Author Profile Research and Reviews
Madison’s Special Dolly
Running the Race
Timmy and the Storm
Bryanna and the Sand (2008)
One Penny One Hope (2008)
When Daddy Comes Home (2008)
Jeff Yosick
Rain Publishing Inc.
blogtalkradio.com/yoga/blog/2007/11/13/Jeff-Yosick-Childrens-Author
www.prweb.com/releases/2006/10/prweb436445.htm
www.prweb.com/releases/2006/9/prweb436452.htm
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=159
blacklick-ohio.olx.com/madison-s-special-dolly-by-jeff-yosick-iid-5... –
www.nmfa.org/site/PageServer?pagename=books_for_children
lycos.columbus.oodle.com/sale/toy
www.blogcatalog.com/blogs/lets-talk-about-it.html
www.amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&keywords=Elsberry&index=books&page=1
m.bucyrustelegraphforum.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20071222/...
www.onlypunjab.com/2k5/culture2k5-page-50.html
http://www.canadianbookdepot.com/servlet/the-Children
www.copyscribe.com/decembernewsletter.html
www.grannymed.com/articles/new_childrens_book_on_breast_cancer.aspx
www.vast.com/item_vehicle/location-Blacklick--OH/range-city
www.pickerington.lib.oh.us/calendar/index.php?m=4&y=2007&i=168
industrywatcher.com/entertainment/easing-the-minds-of-military-chil...
www.citynoise.org/author/jeff_yosick
advice-monger.com/roller/blogs/cancer-survival/default.aspx
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=13
amazon.com/s?ie=UTF8&index=books&field-keywords=Running+races&page=1
localtreatment.com/v/classifieds/?category=service/job&...
Author Profile. James W Foster
Author Profile Research and Reviews
Dianne Hollander
Canyon
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book One
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book Two
James W Foster
Rain Publishing Inc.
jameswfoster.shoutpost.com
www.blogtalkradio.com/yoga/blog/2007/11/12/James-W-Foster
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=24
cairnsmedia.com/Archives
www.amazon.com/Canyon-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381220
www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hollander-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381204
shocklines.stores.yahoo.net/dihobyjawfob.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=203
www.amazon.co.uk/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n:63,p_27:James Foster&page=1
www.horrorfind.com/Horror_Fiction/horror_fiction28.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16167
Dianne Hollander
Canyon
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book One
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book Two
James W Foster
Rain Publishing Inc.
jameswfoster.shoutpost.com
www.blogtalkradio.com/yoga/blog/2007/11/12/James-W-Foster
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=24
cairnsmedia.com/Archives
www.amazon.com/Canyon-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381220
www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hollander-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381204
shocklines.stores.yahoo.net/dihobyjawfob.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=203
www.amazon.co.uk/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n:63,p_27:James Foster&page=1
www.horrorfind.com/Horror_Fiction/horror_fiction28.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16167
Excerpt. Dianne Hollander
Dianne Hollander
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 9781897381205
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
A single wisp of white cloud broke up an otherwise flawless, blue sky over the isolated, little town of Vollmer's Hollow. It was late spring and the school aged children were anxiously awaiting the beginning of the summer holidays.
A young girl trotted along a quiet back street at a pace that was half walk, half run. The hard soles of her shoes made a loud, CLIP, CLAP, CLIP, CLAP, as they made contact with the sidewalk. Her breath came in exaggerated gasps as she progressed. She was plagued by asthma, although on this day it had given her no trouble at all until she had realized that she had forgotten her puffer.
Little Dianne was built rather awkwardly. Top heavy, her shape and mannerisms were more that of a little boy than a little girl. She couldn't really be described as obese, but she was stocky. She had long, wavy, auburn hair, and strangely magnetic eyes. People who talked to her were always drawn to those eyes, a strange shade of bluish green, almost aqua. Other than these eyes, her features were unremarkable. The squarish line of her jaw made her appear slightly masculine. If her face was only slightly more rounded she might have been pretty.
Dianne was wearing a plaid blue jumper over a white blouse with slightly ruffled sleeves and she was clutching a small stack of books close to her chest. Her knees were scabbed and grass stained.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dianne hated wearing dresses. Even at this young age she thought that they were ridiculous outfits and she looked awkward and uncomfortable in them. She always had to be careful how she sat so as not to expose her panties. Dresses also made playing baseball or football very difficult. If she fell, the boys could see her underwear and then they would tease her.
Dianne had protested to her parents on more than one occasion about having to wear dresses to school, but to no avail. As far as they were concerned, it was only proper for a little girl to dress like a little girl, and that meant dresses. She tried to explain her difficulties while playing with the boys at recess.
"Dianne, you really should be playing with the other little girls at school. Sports are better left to little boys than to little girls."
Although she kept from showing it, (she was very good at hiding her feelings) that statement had infuriated her. Life would be so much easier if I was a boy, she thought.
As she continued to make her way along the sidewalk that bright afternoon, Dianne came across a baby bird that had fallen from it's nest in a nearby tree. She stopped and looked down at it, and as she did her asthma worsened as it always did when she became excited.
Pathetic little thing, she thought, and she felt a rage well up inside of her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As she watched the bird, her head trembled slightly from side to side. Her bright, aqua-ish eyes fixated on it, and for the moment, at least as far as she was concerned, everything else around her ceased to exist. She found the helplessness of the little creature to be infuriating. Intolerable.
She moved a step closer to the bird and raised one foot. Then with as much force as she could muster, she stomped on it. She could feel small bones crunching and a smile crossed her lips. Then she ground her heel down on the dead bird, and again this pleased her.
For the moment she had entirely forgotten about her asthma. She was breathing just as quietly and evenly as any normal girl her age would while sunning them self on such a fine day.
With the knowledge that the bird was dead, her anger faded and she resumed on her way home. CLIP, CLAP, CLIP , CLAP. Her asthmatic huffing returning after only a few strides……….
2
Sparky Richards could only gape when the behemoth first walked into the gym. The man he was looking at was 6’9” and easily three hundred pounds. Of course, even this already impressive size would be exaggerated when his training was complete and he was introduced by the announcer before he stepped into the ring.
Sparky had been expecting him. “You’ve got to see this guy,” Gus Daniels had told him. “He’s a giant! Even if he can’t wrestle he’ll sell tickets.”
Gus was the wrestling troupe’s promoter. He had stumbled onto the big man at a circus side show where Malcolm had been performing as a strong man.
The man’s name was Malcolm Howard which was a rather unintimidating moniker to say the least for a man of such intimidating stature, but that was an easy fix. They could give him a new ring name once they got him out on the road.
“We’re probably going to have to do something about his face too,” Gus had warned.
“Why? What’s wrong with his face?” Sparky asked.
“Well, it’s sort of ... gentle looking.” Gus said. “It’s hard to explain, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Sparky did see. As scary as Malcolm’s size was there was a calmness to his features that gave him a relaxed look which was non-threatening. A mask will fix that, Sparky thought….
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 9781897381205
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
A single wisp of white cloud broke up an otherwise flawless, blue sky over the isolated, little town of Vollmer's Hollow. It was late spring and the school aged children were anxiously awaiting the beginning of the summer holidays.
A young girl trotted along a quiet back street at a pace that was half walk, half run. The hard soles of her shoes made a loud, CLIP, CLAP, CLIP, CLAP, as they made contact with the sidewalk. Her breath came in exaggerated gasps as she progressed. She was plagued by asthma, although on this day it had given her no trouble at all until she had realized that she had forgotten her puffer.
Little Dianne was built rather awkwardly. Top heavy, her shape and mannerisms were more that of a little boy than a little girl. She couldn't really be described as obese, but she was stocky. She had long, wavy, auburn hair, and strangely magnetic eyes. People who talked to her were always drawn to those eyes, a strange shade of bluish green, almost aqua. Other than these eyes, her features were unremarkable. The squarish line of her jaw made her appear slightly masculine. If her face was only slightly more rounded she might have been pretty.
Dianne was wearing a plaid blue jumper over a white blouse with slightly ruffled sleeves and she was clutching a small stack of books close to her chest. Her knees were scabbed and grass stained.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dianne hated wearing dresses. Even at this young age she thought that they were ridiculous outfits and she looked awkward and uncomfortable in them. She always had to be careful how she sat so as not to expose her panties. Dresses also made playing baseball or football very difficult. If she fell, the boys could see her underwear and then they would tease her.
Dianne had protested to her parents on more than one occasion about having to wear dresses to school, but to no avail. As far as they were concerned, it was only proper for a little girl to dress like a little girl, and that meant dresses. She tried to explain her difficulties while playing with the boys at recess.
"Dianne, you really should be playing with the other little girls at school. Sports are better left to little boys than to little girls."
Although she kept from showing it, (she was very good at hiding her feelings) that statement had infuriated her. Life would be so much easier if I was a boy, she thought.
As she continued to make her way along the sidewalk that bright afternoon, Dianne came across a baby bird that had fallen from it's nest in a nearby tree. She stopped and looked down at it, and as she did her asthma worsened as it always did when she became excited.
Pathetic little thing, she thought, and she felt a rage well up inside of her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As she watched the bird, her head trembled slightly from side to side. Her bright, aqua-ish eyes fixated on it, and for the moment, at least as far as she was concerned, everything else around her ceased to exist. She found the helplessness of the little creature to be infuriating. Intolerable.
She moved a step closer to the bird and raised one foot. Then with as much force as she could muster, she stomped on it. She could feel small bones crunching and a smile crossed her lips. Then she ground her heel down on the dead bird, and again this pleased her.
For the moment she had entirely forgotten about her asthma. She was breathing just as quietly and evenly as any normal girl her age would while sunning them self on such a fine day.
With the knowledge that the bird was dead, her anger faded and she resumed on her way home. CLIP, CLAP, CLIP , CLAP. Her asthmatic huffing returning after only a few strides……….
2
Sparky Richards could only gape when the behemoth first walked into the gym. The man he was looking at was 6’9” and easily three hundred pounds. Of course, even this already impressive size would be exaggerated when his training was complete and he was introduced by the announcer before he stepped into the ring.
Sparky had been expecting him. “You’ve got to see this guy,” Gus Daniels had told him. “He’s a giant! Even if he can’t wrestle he’ll sell tickets.”
Gus was the wrestling troupe’s promoter. He had stumbled onto the big man at a circus side show where Malcolm had been performing as a strong man.
The man’s name was Malcolm Howard which was a rather unintimidating moniker to say the least for a man of such intimidating stature, but that was an easy fix. They could give him a new ring name once they got him out on the road.
“We’re probably going to have to do something about his face too,” Gus had warned.
“Why? What’s wrong with his face?” Sparky asked.
“Well, it’s sort of ... gentle looking.” Gus said. “It’s hard to explain, you’ll have to see for yourself.”
Sparky did see. As scary as Malcolm’s size was there was a calmness to his features that gave him a relaxed look which was non-threatening. A mask will fix that, Sparky thought….
