamp, mentally avoiding the files and scraps of paper piled up next to it.
She enjoyed the click click click her new black heels made as she moved to open the small window that looked out onto main street. Cold and foggy again, dammit. It was fairly quiet outside today, but apparently loud enough that she missed hearing the door open and shut quickly behind her. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she screamed.
Turning around quickly, she looked up into the most gorgeous baby blues she’d ever seen.
“Sorry, ma’am,” said the stranger, a handsome man about her age in a dark suit and charcoal fedora. Janey could see his lips moving but found herself having trouble concentrating. She was sure he could hear the extraordinarily loud beating of her heart.
“I’m sorry, Mr…?” Janey asked, as she attempted to regain her composure. She crossed the room and sat on the corner of her desk, giving him a nice view of her gams. She noticed his momentary eye flick and quickly realized she had the upper hand. Her heartbeat slowed measurably, her voice dropped, and she asked, “Now, what can I do for you?” with a shy hint of a smile.
The man stood closer, still staring at her legs. He took his time, his eyes slowly working their way up the length of her body. When he reached her eyes, he said, “I think we need to work together, you and I.” He took a card out of his pocket, laid it gingerly on the desk next to her, turned and left.
Janey, realizing she was holding her breath, exhaled and grabbed the card:
James Hunt
Bank Robber
Well, look at that, Janey thought. A man walked through my door, all right.
All right.
This was a fun break from my normal non-fiction. I hope you enjoyed it.
You should follow me on Twitter, my blog, Facebook, Goodreads, or purchase her eBook A Walk In The Snark on Amazon for just $2.99 – Check out my 5/5 star reviews and my profile in the Huffington Post! Yea, I'm still kinda trippin on that one, too.
I'm also writing a ten-part series on lost love and addictive relationships over on Lifarre, the new women's network. Check out posts one through four here. I appreciate your comments and LIKES.
"I just felt the earth move beneath my feet..." is my Indie Ink IIChallenge this week from @DafeenaJameel. Thanks Dafeena -- this was fun :).
SPINNING
“I’m pretty sure they call it ‘Spin The Bottle’ for more than the obvious reasons.”
At least, that’s what I told my older sister after I received my very first French Kiss.
“Okay, back up. Um, what?” she looked at me in confusion. “I get the kissing part. I mean, der. But why another reason?” she asked me with a fair amount of trepidation in her voice and on her freckled fifteen-year old face.
See, I was about twelve years old at this point – two years into my ‘career’ as a writer. I not only questioned every situation, I also wrote down every last detail, which unfortunately included her recent bout of “illness” after an evening out with her girlfriends that ended with her throwing up in the aluminum milk can (oh so popular in the seventies) that stood next to her bed.
She still hadn’t forgiven me for leaving my incriminating notebook evidence open on my desk (hey, milk and cookies called). Arguing that the horrific smell was evidence enough (apparently just putting the lid on a milk can does not mask the smell of alcohol-laced vomit), was still not flying with her.
In all honesty, I couldn’t really blame her for wondering why I was questioning the validity of the classic ‘Spin The Bottle’ tradition, given its tried and true trustworthiness.
Yet here I was.
Rebel.
Not sure I could adequately explain, given the surreal nature of my experience, I began to tell her about my sleepover at Sunday School Camp the night before...
Somehow the counselors (teenagers themselves) had left us alone long enough that we indulged in a quick and dirty game of Bottle; four guys, four girls, in the dark with a flashlight, just outside the synagogue – in the lobby. (If Jews believed in hell we would probably burn in it, but hey, with the exception of some cool Old Testament thoughts on the afterlife, we figured we were golden.)
It was on.
I ended up, after losing a dare, shoved into the arms of a decent-looking, dark-haired bar-mitzvahed boy (well, I suppose I should say man?) named Edmund. Our instruction from bossy Deirdre Greenburg was simple: don’t come back until you’ve tongued.
Hand in hand, we walked down the hall. He was kinda cute, I had to admit. As we shuffled to our doom, hearts beating louder than footsteps, I asked him shyly, “Have you ever done this before?”
He stopped, leaned against the wall, one arm around my waist, gently pulling me toward him. He put his hand on my cheek in a soft caress, drawing my mouth toward his. I tried to quiet the thoughts racing through my head as our tongues met and began to touch.
It was electric. I could feel a jolt course through my body, a heat I had never experienced before. The sensation so intense; it seemed as if I had just felt the earth move beneath my feet. My head began to spin. It was a good thing he was holding on to me, as I think I began to fall a little.
He pulled back, a satisfied smile on his face as he answered, “I have now.”
My sister stared at me, open-mouthed. “Lucky duck,” her response. “My first kiss made me want to throw up in my milk can.”
I hope you enjoyed this story. Please leave your comment below or share this post on Twitter or Facebook. Are you following me here? *puppy dog eyes* Or subscribing to my feed?
You can also purchase my eBook A Walk In The Snark (no Kindle required) on Amazon for only $2.99. It's funny, poignant, and has received lots of 5/5 star reviews. Go on. You know you wanna.
Need more proof? Read about me here in the Huffington Post. Yea, baby.