Tales of Vollmer's Hollow. Book One
Tales of Vollmer’s Hollow, Book One
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 9781897381182
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Some Hollow History
Hello dear reader. My name is.... , well, I guess it's really not important what my name is, and for good measure, I don't think I'll even let you know if I'm a man or a woman. Let's just say that I've been around Vollmer's Hollow for a long, long time.
The Hollow is a very strange place indeed. It's full of nasty little secrets and strange goings on. I've seen and heard of many of the events that have taken place here, and I see and hear more tales all the time. There are so many eerie stories sprouting from this quiet, little town that it would be impossible to remember them all, so I've begun to write them down.
My original intention was to keep these tales a secret, after all a secret is a wonderful thing. I suppose the ideal thing to do with a secret is to keep it, but what fun is that? I've kept secrets for far too long now and I'm just itching to tell someone about them. Of course, I should only share them with a few trusted, close friends now shouldn't I? Funny thing is; I don't have any, so I'm going to have to share them with all of you.
I guess a good way to start telling you these tales is by giving you some of the background of my little home town. It seems that something has always been amiss here, not only in the town itself, but in the surrounding area as well. So with no further ado, here we go.
Vollmer’s Hollow is set in a rather unlikely location. Isolated by the immense Sasquatch National Park, it is three hours away from the city of Tamarack which is the Hollow's nearest neighbor. Resting on the south shore of Lake Sasquatch, the major source of income to the town is its fishing industry, Lake Sasquatch is teeming with a variety of fish.
Although the land surrounding the Hollow is rugged and often breathtakingly beautiful, it is made up of mainly rocky terrain that isn't suitable for farming. There are a few scattered farms in pockets of clear land between Tamarack and the little town, but they are small and generally not very prosperous.
On the opposite side of the lake there is a long peninsula made entirely of rock. This peninsula is named, The Devil’s Finger. It got this name because of its odd shape. From an aerial view or on a map it resembles a long finger with oversized knuckles and a long hooked finger nail. This finger looks more like a claw than a finger and appears as though it is pointing directly at Vollmer’s Hollow.
Like many fishing towns, the Hollow has in its history, a lot of tales of fishing tugs and other vessels that have sunk during storms over the years. There are even stories of pirates attacking some of these boats and killing all on board.
Lake Sasquatch and Sasquatch National Park got their names from the first known residents of the land, the Sasquatch Indians. These people were named after the mythical monster also known as Bigfoot. Archaeological evidence shows that they revered the Sasquatch as a god.
It is theorized that these Indians had originated from another tribe, but for some reason or another had strayed and had formed a tribe of their own. Artifacts found in the area have been scientifically dated to go back more than one thousand years. As far as cultures go, it does not appear that their stay in the Hollow was overly long. The evidence suggests perhaps between one and two hundred years. Through these artifacts as well as paintings found in caves and on rocks scattered throughout the area, scientists have been able to piece together a rough history of these people.
Their first winter alone proved to be very trying for them. They hadn't yet made their way to the lake, so food was scarce, and as some of their tribe began dying of starvation, the others turned to cannibalism as a means of survival. By the end of that first winter, they had developed quite a taste for human flesh and began to include it as a part of their regular diet.
Somewhere along the line they met a strange little man who became their witch doctor. Most Indian tribes had witch doctors or shamans, but the Sasquatch Indians had a very unusual one. It appears that this shaman just wondered in from out of the woods one day and into their camp. No one knows where he came from. He was less than five feet tall, very muscular, and had a wild mass of hair on a head that was otherwise far too small even for his compact body.
The Sasquatch Indians were terrified of this little man. He had a huge impact on their day to day lives and enforced their laws. Not to adhere to these laws was often punishable by death. The witch doctor himself never executed any punishment, but he did act as a judge, and once a decision of guilt had been made, his instructions of what ought to be done to the offending party involved were always carried out to the letter by the chief of the tribe.
Some of these laws were unreasonably strict. For instance if a brave believed that his wife was cheating on him, she was given a short trial. Her guilt was always a forgone conclusion even before the trial began, and her punishment was horrid.
She was stripped completely naked, tied spread eagle to stakes in the ground, and then every brave in the tribe had a go at her, beginning with the chief and then on in accordance with each brave’s social standing within the tribe including any boys who desired to participate. This was often a Sasquatch brave’s first sexual experience.
Once each male in the tribe had his turn with her, any who wished a second or third turn were permitted to do so in no particular order. The witch doctor didn’t take part in the poor woman’s rape, but he did give enthusiastic encouragement to the others while he watched. When the braves were finished with her, the squaw was tied to a stake and roasted alive over a fire. Then she was eaten.
If the adulterous brave was also caught, his penis was cut off and he was taken deep into the forest and left there as an offering to the Sasquatch God of the forest.
Why the shaman thought that such an offering would appease any God, Sasquatch or otherwise is anyone's guess, but the doomed brave inevitably bled to death.
It’s needless to say, given the punishment, that a real case of adultery rarely ever actually took place within the tribe. It was more likely that the accusing brave simply had grown tired of his wife, and with the exception of the chief, the Sasquatch could only have one wife, and there was no such thing as divorce. The two were united until death did they part, there was no way around it. A charge of adultery against a wife was simply the best way to get rid of her…….
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 9781897381182
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Some Hollow History
Hello dear reader. My name is.... , well, I guess it's really not important what my name is, and for good measure, I don't think I'll even let you know if I'm a man or a woman. Let's just say that I've been around Vollmer's Hollow for a long, long time.
The Hollow is a very strange place indeed. It's full of nasty little secrets and strange goings on. I've seen and heard of many of the events that have taken place here, and I see and hear more tales all the time. There are so many eerie stories sprouting from this quiet, little town that it would be impossible to remember them all, so I've begun to write them down.
My original intention was to keep these tales a secret, after all a secret is a wonderful thing. I suppose the ideal thing to do with a secret is to keep it, but what fun is that? I've kept secrets for far too long now and I'm just itching to tell someone about them. Of course, I should only share them with a few trusted, close friends now shouldn't I? Funny thing is; I don't have any, so I'm going to have to share them with all of you.
I guess a good way to start telling you these tales is by giving you some of the background of my little home town. It seems that something has always been amiss here, not only in the town itself, but in the surrounding area as well. So with no further ado, here we go.
Vollmer’s Hollow is set in a rather unlikely location. Isolated by the immense Sasquatch National Park, it is three hours away from the city of Tamarack which is the Hollow's nearest neighbor. Resting on the south shore of Lake Sasquatch, the major source of income to the town is its fishing industry, Lake Sasquatch is teeming with a variety of fish.
Although the land surrounding the Hollow is rugged and often breathtakingly beautiful, it is made up of mainly rocky terrain that isn't suitable for farming. There are a few scattered farms in pockets of clear land between Tamarack and the little town, but they are small and generally not very prosperous.
On the opposite side of the lake there is a long peninsula made entirely of rock. This peninsula is named, The Devil’s Finger. It got this name because of its odd shape. From an aerial view or on a map it resembles a long finger with oversized knuckles and a long hooked finger nail. This finger looks more like a claw than a finger and appears as though it is pointing directly at Vollmer’s Hollow.
Like many fishing towns, the Hollow has in its history, a lot of tales of fishing tugs and other vessels that have sunk during storms over the years. There are even stories of pirates attacking some of these boats and killing all on board.
Lake Sasquatch and Sasquatch National Park got their names from the first known residents of the land, the Sasquatch Indians. These people were named after the mythical monster also known as Bigfoot. Archaeological evidence shows that they revered the Sasquatch as a god.
It is theorized that these Indians had originated from another tribe, but for some reason or another had strayed and had formed a tribe of their own. Artifacts found in the area have been scientifically dated to go back more than one thousand years. As far as cultures go, it does not appear that their stay in the Hollow was overly long. The evidence suggests perhaps between one and two hundred years. Through these artifacts as well as paintings found in caves and on rocks scattered throughout the area, scientists have been able to piece together a rough history of these people.
Their first winter alone proved to be very trying for them. They hadn't yet made their way to the lake, so food was scarce, and as some of their tribe began dying of starvation, the others turned to cannibalism as a means of survival. By the end of that first winter, they had developed quite a taste for human flesh and began to include it as a part of their regular diet.
Somewhere along the line they met a strange little man who became their witch doctor. Most Indian tribes had witch doctors or shamans, but the Sasquatch Indians had a very unusual one. It appears that this shaman just wondered in from out of the woods one day and into their camp. No one knows where he came from. He was less than five feet tall, very muscular, and had a wild mass of hair on a head that was otherwise far too small even for his compact body.
The Sasquatch Indians were terrified of this little man. He had a huge impact on their day to day lives and enforced their laws. Not to adhere to these laws was often punishable by death. The witch doctor himself never executed any punishment, but he did act as a judge, and once a decision of guilt had been made, his instructions of what ought to be done to the offending party involved were always carried out to the letter by the chief of the tribe.
Some of these laws were unreasonably strict. For instance if a brave believed that his wife was cheating on him, she was given a short trial. Her guilt was always a forgone conclusion even before the trial began, and her punishment was horrid.
She was stripped completely naked, tied spread eagle to stakes in the ground, and then every brave in the tribe had a go at her, beginning with the chief and then on in accordance with each brave’s social standing within the tribe including any boys who desired to participate. This was often a Sasquatch brave’s first sexual experience.
Once each male in the tribe had his turn with her, any who wished a second or third turn were permitted to do so in no particular order. The witch doctor didn’t take part in the poor woman’s rape, but he did give enthusiastic encouragement to the others while he watched. When the braves were finished with her, the squaw was tied to a stake and roasted alive over a fire. Then she was eaten.
If the adulterous brave was also caught, his penis was cut off and he was taken deep into the forest and left there as an offering to the Sasquatch God of the forest.
Why the shaman thought that such an offering would appease any God, Sasquatch or otherwise is anyone's guess, but the doomed brave inevitably bled to death.
It’s needless to say, given the punishment, that a real case of adultery rarely ever actually took place within the tribe. It was more likely that the accusing brave simply had grown tired of his wife, and with the exception of the chief, the Sasquatch could only have one wife, and there was no such thing as divorce. The two were united until death did they part, there was no way around it. A charge of adultery against a wife was simply the best way to get rid of her…….
Excerpt. Tales of Vollmer's Hollow. Book Two.
Tales of Vollmer’s Hollow, Book Two
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 978-1-897381-19-9
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Hello Once More
“Hello once again Dear Reader,
It has been awhile, but it takes these old hands of mine a while to get things down on paper, arthritis and all makes it difficult…
If you're reading this now it must mean that you enjoyed my first little collection of tales. I hope you will find Tales of Vollmer's Hollow Book Two just as rewarding.
As before, I think I will keep my identity a secret, but I'm thinking mayhaps that I have left behind a clue or two, and perhaps I shall leave one or two more within the following pages…
It would seem that the strange goings on in my eerie, little home town never cease, and I find this to be quite delightful. A little terror has away of making one feel so much more alive.
Turn the lights down as low as you dare, curl up in your favorite reading place, and together let's take a look at some more Tales of Vollmer's Hollow.”
A CHAT IN THE WOODS
"Sister, ... sister, you must push harder."
"I am pushing hard."
"Well you must try harder. I feel like I'm moving this cart all by myself."
"Well if you'd taken my advice and let us change shapes, you could have flown and carried me. Then we would have been there by now."
"Then how would we have gotten all our lovely toys there?"
"Hmmpf!"
"Besides sister, you know as well as I do that we gain power by staying close to the land."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda."
"We're going to need all the power we can muster. The master says Vollmer's Hollow could be a lot more difficult than Salem was."
"What are we going to do when we get there?"
"The same thing we always do. Wreak havoc."
"That's so much fun."
"It is, isn't it?"
"What kind of havoc are we to reek this time?"………
Foster, James W.
ISBN 13: 978-1-897381-19-9
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Hello Once More
“Hello once again Dear Reader,
It has been awhile, but it takes these old hands of mine a while to get things down on paper, arthritis and all makes it difficult…
If you're reading this now it must mean that you enjoyed my first little collection of tales. I hope you will find Tales of Vollmer's Hollow Book Two just as rewarding.
As before, I think I will keep my identity a secret, but I'm thinking mayhaps that I have left behind a clue or two, and perhaps I shall leave one or two more within the following pages…
It would seem that the strange goings on in my eerie, little home town never cease, and I find this to be quite delightful. A little terror has away of making one feel so much more alive.
Turn the lights down as low as you dare, curl up in your favorite reading place, and together let's take a look at some more Tales of Vollmer's Hollow.”
A CHAT IN THE WOODS
"Sister, ... sister, you must push harder."
"I am pushing hard."
"Well you must try harder. I feel like I'm moving this cart all by myself."
"Well if you'd taken my advice and let us change shapes, you could have flown and carried me. Then we would have been there by now."
"Then how would we have gotten all our lovely toys there?"
"Hmmpf!"
"Besides sister, you know as well as I do that we gain power by staying close to the land."
"Yadda, yadda, yadda."
"We're going to need all the power we can muster. The master says Vollmer's Hollow could be a lot more difficult than Salem was."
"What are we going to do when we get there?"
"The same thing we always do. Wreak havoc."
"That's so much fun."
"It is, isn't it?"
"What kind of havoc are we to reek this time?"………
Excerpt. Canyon
Canyon
Foster, James W
ISBN 13: 9781897381229
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
As the sun continued its retreat into the west casting its fading rays upon her corner of the world, the girl stirred awake. Night was falling, and under its cloak was the safe time for her and her people to carry on with the majority of their daily business.
Foster, James W
ISBN 13: 9781897381229
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
As the sun continued its retreat into the west casting its fading rays upon her corner of the world, the girl stirred awake. Night was falling, and under its cloak was the safe time for her and her people to carry on with the majority of their daily business.
This was the only way of life the girl had ever known. Darkness was a haven, a friend for her and her people. It was daylight that produced tales of their version of the boogeyman, outsiders. All outsiders were to be feared, and Mala knew that anyone she didn't recognize was an outsider and therefore an enemy.
Under no circumstance was she to allow herself to be seen by an outsider. Great pains were taken by the Sasquatch Indians to keep sightings to a minimum. Strict rules were enforced to ensure that every member of the tribe avoided being sighted by outsiders at all costs. Accidents were forgivable, but if it was deemed that a sighting by an outsider was due to negligence the penalty would be extremely harsh.
Mala was excited. Tonight there was to be a wedding and that meant a distraction. Except for the unmarried females who were afraid of attracting the attention of The Other, the whole tribe would be in attendance, and it was under circumstances such as these that Mala could escape the canyon, and was briefly free to roam.
She knew that leaving the canyon and the tribe's network of caves and tunnels was extremely risky. Not only to herself because of the wicked punishment she knew awaited her if ever she were caught, but to the entire tribe.
The Sasquatch Indians had concealed themselves for generations, and The Other, who had led her people into the canyon all those generations ago had warned them that discovery by the outsiders of the world beyond their little haven would be disastrous to them. It would indeed be the end of their way of life, the end of their tribe. This had been drilled into each of their minds from the day they were old enough to comprehend such warnings, and they all feared The Other too much to openly doubt him.
In spite of all of this, Mala was unable to resist the urge to slip away from time to time when the opportunity arose…
2
Late on a hot Saturday afternoon in late spring, two dark-haired boys walked along a quiet residential street in a little town called Vollmer's Hollow. Each of them carried a fishing pole and small tackle box. On weekends when the weather was warm, these two could often be found with their fishing poles in hand. Summer vacation was still a few weeks away, but already Shawn and Denny Jackson were sporting deep farmer's tans from many hours spent out in the sun.
The young brothers were returning home from yet another day at their favorite fishing spot in front of an unused fishing shanty. The shanty was located on a channel running inland from Lake Sasquatch. Today they had only caught a few small rock bass, but what they caught was only of secondary concern to the boys, it was simply the act of being outside that mattered to them most.
Occasionally the boys did catch something that was worth keeping. Sometimes there were brown and lake trout in the channel, and there was always perch and pickerel to be caught as well as a large variety of other fish.
The favorite of both boys was catfish. Even a smallish catfish put up a pretty good fight, and their father liked to eat the ugly things.
"This is considered a delicacy in the southern states," he had explained to his sons.
Shawn and Denny loved to bring catfish home, or more precisely, they loved to watch their father clean the catfish that they brought home. Mike Jackson had a slick way of cleaning these fish. First he nailed them to a board in the garage. Then he took a sharp knife and severed the fish's backbone, first just under its gills, and then at the tail. After that he took a pair of vise grips, clamped them onto the backbone and pulled. The backbone came away from the head and tail bringing along with it the fillets that would soon find their way to the frying pan. When the senior Jackson was done with this little operation he'd look over at his fascinated sons and wink.
"Hungry?” He'd ask them.
The boys would decline grimacing. They had no inclinations to join their father in the delicacy; they weren't nearly as big on eating fish as they were on catching them. They didn't really like any fish unless it was Captain Highliner, or Hind Liner as Denny liked to call it. Watching their father skin them was reward enough to the boys for bringing a catfish home.
Knowing how much their sons enjoyed the outdoors, Shawn and Denny's parents thought that it might be a good idea to enroll the two into boy’s club. When they asked the boys about it, Shawn, the older and usually more responsible of the two, took to the idea right away, and his enthusiasm alone was all it took for Mike and Patty Jackson to make the decision final.
Denny on the other hand, was a little more reluctant about it than his older brother. He thought that the uniforms looked ridiculous, and that boy’s club was a club for geeks. He would much rather have been signed up for baseball. It didn't matter how he felt about it though, his brother had spoken up so quickly that Denny hadn't been given a chance to voice his opinion on the matter. They were going to be enrolled into the club and that was that……….
Excerpt. What Legends Are Made Of
What Legends are Made Of
Beck, Heather
ISBN: 9781897381427
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Introduction
Have you ever experienced a story filled with so much suspense, terror, and romance that you just couldn’t get it out of your mind? Be prepared to feel all of these emotions because I’m about to take you on a journey that you’ll never forget.
You’re personally invited to tour the halls of Sir Tristan’s Estate, a place where ghosts roam freely and enter into your dreams at night. Following your stay at the estate, you’ll cruise on the Blue Oceana, the perfect place for sightseeing. With patience and a careful eye you might see the merman that lives in the crystal clear ocean. If you enjoyed watching the odd ocean creature while aboard the ship, you’ll love Frank Stanford’s Freak Show. There you’ll see a unicorn with wings and a talking tree. However, it’s the freak show’s horrifying main attraction that shocks everyone who sees it. If you can stop shaking after your encounter with freaky Frank, continue on to Karyn and Max Shield’s Costume and Magic Shop; just be careful of what you purchase there—the merchandise at the Shield’s shop is a little bit too realistic.
Some stories make your heart soar while others make you scream aloud; these stories will make you do both. They’ll leave you spellbound and yearning for more. Ready to find out what real legends are made of?
Sir Tristan’s Estate
Twenty-year-old Skye Huntington gazed out the airplane’s window as it descended towards the ground. Her view of the tree covered hills was obscured by the settling dusk. She turned her eyes towards the brightly lit runway and watched as the neon orange line simultaneously grew closer and lost momentum.
Skye grasped onto the sides of her chair as the airplane made shaky movements. Images of the causation for her presence on the airplane flooded her memory.
Skye Huntington, photographer for America’s Amazing Architects Magazine, was sprung with the assignment to photograph Sir Tristan’s Estate just a week before she was due to leave for the excursion. Honored that the editor of the magazine would choose a photographer who had only been working professionally for a year, Skye enthusiastically accepted the assignment.
Unbuckling the airplane’s seatbelt and anxious to stretch her stiff legs on Virginian ground, Skye was still satisfied with her decision to tackle the job.
She was assigned to capture the sadness behind the Sir Tristan Estate through photographic film. Skye knew very little about the estate; however, what she did know intrigued her.
The Sir Tristan Estate was built in the late eighteenth century by the Tristan’s. It had ten acres of cotton fields, which thrived on the maintenance done by slaves. Although the failure of the estate was partly due to the loss of the slaves, this occurred before the civil war and Abraham Lincoln’s declaration of human rights. Because the freeing of the slaves from the Sir Tristan Estate was wholly dependent on the actions of Sir Tristan himself, the government of Virginia honored Sir Tristan by naming estate after him. The government’s decision to do so was not a difficult one. Sir Tristan was, quite literally, a martyr, with ambitions to free all the slaves of the South and gain equality for women. Although Sir Tristan achieved many of his goals, they came with a price—his happiness.
Sir Tristan, an only child, died alone in the estate on October 28, 1860. He was unmarried and left no heirs. After his death, the Sir Tristan Estate became the property of the Virginian government, who turned it into a profitable tourist attraction and Bed and Breakfast one hundred years later.
That was the extent to which Skye’s knowledge of the estate went. Perhaps that is why the editor of America’s Amazing Architects Magazine had requested the presence of a historical interpreter.
Skye watched as the conveyer belt turned around and around. Her eyes scanned the surplus of luggage until a familiar dark green suitcase passed by. Skye grabbed for the suitcase before it could make its second trip around the belt. Although her eyes were alert, her mind was foggy. Coming from the hot state of California, the damp night air of Virginia was enough to give Skye a light sample of culture shock.
Skye whistled down a taxi and was pleasantly surprised when the driver exited the vehicle to help her put the dark green luggage into the trunk.
“Thank you,” Skye said sincerely, as the taxi driver secured the trunk and opened the door for her.
“My pleasure,” the taxi driver, who was a young man of about twenty five years, replied. “Where to?” he asked casually in a thick Southern accent. He climbed back into the taxi and fastened his seatbelt.
“The Sir Tristan Estate, please.”
The taxi driver turned backwards in his seat to cast Skye a curious glance. “Excuse me, miss,” he asked in confusion.
“The Sir Tristan Estate,” Skye repeated her words slowly, in case the accent difference was the barrier to the understanding of her instructions.
“Are you sure you want to go there?” the taxi driver inquired.
“Of course,” Skye replied, getting a tad annoyed at the driver’s uncertainty. “Is there any reason why I wouldn’t want to go to the estate?”
“Yes,” the taxi driver said dogmatically.
“And why is that?” Skye demanded, when the driver failed to offer an explanation for his dramatic behavior.
“It’s been closed for a week.”
Skye’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s not possible,” she protested, after the mild shock had worn off. “I’m here on business. My boss has made arrangements for me to stay in and photograph the Sir Tristan Estate.”
“Oh,” the taxi driver muttered, finally turned forward in his seat. “I guess they made an exception for you.” The driver’s action of putting the key into the ignition signaled his desire to end the conversation. However, Skye was no where near satisfied with her current amount of information.
“Why have they closed the estate to the public?” Skye inquired, as the taxi driver merged into traffic……..
Beck, Heather
ISBN: 9781897381427
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Introduction
Have you ever experienced a story filled with so much suspense, terror, and romance that you just couldn’t get it out of your mind? Be prepared to feel all of these emotions because I’m about to take you on a journey that you’ll never forget.
You’re personally invited to tour the halls of Sir Tristan’s Estate, a place where ghosts roam freely and enter into your dreams at night. Following your stay at the estate, you’ll cruise on the Blue Oceana, the perfect place for sightseeing. With patience and a careful eye you might see the merman that lives in the crystal clear ocean. If you enjoyed watching the odd ocean creature while aboard the ship, you’ll love Frank Stanford’s Freak Show. There you’ll see a unicorn with wings and a talking tree. However, it’s the freak show’s horrifying main attraction that shocks everyone who sees it. If you can stop shaking after your encounter with freaky Frank, continue on to Karyn and Max Shield’s Costume and Magic Shop; just be careful of what you purchase there—the merchandise at the Shield’s shop is a little bit too realistic.
Some stories make your heart soar while others make you scream aloud; these stories will make you do both. They’ll leave you spellbound and yearning for more. Ready to find out what real legends are made of?
Sir Tristan’s Estate
Twenty-year-old Skye Huntington gazed out the airplane’s window as it descended towards the ground. Her view of the tree covered hills was obscured by the settling dusk. She turned her eyes towards the brightly lit runway and watched as the neon orange line simultaneously grew closer and lost momentum.
Skye grasped onto the sides of her chair as the airplane made shaky movements. Images of the causation for her presence on the airplane flooded her memory.
Skye Huntington, photographer for America’s Amazing Architects Magazine, was sprung with the assignment to photograph Sir Tristan’s Estate just a week before she was due to leave for the excursion. Honored that the editor of the magazine would choose a photographer who had only been working professionally for a year, Skye enthusiastically accepted the assignment.
Unbuckling the airplane’s seatbelt and anxious to stretch her stiff legs on Virginian ground, Skye was still satisfied with her decision to tackle the job.
She was assigned to capture the sadness behind the Sir Tristan Estate through photographic film. Skye knew very little about the estate; however, what she did know intrigued her.
The Sir Tristan Estate was built in the late eighteenth century by the Tristan’s. It had ten acres of cotton fields, which thrived on the maintenance done by slaves. Although the failure of the estate was partly due to the loss of the slaves, this occurred before the civil war and Abraham Lincoln’s declaration of human rights. Because the freeing of the slaves from the Sir Tristan Estate was wholly dependent on the actions of Sir Tristan himself, the government of Virginia honored Sir Tristan by naming estate after him. The government’s decision to do so was not a difficult one. Sir Tristan was, quite literally, a martyr, with ambitions to free all the slaves of the South and gain equality for women. Although Sir Tristan achieved many of his goals, they came with a price—his happiness.
Sir Tristan, an only child, died alone in the estate on October 28, 1860. He was unmarried and left no heirs. After his death, the Sir Tristan Estate became the property of the Virginian government, who turned it into a profitable tourist attraction and Bed and Breakfast one hundred years later.
That was the extent to which Skye’s knowledge of the estate went. Perhaps that is why the editor of America’s Amazing Architects Magazine had requested the presence of a historical interpreter.
Skye watched as the conveyer belt turned around and around. Her eyes scanned the surplus of luggage until a familiar dark green suitcase passed by. Skye grabbed for the suitcase before it could make its second trip around the belt. Although her eyes were alert, her mind was foggy. Coming from the hot state of California, the damp night air of Virginia was enough to give Skye a light sample of culture shock.
Skye whistled down a taxi and was pleasantly surprised when the driver exited the vehicle to help her put the dark green luggage into the trunk.
“Thank you,” Skye said sincerely, as the taxi driver secured the trunk and opened the door for her.
“My pleasure,” the taxi driver, who was a young man of about twenty five years, replied. “Where to?” he asked casually in a thick Southern accent. He climbed back into the taxi and fastened his seatbelt.
“The Sir Tristan Estate, please.”
The taxi driver turned backwards in his seat to cast Skye a curious glance. “Excuse me, miss,” he asked in confusion.
“The Sir Tristan Estate,” Skye repeated her words slowly, in case the accent difference was the barrier to the understanding of her instructions.
“Are you sure you want to go there?” the taxi driver inquired.
“Of course,” Skye replied, getting a tad annoyed at the driver’s uncertainty. “Is there any reason why I wouldn’t want to go to the estate?”
“Yes,” the taxi driver said dogmatically.
“And why is that?” Skye demanded, when the driver failed to offer an explanation for his dramatic behavior.
“It’s been closed for a week.”
Skye’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s not possible,” she protested, after the mild shock had worn off. “I’m here on business. My boss has made arrangements for me to stay in and photograph the Sir Tristan Estate.”
“Oh,” the taxi driver muttered, finally turned forward in his seat. “I guess they made an exception for you.” The driver’s action of putting the key into the ignition signaled his desire to end the conversation. However, Skye was no where near satisfied with her current amount of information.
“Why have they closed the estate to the public?” Skye inquired, as the taxi driver merged into traffic……..
Meet The Author. Heather Beck
Beck, Heather
What Legends Are Made Of, Rain Publishing
Fable Farm Series, Sparklesoup Studios
Paradise Chronicles, 2005
Heather Beck was born in Ontario, Canada. She currently attends the University of Toronto where she studies English and History.
Heather began writing seriously at the age of sixteen. Her first book, The Paradise Chronicles was published when she was only nineteen-years-old.
Since then Heather has written several more books, all which have been met with glowing reviews. Although university keeps her busy, Heather is adamant about making time for her writing career.
Besides writing, Heather’s other passion is the outdoors. She enjoys fishing, hiking, swimming and playing badminton.
Author Profile. James W Foster
Author Profile Research and Reviews
Dianne Hollander
Canyon
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book One
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book Two
James W Foster
Rain Publishing Inc.
jameswfoster.shoutpost.com
www.blogtalkradio.com/yoga/blog/2007/11/12/James-W-Foster
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=24
cairnsmedia.com/Archives
www.amazon.com/Canyon-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381220
www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hollander-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381204
shocklines.stores.yahoo.net/dihobyjawfob.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=203
www.amazon.co.uk/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n:63,p_27:James Foster&page=1
www.horrorfind.com/Horror_Fiction/horror_fiction28.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16167
Dianne Hollander
Canyon
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book One
Tales of Vollmers Hollow-Book Two
James W Foster
Rain Publishing Inc.
jameswfoster.shoutpost.com
www.blogtalkradio.com/yoga/blog/2007/11/12/James-W-Foster
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=24
cairnsmedia.com/Archives
www.amazon.com/Canyon-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381220
www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hollander-James-W-Foster/dp/1897381204
shocklines.stores.yahoo.net/dihobyjawfob.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=203
www.amazon.co.uk/s?ie=UTF8&rh=n:63,p_27:James Foster&page=1
www.horrorfind.com/Horror_Fiction/horror_fiction28.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16167
Interview: Heather Beck
Book Marketing Author Interview: Heather Beck
http://allbookmarketing.com/2007/11/05/publishing-industry-interviews/book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck/
Heather Beck, both a screenwriter and published author of What Legends are Made Of and the Fable Farm series, was kind enough to share her marketing insights with me on marketing anthologies and series, marketing books versus her screenwriting, and the marketing effects of being published at a young age (Heather, now twenty two, was first published at nineteen).
Q: Do you predominantly work through publishers, self-publishing, or a mix of the two?
I have always gone the traditional route with publishing. When I first started researching the publishing business I was appalled to learn that some authors actually spend hundreds (sometimes even thousands) to have their manuscript published. My opinions on self-publishing have since improved with the emergence of such companies as Lulu and CafePress.
Q: What can you tell us about your current books? Do you have any additional projects in the works?
My latest book is What Legends Are Made Of. It was released in July of 2007 by Rain Publishing. What Legends Are Made Of is an anthology consisting of four paranormal romances. I have a few more books forthcoming, all which fall into the light horror or coming-of-age drama genres. I am currently focusing on screenwriting and have three TV shows, two movies and several shorts in various stages. Some of these projects are being pitched by my representative and I, while others have been optioned and are seeking financing. Although writing novels and screenplays may seem like similar activities, the process of having them become a reality is very different. From my experience, getting a book published is a less daunting task. I would recommend aspiring novelists and screenwriters to get their prose published before seeking Hollywood screenwriting agents. A large writing CV is always impressive to agents and producers.
Q: Do you feel that you face any particular challenges (or advantages) in marketing a book of short stories as opposed to a full-length work of fiction? What about marketing a series as opposed to single titles? Do you find that subsequent volumes are easier to promote?
It is not a hidden secret among writers that children’s books as well as anthologies are the hardest types of writing to sell. It was perhaps foolish of me to combine those two elements and write scary story anthologies for kids. However, that is the type of work I am passionate about and it has paid off. I wrote the first and second volumes of the Fable Farm series published by Sparklesoup Studios. I cannot deny the fact that finding a publisher for and promoting anthologies are hard; it’s actually extremely difficult. Ultimately though, a work will succeed regardless of genre and/or format if you believe wholeheartedly in it. The success of a second volume in a series depends wholly on its forerunner. If book # 1 in a series is well received then book # 2 will most likely be rewarded with the same enthusiasm. So yes, subsequent volumes are far easier to promote and sell as long as they live up to the series’ original quality.
Q: You became a published author at just nineteen years old. Did that ever hinder your marketing efforts for your first book, or did you find it to rather be a strong selling point?
In the initial point of marketing, my age is my strongest selling point. People’s interests seem to be piqued when they learn that the author is only a nineteen, or more currently, a twenty-two year old. However, you can’t hide behind your age forever. An author has to produce a quality piece of work to gain positive recognition. Nevertheless, I have yet to work with a publisher who did not include my age in my promotional biography.
Q: What have you found to be some of the more successful book marketing tactics in your case? Have you tried anything that simply didn’t work for your style or niche?
A personal website is a key tool in marketing. Although I would prefer a “.com” domain I find Tripod to be useful enough. Blogs are big right now. I’ve been asked as well as recommended to get one several times, however they seem too intrusive and time-consuming for my liking. Seeking out interviews and reviewers is also important. Responding to fan letters and questions posed by fellow authors is not only polite but it is also a good way to encourage others to purchase your book/s. This is probably the easiest and most enjoyable mode of marketing.
Preparing a sell sheet for your book/s is crucial. A sell sheet includes pertinent information about you and your book and can be submitted to bookstores and libraries. The bookstores and libraries, in turn, use your sell sheet to decide whether to stock and/or buy your book.
If you had to give one word of advice to young authors about the book marketing process, what would it be?
Capitalize. I know that sounds manipulative but its true! People are not only interested in your prose but also the story behind the story. The majority of the reading public wants inspiration so if you have a motivational tale about how you wrote a book while juggling school and a part-time job, tell it!
For more information on Heather Beck, send Rain Publishing an email at authors at rainbooks dot com.
http://allbookmarketing.com/2007/11/05/publishing-industry-interviews/book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck/
Heather Beck, both a screenwriter and published author of What Legends are Made Of and the Fable Farm series, was kind enough to share her marketing insights with me on marketing anthologies and series, marketing books versus her screenwriting, and the marketing effects of being published at a young age (Heather, now twenty two, was first published at nineteen).
Q: Do you predominantly work through publishers, self-publishing, or a mix of the two?
I have always gone the traditional route with publishing. When I first started researching the publishing business I was appalled to learn that some authors actually spend hundreds (sometimes even thousands) to have their manuscript published. My opinions on self-publishing have since improved with the emergence of such companies as Lulu and CafePress.
Q: What can you tell us about your current books? Do you have any additional projects in the works?
My latest book is What Legends Are Made Of. It was released in July of 2007 by Rain Publishing. What Legends Are Made Of is an anthology consisting of four paranormal romances. I have a few more books forthcoming, all which fall into the light horror or coming-of-age drama genres. I am currently focusing on screenwriting and have three TV shows, two movies and several shorts in various stages. Some of these projects are being pitched by my representative and I, while others have been optioned and are seeking financing. Although writing novels and screenplays may seem like similar activities, the process of having them become a reality is very different. From my experience, getting a book published is a less daunting task. I would recommend aspiring novelists and screenwriters to get their prose published before seeking Hollywood screenwriting agents. A large writing CV is always impressive to agents and producers.
Q: Do you feel that you face any particular challenges (or advantages) in marketing a book of short stories as opposed to a full-length work of fiction? What about marketing a series as opposed to single titles? Do you find that subsequent volumes are easier to promote?
It is not a hidden secret among writers that children’s books as well as anthologies are the hardest types of writing to sell. It was perhaps foolish of me to combine those two elements and write scary story anthologies for kids. However, that is the type of work I am passionate about and it has paid off. I wrote the first and second volumes of the Fable Farm series published by Sparklesoup Studios. I cannot deny the fact that finding a publisher for and promoting anthologies are hard; it’s actually extremely difficult. Ultimately though, a work will succeed regardless of genre and/or format if you believe wholeheartedly in it. The success of a second volume in a series depends wholly on its forerunner. If book # 1 in a series is well received then book # 2 will most likely be rewarded with the same enthusiasm. So yes, subsequent volumes are far easier to promote and sell as long as they live up to the series’ original quality.
Q: You became a published author at just nineteen years old. Did that ever hinder your marketing efforts for your first book, or did you find it to rather be a strong selling point?
In the initial point of marketing, my age is my strongest selling point. People’s interests seem to be piqued when they learn that the author is only a nineteen, or more currently, a twenty-two year old. However, you can’t hide behind your age forever. An author has to produce a quality piece of work to gain positive recognition. Nevertheless, I have yet to work with a publisher who did not include my age in my promotional biography.
Q: What have you found to be some of the more successful book marketing tactics in your case? Have you tried anything that simply didn’t work for your style or niche?
A personal website is a key tool in marketing. Although I would prefer a “.com” domain I find Tripod to be useful enough. Blogs are big right now. I’ve been asked as well as recommended to get one several times, however they seem too intrusive and time-consuming for my liking. Seeking out interviews and reviewers is also important. Responding to fan letters and questions posed by fellow authors is not only polite but it is also a good way to encourage others to purchase your book/s. This is probably the easiest and most enjoyable mode of marketing.
Preparing a sell sheet for your book/s is crucial. A sell sheet includes pertinent information about you and your book and can be submitted to bookstores and libraries. The bookstores and libraries, in turn, use your sell sheet to decide whether to stock and/or buy your book.
If you had to give one word of advice to young authors about the book marketing process, what would it be?
Capitalize. I know that sounds manipulative but its true! People are not only interested in your prose but also the story behind the story. The majority of the reading public wants inspiration so if you have a motivational tale about how you wrote a book while juggling school and a part-time job, tell it!
For more information on Heather Beck, send Rain Publishing an email at authors at rainbooks dot com.
Author Profile. Heather Beck
Author Profile Research and Reviews
What Legends Are Made Of
Heather Beck
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.feedblitz.com/f/?previewfeed=269931
allbookmarketing.com/.../book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck
www.fanmail.biz/mboard/viewtopic.php?t=73713
http://allbookmarketing.com/2007/11/05/publishing-industry-interviews/book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck/
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heather_Beck
heatherbeck.tripod.com/id28.html
www.amazon.com/What-Legends-Made-Heather-Beck/dp/1897381425
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/pages.php?pageid=50
www.authorsden.com/heatherbeck
http://heatherbeck.tripod.com/
www.rebeccasreads.com/interviews/authors/070206_beck_interview_ac.html
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heather_Beck
www.acedmagazine.com/heatherbeck_author_interview.html
www.sparklesoup.com/subpage5.html
www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=61-1894936582-1
scifan.com/titles/forthcoming.asp?sort=bytheme&date=072007&covers=hide
fallenangelreviews.com/Interviews/2007/Nov07-LindaL-HeatherBeck.htm
What Legends Are Made Of
Heather Beck
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.feedblitz.com/f/?previewfeed=269931
allbookmarketing.com/.../book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck
www.fanmail.biz/mboard/viewtopic.php?t=73713
http://allbookmarketing.com/2007/11/05/publishing-industry-interviews/book-marketing-author-interview-heather-beck/
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heather_Beck
heatherbeck.tripod.com/id28.html
www.amazon.com/What-Legends-Made-Heather-Beck/dp/1897381425
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/pages.php?pageid=50
www.authorsden.com/heatherbeck
http://heatherbeck.tripod.com/
www.rebeccasreads.com/interviews/authors/070206_beck_interview_ac.html
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heather_Beck
www.acedmagazine.com/heatherbeck_author_interview.html
www.sparklesoup.com/subpage5.html
www.powells.com/cgi-bin/biblio?inkey=61-1894936582-1
scifan.com/titles/forthcoming.asp?sort=bytheme&date=072007&covers=hide
fallenangelreviews.com/Interviews/2007/Nov07-LindaL-HeatherBeck.htm
Author Profile. Dr Donna Gillis Spalding
Author Profile Research and Reviews
Roots, Wings and Other Things
A Mothers True Stories on Transracial Adoptions
Spalding Gillis, Dr. Donna
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.parentingexpress.com/Words/Stories/0021.htm
www.orientaltales.com/issues/004/page07.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=11
www.breadnmolasses.com/2005_07/atlanticarts/culture.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=189
www.adoption.on.ca/ARE Conference - April 2007 FINAL.doc
www.familyhelper.net/events.html
www.townofhampton.ca/category/4180
pwac2007.blogspot.com/2006/12/november-achievements.html
www.adoption.ca/publications.htm
www.thedistrict.ca/calendar.cfm?month=4&year=2007
media.podhoster.com/thatradio/liquid_lunch_2007-11n-13_-_author_dr._donna_gillis_spalding...
thatradio.podhoster.com/index.php?sid=1210&pid=4467
fredkid.com/index.php?...&d=15&m=11&y=2007&vcat=&Itemid=&v=d
alumni.unb.ca/publications/alumninews/2007WinterOnline.pdf
dailygleaner.canadaeast.com/liveit/article/122284
justfred.ca/justfred.forums/calendar.php?do=getinfo&day=2007-11-15&...
www.blogcatalog.com/posts/adoptions
www.gnb.ca/legis/leglibbib/Special_Projects/Sept2007.pdf
www.adoption.on.ca/ARE Conference - April 2007 FINAL.doc
canadaadopts.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=23&t=000782
www.prweb.com/releases/2006/10/prweb449723.htm
Roots, Wings and Other Things
A Mothers True Stories on Transracial Adoptions
Spalding Gillis, Dr. Donna
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.parentingexpress.com/Words/Stories/0021.htm
www.orientaltales.com/issues/004/page07.html
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=11
www.breadnmolasses.com/2005_07/atlanticarts/culture.html
www.bookcatcher.com/bookreleases/ezineready.php?id=189
www.adoption.on.ca/ARE Conference - April 2007 FINAL.doc
www.familyhelper.net/events.html
www.townofhampton.ca/category/4180
pwac2007.blogspot.com/2006/12/november-achievements.html
www.adoption.ca/publications.htm
www.thedistrict.ca/calendar.cfm?month=4&year=2007
media.podhoster.com/thatradio/liquid_lunch_2007-11n-13_-_author_dr._donna_gillis_spalding...
thatradio.podhoster.com/index.php?sid=1210&pid=4467
fredkid.com/index.php?...&d=15&m=11&y=2007&vcat=&Itemid=&v=d
alumni.unb.ca/publications/alumninews/2007WinterOnline.pdf
dailygleaner.canadaeast.com/liveit/article/122284
justfred.ca/justfred.forums/calendar.php?do=getinfo&day=2007-11-15&...
www.blogcatalog.com/posts/adoptions
www.gnb.ca/legis/leglibbib/Special_Projects/Sept2007.pdf
www.adoption.on.ca/ARE Conference - April 2007 FINAL.doc
canadaadopts.com/cgi-bin/ultimatebb.cgi?ubb=get_topic&f=23&t=000782
www.prweb.com/releases/2006/10/prweb449723.htm
Excerpt. Roots, Wings and Other Things
Roots, Wings and Other Things.
A Mother’s True Story on Transracial Adoptions.
Gillis Spalding, Dr. Donna
ISBN 13: 978-1-897381-00-7
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
The idea of adopting a family was a dream I’d had since I was a teenager, when I did volunteer work in an orphanage. Most of the children in the orphanage were older and of mixed race. As a teenager, I could not imagine what it would be like to live without a family. Every year I would bring home a child from the orphanage to spend Christmas with my family. I would beg my mother and father to adopt these visitors, but of course that didn’t happen. I never forgot the children in the orphanage and decided I would adopt children when I married.
Anytime I got interested in a man I would make sure I knew his views on adoption, and fortunately, I found Howard. We were married in 1964, and now have eight children. This is the story of our family and how it developed.
Our family could best be described as “unplanned.” We have one biological child, six adopted children, and one child who was old enough when she came to us that we did not have to go through the legal process of adoption. Our children come from different racial backgrounds, and their ages at adoption ranged from three months to fifteen years.
Most parents do not know what problems their children will face in life, but because we were a transracial family, we had the advantage of being able to identify at least some of them in advance. Some of our children had little knowledge of their biological background, and consequently had difficulty developing a sense of identity. Others had lived with their parents, but for one reason or another had been placed in foster homes.
After years of going from one foster home another, these children had no concept of family. All but one of them had experienced physical and/or mental abuse. For all these reasons, I felt it was of paramount importance to provide the children with new roots. It was equally important to give them the confidence to take on the world and build their own lives.
Before getting on with our family story, I would like to express my feelings regarding our family. An awkward situation we often had to deal with was having people tell us how wonderful we were for adopting children—especially older, interracial children. Many people think that choosing to adopt is unnatural and somehow deserving of praise. We believe we were the lucky ones, because we experienced the love of these children.
Adoptive families can be as real, loving, and permanent as other forms of families.
My roots are in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. My maternal great-grandfather came from Scotland and settled in Rocky Boston, on Cape Breton Island. By the time his son (my grandfather) was old enough to work, Rocky Boston was a thriving community, and most of the people were subsistence farmers.
Over time, my uncles moved to Sydney to work in the coalmines. They boarded at a home during the week and went back to Rocky Boston on weekends. By the time I was a child, there were only two houses in the area: one belonged to my grandfather and the other to his son, my uncle. Today Rocky Boston is uninhabited.
My grandparents had six sons and four daughters. My grandmother died giving birth to my mother, and my grandfather could not take care of a baby. Another Scottish family who spoke Gaelic raised her, but her position in the new family was ambiguous; on one hand she was accepted, but on the other, she was not considered to be a real member of the family.
Consequently, my mother never met her biological family until she was married and had her own children. You can imagine her surprise when she found out she had so many brothers and sisters. Five of my uncles (her brothers) and one aunt (her sister) continued to live at home with Grandpa at Rocky Boston. My aunt did not marry because she had to look after the men.
Only one of my uncles—Norman—married. Uncle Norman and his wife had one child, who was killed in a car/pedestrian accident when he was sixteen. My grandfather lived until he was one hundred and five, but never got over the fact that there was no one to carry on the family name.
Gaelic was the only language that Grandpa spoke, so the rest of the family spoke Gaelic whenever they were at the farm. My mom also spoke some Gaelic at home when she did not want us children to understand what she was saying.
She was not very happy when she heard me repeating her Gaelic words to Grandpa. I don’t know what he said to Mom, but he sure seemed upset with her……….
A Mother’s True Story on Transracial Adoptions.
Gillis Spalding, Dr. Donna
ISBN 13: 978-1-897381-00-7
Paperback; perfect bound; 5.5 x 8.5
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
1
The idea of adopting a family was a dream I’d had since I was a teenager, when I did volunteer work in an orphanage. Most of the children in the orphanage were older and of mixed race. As a teenager, I could not imagine what it would be like to live without a family. Every year I would bring home a child from the orphanage to spend Christmas with my family. I would beg my mother and father to adopt these visitors, but of course that didn’t happen. I never forgot the children in the orphanage and decided I would adopt children when I married.
Anytime I got interested in a man I would make sure I knew his views on adoption, and fortunately, I found Howard. We were married in 1964, and now have eight children. This is the story of our family and how it developed.
Our family could best be described as “unplanned.” We have one biological child, six adopted children, and one child who was old enough when she came to us that we did not have to go through the legal process of adoption. Our children come from different racial backgrounds, and their ages at adoption ranged from three months to fifteen years.
Most parents do not know what problems their children will face in life, but because we were a transracial family, we had the advantage of being able to identify at least some of them in advance. Some of our children had little knowledge of their biological background, and consequently had difficulty developing a sense of identity. Others had lived with their parents, but for one reason or another had been placed in foster homes.
After years of going from one foster home another, these children had no concept of family. All but one of them had experienced physical and/or mental abuse. For all these reasons, I felt it was of paramount importance to provide the children with new roots. It was equally important to give them the confidence to take on the world and build their own lives.
Before getting on with our family story, I would like to express my feelings regarding our family. An awkward situation we often had to deal with was having people tell us how wonderful we were for adopting children—especially older, interracial children. Many people think that choosing to adopt is unnatural and somehow deserving of praise. We believe we were the lucky ones, because we experienced the love of these children.
Adoptive families can be as real, loving, and permanent as other forms of families.
My roots are in Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia. My maternal great-grandfather came from Scotland and settled in Rocky Boston, on Cape Breton Island. By the time his son (my grandfather) was old enough to work, Rocky Boston was a thriving community, and most of the people were subsistence farmers.
Over time, my uncles moved to Sydney to work in the coalmines. They boarded at a home during the week and went back to Rocky Boston on weekends. By the time I was a child, there were only two houses in the area: one belonged to my grandfather and the other to his son, my uncle. Today Rocky Boston is uninhabited.
My grandparents had six sons and four daughters. My grandmother died giving birth to my mother, and my grandfather could not take care of a baby. Another Scottish family who spoke Gaelic raised her, but her position in the new family was ambiguous; on one hand she was accepted, but on the other, she was not considered to be a real member of the family.
Consequently, my mother never met her biological family until she was married and had her own children. You can imagine her surprise when she found out she had so many brothers and sisters. Five of my uncles (her brothers) and one aunt (her sister) continued to live at home with Grandpa at Rocky Boston. My aunt did not marry because she had to look after the men.
Only one of my uncles—Norman—married. Uncle Norman and his wife had one child, who was killed in a car/pedestrian accident when he was sixteen. My grandfather lived until he was one hundred and five, but never got over the fact that there was no one to carry on the family name.
Gaelic was the only language that Grandpa spoke, so the rest of the family spoke Gaelic whenever they were at the farm. My mom also spoke some Gaelic at home when she did not want us children to understand what she was saying.
She was not very happy when she heard me repeating her Gaelic words to Grandpa. I don’t know what he said to Mom, but he sure seemed upset with her……….
Are You Left or Right Brained?
P.L Reed-Wallinger answers--
Are you right-brained or left-brained, and how does that factor into your writing? Do you get writer’s block, and if so, how do you cope?
None of my books have been made into movies. However, when I first penned Dark Secrets, I envisioned Dwayne Johnson (The Rock), as the main character. I actually thought the storyline was a perfect fit for that actor’s personality and acting abilities. Forbidden Fantasies, too, had several characters modeled after celebrities, and like Dark Secrets, the storyline would make an awesome movie.
I have only one book that was written with the express intent of writing a trilogy. It is, in fact, one of the first things I really put serious writing effort into. Prophesy Stones—Book I, The Quest. It’s a sword and sorcery fantasy fiction, complete with its own world, cultures, deities, language, and conflicts. It is, in fact, my passion. I love losing myself in that world, and truly hope to see those books published someday.
I really have not contemplated sequels to any great extent, although I’ve had reader requests for another story around the Dark Secrets’ characters. Actually, Forbidden Fantasies has another story in it—Angie’s story. As I was writing, I would constantly have flashes of that other storyline coming through, and pondered the idea of pursuing it someday. I pour so much of myself into every book, that by the time I’m done I’m totally exhausted. I’m really nowhere near ready to start back into that storyline again. And, for the most part, by the time I reach the end of a story, it’s as if the characters are done talking. They wave goodbye and leave. They don’t stick around to tell any more tales, and I’m not clever enough to make that shit up all by myself.
P.L. Reed-Wallinger
Dark Secrets, Forbidden Fantasies, Emma's Choice and coming in '08- Obscene Obsessions
Are you right-brained or left-brained, and how does that factor into your writing? Do you get writer’s block, and if so, how do you cope?
None of my books have been made into movies. However, when I first penned Dark Secrets, I envisioned Dwayne Johnson (The Rock), as the main character. I actually thought the storyline was a perfect fit for that actor’s personality and acting abilities. Forbidden Fantasies, too, had several characters modeled after celebrities, and like Dark Secrets, the storyline would make an awesome movie.
I have only one book that was written with the express intent of writing a trilogy. It is, in fact, one of the first things I really put serious writing effort into. Prophesy Stones—Book I, The Quest. It’s a sword and sorcery fantasy fiction, complete with its own world, cultures, deities, language, and conflicts. It is, in fact, my passion. I love losing myself in that world, and truly hope to see those books published someday.
I really have not contemplated sequels to any great extent, although I’ve had reader requests for another story around the Dark Secrets’ characters. Actually, Forbidden Fantasies has another story in it—Angie’s story. As I was writing, I would constantly have flashes of that other storyline coming through, and pondered the idea of pursuing it someday. I pour so much of myself into every book, that by the time I’m done I’m totally exhausted. I’m really nowhere near ready to start back into that storyline again. And, for the most part, by the time I reach the end of a story, it’s as if the characters are done talking. They wave goodbye and leave. They don’t stick around to tell any more tales, and I’m not clever enough to make that shit up all by myself.
P.L. Reed-Wallinger
Dark Secrets, Forbidden Fantasies, Emma's Choice and coming in '08- Obscene Obsessions
Review: Tilly Rivers
HEADLINE:
Read Sex as it was meant to be. Raw. Real and Hungry!
We are proud to present award winning author: Tilly Rivers’- Sex Pistols-United Kingdom
Tilly Rivers is a maverick in the erotica prose world. She defies any easy pigeonhole. By turns, her prose is a witty combination about modern sex lives and sweet secret cravings of desire, her explicit tales of sexual fantasy touch the hidden beast within each of us so skillfully blended into a seamless escape tansporting you as the lover.
“If I had a choice between reading Tilly’s creations of fantasy illusion and others in the erotica industry…she would and does win every time. Tilly is sexuality at its highest peak.”
- Kelly Lucas – Sex Pistols Magazine, United Kingdom
A core link in the erotica circuit Rivers will amaze you!
Read Sex as it was meant to be. Raw. Real and Hungry!
We are proud to present award winning author: Tilly Rivers’- Sex Pistols-United Kingdom
Tilly Rivers is a maverick in the erotica prose world. She defies any easy pigeonhole. By turns, her prose is a witty combination about modern sex lives and sweet secret cravings of desire, her explicit tales of sexual fantasy touch the hidden beast within each of us so skillfully blended into a seamless escape tansporting you as the lover.
“If I had a choice between reading Tilly’s creations of fantasy illusion and others in the erotica industry…she would and does win every time. Tilly is sexuality at its highest peak.”
- Kelly Lucas – Sex Pistols Magazine, United Kingdom
A core link in the erotica circuit Rivers will amaze you!
Meet the Author: Christine Cristiano
Meet the Author: Christine Cristiano
From a very young age, Christine felt compelled to put pen to paper and weave tales of make believe. Her first real attempt at fiction took place at the age of nine when she accompanied her mother to work. With nothing to occupy her time, Christine sat down at one of the typewriters and pumped out her first fable. During her summer break in her tenth year, Christine spent hours sitting on her front porch chronicling the adventures of a fictitious character named Jenny.
Through her elementary school years, Christine continued to practice her prose and delight her teachers and classmates with her stories.
“Throughout the years, something my eighth grade teacher said always stuck in my mind,” recalls Christine. “After reading one of my stories to the class, Mrs. B complimented me on my story and remarked that if I didn’t become a writer - she didn’t know what I would be become.”
In 2000, after the purchase of a brand new computer, Christine was introduced to the Internet and took her first steps along her path towards a writing career. Her compulsion to write has taken her along a remarkable journey of inspiration, perseverance and wisdom. To date, her work has appeared in hundreds of publications throughout Canada and the United States.
Christine Cristiano hangs her hat in Ontario, Canada and shares her world with her husband, two boys, and a beagle named Tessie.
From a very young age, Christine felt compelled to put pen to paper and weave tales of make believe. Her first real attempt at fiction took place at the age of nine when she accompanied her mother to work. With nothing to occupy her time, Christine sat down at one of the typewriters and pumped out her first fable. During her summer break in her tenth year, Christine spent hours sitting on her front porch chronicling the adventures of a fictitious character named Jenny.
Through her elementary school years, Christine continued to practice her prose and delight her teachers and classmates with her stories.
“Throughout the years, something my eighth grade teacher said always stuck in my mind,” recalls Christine. “After reading one of my stories to the class, Mrs. B complimented me on my story and remarked that if I didn’t become a writer - she didn’t know what I would be become.”
In 2000, after the purchase of a brand new computer, Christine was introduced to the Internet and took her first steps along her path towards a writing career. Her compulsion to write has taken her along a remarkable journey of inspiration, perseverance and wisdom. To date, her work has appeared in hundreds of publications throughout Canada and the United States.
Christine Cristiano hangs her hat in Ontario, Canada and shares her world with her husband, two boys, and a beagle named Tessie.
Church Mouse Poor
Thomas the mouse lives with his mother and grandmother in the old church at the end of town. He likes to listen to the choir sing and watch the parishioners during the Sunday sermon. One Sunday morning, he overhears Charlie Smith and his mother talking. Their words send Thomas on a journey of discovery. Along the way, he meets some unforgettable friends who try their best to help Thomas on his quest to discover if he is as poor as a church mouse!
Church Mouse Poor
The Brampton Guardian Press
Brampton author signs her latest children's book
The Brampton Guardian
Friday November 16 2007
Print this articleEmail this article
BRAMPTON - Christine Cristiano, a Brampton author, is holding a signing for her children's picture book, Church Mouse Poor, at Chapters, 52 Quarry Edge Dr.
For information, contact Chapters at 905-456-7177 .
The Actors Studio
The Actors Studio, a joint partnership between The Peel Heritage Complex and DYT Productions, is presenting a number of events to showcase the talents of its members. For information, call 416-712-2749 or visit www.dytproductions.com.
The Brampton Guardian
Friday November 16 2007
Print this articleEmail this article
BRAMPTON - Christine Cristiano, a Brampton author, is holding a signing for her children's picture book, Church Mouse Poor, at Chapters, 52 Quarry Edge Dr.
For information, contact Chapters at 905-456-7177 .
The Actors Studio
The Actors Studio, a joint partnership between The Peel Heritage Complex and DYT Productions, is presenting a number of events to showcase the talents of its members. For information, call 416-712-2749 or visit www.dytproductions.com.
Author Profile: Christine Cristiano
Author Profile Research and Reviews
Church Mouse Poor
Christine Cristiano
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.writersweekly.com/this_weeks_article/000512_08132003.html
www.brampton.com/calendar/calendar.php?op=view&id=9580
www.thebramptonguardian.com/entertainment/article/37998
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
inkspotter.com/.../newsletters/inkspotternews/InkSpotter News 5.06.pdf
www.webspawner.com/users/wordwizardry/index.html
rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=&sort=&...&page=2
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/home.php?cat=265
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16186&cat=265&page=1
canadianartsnet.com/component/.../task,userProfile/user,91
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
writersontherise.wordpress.com/2007/09/13/september-2007-roar-board
www.amazon.com/Church-Mouse-Poor-Christine-Cristiano/dp/1897381441
archives.zinester.com/54495/141108.html
www.stratfordgazette.com/wheels/article/33760
caledon.library.on.ca/index.php?...&month=09&day=22&Itemid=69
www.ticketcyclone.com/cityguides/ON/Brampton
www.jamespot.com/news/en/tag-mozart+imax.html
Church Mouse Poor
Christine Cristiano
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.writersweekly.com/this_weeks_article/000512_08132003.html
www.brampton.com/calendar/calendar.php?op=view&id=9580
www.thebramptonguardian.com/entertainment/article/37998
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
inkspotter.com/.../newsletters/inkspotternews/InkSpotter News 5.06.pdf
www.webspawner.com/users/wordwizardry/index.html
rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=&sort=&...&page=2
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/home.php?cat=265
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16186&cat=265&page=1
canadianartsnet.com/component/.../task,userProfile/user,91
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
writersontherise.wordpress.com/2007/09/13/september-2007-roar-board
www.amazon.com/Church-Mouse-Poor-Christine-Cristiano/dp/1897381441
archives.zinester.com/54495/141108.html
www.stratfordgazette.com/wheels/article/33760
caledon.library.on.ca/index.php?...&month=09&day=22&Itemid=69
www.ticketcyclone.com/cityguides/ON/Brampton
www.jamespot.com/news/en/tag-mozart+imax.html
Creation
CREATION
Written by P.L.Reed-Wallinger
There’s only one at first, but there’s always more. In the beginning, they come at night, invading my sleep and making sure I know who they are—what they want. It isn’t long until they’ve taken over my world. They slip into my day, filling my head and demanding my attention.
So alive! So real! I see their faces—watch their eyes. I note every gesture; study the expressions on increasingly familiar countenances. Much like a video playing in my head their story unfolds— I can’t wrench myself away! I watch them laugh and cry, love and struggle. I learn of their strengths and weaknesses, their feelings and thoughts. I immerse myself in them—live and breathe them. They become a part of me—flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, growing inside my skull, anxious for legitimate existence and their first breath of life.
Suddenly it’s there! The incredible drive, the all-consuming compulsion! The words thrash inside my head like roiling, churning water. They crash in wild recklessness toward release—toward the moment they can leave the confining banks of the mind that nurtured them and leap out—dancing through the air in fierce, excited, breathtaking abandon. Cascading with brilliant, vibrant life onto the screen of my computer—full of color and depth and vitality.
Reality outside their world ceases to exist. I’m consumed—driven! Nothing else has meaning. I have to write! I feel soaring elation in the moments when the words tumble over themselves in their eagerness to find life, and desperate agitation when they damn up, refusing my efforts to dislodge them before they are ready.
Every moment becomes an emotional struggle, step-by-step, hour-by-hour, day-by-day. Write! Sleep is elusive, food turns oddly tasteless, and relationships are meaningless. Write! There is no peace. Write! No escape. Write! They won’t let me rest until I’ve penned their words, captured the essence of their lives into the sentences that will fan themselves across the pages rolling out of the computer before me.
And then it’s over! No more struggle. No more anguish. The lives that found their existence in my mind are real and whole. Born at last into a world that will come to know them as the inimitable, striking creatures they are. What an incredible feeling of elation and accomplishment, yet the euphoria is tinged with weariness and relief. Wrenched from somewhere deep in my gut, a sigh tumbles forth, and I wearily seek out my bed. I could sleep for hours—days—years!
The throes of creation have given birth to something that amazes me---did I really do that? How could I create something so unique, so perfect, and so beautiful? The answer is simple, I didn’t! God’s hand is clearly visible in the shadows of this work, and I am only the vassal. My role in this is manifest and I am ecstatic and humbled at one-and-the-same time. The weariness lifts, and my soul fills with joy, peace, and contentment. What a beautiful thing---creation!
Written by P.L.Reed-Wallinger
There’s only one at first, but there’s always more. In the beginning, they come at night, invading my sleep and making sure I know who they are—what they want. It isn’t long until they’ve taken over my world. They slip into my day, filling my head and demanding my attention.
So alive! So real! I see their faces—watch their eyes. I note every gesture; study the expressions on increasingly familiar countenances. Much like a video playing in my head their story unfolds— I can’t wrench myself away! I watch them laugh and cry, love and struggle. I learn of their strengths and weaknesses, their feelings and thoughts. I immerse myself in them—live and breathe them. They become a part of me—flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood, growing inside my skull, anxious for legitimate existence and their first breath of life.
Suddenly it’s there! The incredible drive, the all-consuming compulsion! The words thrash inside my head like roiling, churning water. They crash in wild recklessness toward release—toward the moment they can leave the confining banks of the mind that nurtured them and leap out—dancing through the air in fierce, excited, breathtaking abandon. Cascading with brilliant, vibrant life onto the screen of my computer—full of color and depth and vitality.
Reality outside their world ceases to exist. I’m consumed—driven! Nothing else has meaning. I have to write! I feel soaring elation in the moments when the words tumble over themselves in their eagerness to find life, and desperate agitation when they damn up, refusing my efforts to dislodge them before they are ready.
Every moment becomes an emotional struggle, step-by-step, hour-by-hour, day-by-day. Write! Sleep is elusive, food turns oddly tasteless, and relationships are meaningless. Write! There is no peace. Write! No escape. Write! They won’t let me rest until I’ve penned their words, captured the essence of their lives into the sentences that will fan themselves across the pages rolling out of the computer before me.
And then it’s over! No more struggle. No more anguish. The lives that found their existence in my mind are real and whole. Born at last into a world that will come to know them as the inimitable, striking creatures they are. What an incredible feeling of elation and accomplishment, yet the euphoria is tinged with weariness and relief. Wrenched from somewhere deep in my gut, a sigh tumbles forth, and I wearily seek out my bed. I could sleep for hours—days—years!
The throes of creation have given birth to something that amazes me---did I really do that? How could I create something so unique, so perfect, and so beautiful? The answer is simple, I didn’t! God’s hand is clearly visible in the shadows of this work, and I am only the vassal. My role in this is manifest and I am ecstatic and humbled at one-and-the-same time. The weariness lifts, and my soul fills with joy, peace, and contentment. What a beautiful thing---creation!
Caribbean People with Colin Rickards
Caribbean People with Colin Rickards
New novel from Bernadette Gabay Dyer
By Colin Rickards
Bernadette Gabay Dyer is a graduate of The Jamaica School of Art, which gave her the opportunity -- very rare for an author -- to create the illustration for the cover of Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten, her first novel.
Now she has been able to do so again with the cover of her second novel, Abductors, just released by the Burlington-based Rain Publishing, and given a public send-off at a book launch on Tuesday evening.
The book is Gabay Dyer’s first major venture into what most of us would call Science Fiction, but which -- to the cognoscenti -- is also known as Fantasy, Speculative or Fabulist Fiction.
A Fabulist, as defined by the Concise Oxford Dictionary, is “a composer of fables or apologues” -- meaning “moral fables.”
Gabay Dyer’s story takes place in Toronto and in Sussex, England, where her sister -- to whom the book is dedicated -- lives.
In a nutshell -- which is all a Reviewer should do with Fiction -- it is a story about three young friends: English immigrant Graeme Hulis, his Jamaica-born school friend, Norman, and Allison, “a Regular Canadian.”
Graeme’s father disappears in Toronto, and strange clues are found in writings by and about his long dead mother, who seemingly vanished off the face of the earth many years before.
This leads the three friends into some eerie detective work, where they are confronted by the unexplainable, and it seems to them that entities from alien lore and folklore have united to prevent them from learning the truth.
The book has been some time in the making.
“From the time I started it, until the time Rain decided to publish, I have written three novels,” Gabay Dyer told those attending her book launch.
She was born and raised in Kingston, Jamaica, and attended Immaculate Conception High School and The Jamaica School of Art, where she specialized in Painting and Design, then migrated to Toronto in 1968.
Following training as a teacher, Gabay Dyer joined the Toronto Public Library in 1973. She is currently at the Parliament Street branch, but has worked at the High Park and College/Shaw branches.
She says that her “familial roots in Africa, India and Europe” have led her to “develop a keen literary interest in racial blending” and Multicultural storytelling.
She has published three chapbooks and Villa Fair, a collection of multi-ethnic short stories, was published by Beach Holme Press in 2000. Women’s Press published her novel Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten in 2004
The hero, John Moneague, child of a Black Jamaican country girl and a White sailor -- nationality unknown -- is raised by an old Hakka Chinese woman in impoverished Kingston in the years following World War One.
Befriended by a wealthy American woman, he loses track of her and becomes the adopted son of a Jewish couple involved in helping their co-religionists to escape from Second World War Hitler-dominated Europe.
Gabay Dyer is also a poet and storyteller. She has read from her own work at Harbourfront, among other places, and did so -- from Villa Fair -- at an event connected with last month’s Caribbean Canadian Literary Expo.
Some of her work has appeared in anthologies, and she has had stories published by magazines in Canada, England, the United States and France.
There aren’t too many Caribbean writers working in the Science Fiction --
in its widest sense -- genre.
Nalo Hopkinson, born in Jamaica, raised in Guyana and Trinidad, and now living in Toronto, is preeminent, the best known multi-award-winning author of four novels and a collection of short stories in the past nine years.
She has also edited two anthologies -- one called Whispers From the Cotton Tree Root: Caribbean Fabulist Fiction -- and her latest novel, The New Moon’s Arms, set on a mythical Caribbean island, came out this year.
Tobias S. Bucknell -- “a Caribbean-born speculative fiction writer who grew up in Grenada, the United States and the British Virgin Islands,” now lives in Ohio. His first novel, Crystal Rain, was published last year.
Marcia Douglas, born in England to Jamaican parents, raised in the island, and now living in Colorado, is also a Fabulist. Her novels Madam Fate and Notes from a Writer’s Book of Cures and Spells appeared in 1999 and 2005.
Gabay Dyer spoke interestingly to Montreal-based H. Nigel Thomas for his book Why WE Write -- subtitled “Conversations with African Canadian Poets and Novelists” released by TSAR Publications last year.
With Abductors, she bids fair for a place among the elite Caribbean-born SciFi coterie, making connections with fairies and space travellers, and providing an exciting and surprising read.
Rain Publishing describes the book as Young Adult Fiction, though I personally found it engrossing -- and I’ve not been a Young Adult for quite some years! -30-
New novel from Bernadette Gabay Dyer
By Colin Rickards
Bernadette Gabay Dyer is a graduate of The Jamaica School of Art, which gave her the opportunity -- very rare for an author -- to create the illustration for the cover of Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten, her first novel.
Now she has been able to do so again with the cover of her second novel, Abductors, just released by the Burlington-based Rain Publishing, and given a public send-off at a book launch on Tuesday evening.
The book is Gabay Dyer’s first major venture into what most of us would call Science Fiction, but which -- to the cognoscenti -- is also known as Fantasy, Speculative or Fabulist Fiction.
A Fabulist, as defined by the Concise Oxford Dictionary, is “a composer of fables or apologues” -- meaning “moral fables.”
Gabay Dyer’s story takes place in Toronto and in Sussex, England, where her sister -- to whom the book is dedicated -- lives.
In a nutshell -- which is all a Reviewer should do with Fiction -- it is a story about three young friends: English immigrant Graeme Hulis, his Jamaica-born school friend, Norman, and Allison, “a Regular Canadian.”
Graeme’s father disappears in Toronto, and strange clues are found in writings by and about his long dead mother, who seemingly vanished off the face of the earth many years before.
This leads the three friends into some eerie detective work, where they are confronted by the unexplainable, and it seems to them that entities from alien lore and folklore have united to prevent them from learning the truth.
The book has been some time in the making.
“From the time I started it, until the time Rain decided to publish, I have written three novels,” Gabay Dyer told those attending her book launch.
She was born and raised in Kingston, Jamaica, and attended Immaculate Conception High School and The Jamaica School of Art, where she specialized in Painting and Design, then migrated to Toronto in 1968.
Following training as a teacher, Gabay Dyer joined the Toronto Public Library in 1973. She is currently at the Parliament Street branch, but has worked at the High Park and College/Shaw branches.
She says that her “familial roots in Africa, India and Europe” have led her to “develop a keen literary interest in racial blending” and Multicultural storytelling.
She has published three chapbooks and Villa Fair, a collection of multi-ethnic short stories, was published by Beach Holme Press in 2000. Women’s Press published her novel Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten in 2004
The hero, John Moneague, child of a Black Jamaican country girl and a White sailor -- nationality unknown -- is raised by an old Hakka Chinese woman in impoverished Kingston in the years following World War One.
Befriended by a wealthy American woman, he loses track of her and becomes the adopted son of a Jewish couple involved in helping their co-religionists to escape from Second World War Hitler-dominated Europe.
Gabay Dyer is also a poet and storyteller. She has read from her own work at Harbourfront, among other places, and did so -- from Villa Fair -- at an event connected with last month’s Caribbean Canadian Literary Expo.
Some of her work has appeared in anthologies, and she has had stories published by magazines in Canada, England, the United States and France.
There aren’t too many Caribbean writers working in the Science Fiction --
in its widest sense -- genre.
Nalo Hopkinson, born in Jamaica, raised in Guyana and Trinidad, and now living in Toronto, is preeminent, the best known multi-award-winning author of four novels and a collection of short stories in the past nine years.
She has also edited two anthologies -- one called Whispers From the Cotton Tree Root: Caribbean Fabulist Fiction -- and her latest novel, The New Moon’s Arms, set on a mythical Caribbean island, came out this year.
Tobias S. Bucknell -- “a Caribbean-born speculative fiction writer who grew up in Grenada, the United States and the British Virgin Islands,” now lives in Ohio. His first novel, Crystal Rain, was published last year.
Marcia Douglas, born in England to Jamaican parents, raised in the island, and now living in Colorado, is also a Fabulist. Her novels Madam Fate and Notes from a Writer’s Book of Cures and Spells appeared in 1999 and 2005.
Gabay Dyer spoke interestingly to Montreal-based H. Nigel Thomas for his book Why WE Write -- subtitled “Conversations with African Canadian Poets and Novelists” released by TSAR Publications last year.
With Abductors, she bids fair for a place among the elite Caribbean-born SciFi coterie, making connections with fairies and space travellers, and providing an exciting and surprising read.
Rain Publishing describes the book as Young Adult Fiction, though I personally found it engrossing -- and I’ve not been a Young Adult for quite some years! -30-
Abductors
Abductors
When thirteen year old Graeme Hulis and his father immigrated to Toronto Canada from England, it was because Allison, a Canadian girl and her mother encouraged the immigration. But Graeme is totally unprepared for the unusual challenges that await him in Toronto.
A heart stopping eerie experience in a Toronto rooming house changes his life and arouses his interest in the unknown.
Without prior warning his father disappears, leaving behind a note that suggests abduction; and Graeme realizes that he himself might be stalked.
At school he befriends Norman, a Jamaican boy with whom he confides his concerns regarding his missing father, and also some explosive information he recently discovered in the diary of his long dead mother.
As a result of these findings, the two boys, and Allison soon find themselves in confrontation with the unexplained. It seems to them that entities from alien lore and folklore are united in a conspiracy to prevent them from finding out the truth about Abductors.
When thirteen year old Graeme Hulis and his father immigrated to Toronto Canada from England, it was because Allison, a Canadian girl and her mother encouraged the immigration. But Graeme is totally unprepared for the unusual challenges that await him in Toronto.
A heart stopping eerie experience in a Toronto rooming house changes his life and arouses his interest in the unknown.
Without prior warning his father disappears, leaving behind a note that suggests abduction; and Graeme realizes that he himself might be stalked.
At school he befriends Norman, a Jamaican boy with whom he confides his concerns regarding his missing father, and also some explosive information he recently discovered in the diary of his long dead mother.
As a result of these findings, the two boys, and Allison soon find themselves in confrontation with the unexplained. It seems to them that entities from alien lore and folklore are united in a conspiracy to prevent them from finding out the truth about Abductors.
Meet the Author: Bernadette Gabay Dyer
Bernadette Dyer was born in Kingston Jamaica, where she graduated from The Immaculate Conception High School, as well as The Jamaica School Of Art, having specialized in Painting and Design.
She was trained as a teacher at Toronto’s Lakeshore Teacher’s College, before becoming a novelist, a poet, a storyteller, a short story writer and a playwright.
Bernadette has told stories on CBC Radio, as well as a variety of Toronto venues, that include the popular 1001 Nights Storytelling Series, and festivals at Nathan Phillips Square.
She has read from her own work at Harbor Front, Lees Palace, the University Of Toronto, and numerous other locations.
Her work has been anthologized in several collections and appeared in Canadian literary magazines as well as literary magazines from the University of London England, a journal from France, and a literary magazine from the University of Miami Florida.
“Villa Fair” her multiethnic collection of short stories was published in 2000 by Beach Holme Publishers in Vancouver.
Her historical novel, “Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten” set between the World Wars was published in 2004 by Women’s Press, adding her maiden name Bernadette Gabay Dyer. Bernadette is one of the authors interviewed in the 2006 collection of author interviews entitled Why We Write, edited by H. Nigel Thomas and published by TSAR Publications. She lives and works in Toronto.
Two more releases by Dyer are scheduled. Spring ’08 brings “My Grandma Summer” followed by “My Grandma Winter” in the fall of the same year.
She was trained as a teacher at Toronto’s Lakeshore Teacher’s College, before becoming a novelist, a poet, a storyteller, a short story writer and a playwright.
Bernadette has told stories on CBC Radio, as well as a variety of Toronto venues, that include the popular 1001 Nights Storytelling Series, and festivals at Nathan Phillips Square.
She has read from her own work at Harbor Front, Lees Palace, the University Of Toronto, and numerous other locations.
Her work has been anthologized in several collections and appeared in Canadian literary magazines as well as literary magazines from the University of London England, a journal from France, and a literary magazine from the University of Miami Florida.
“Villa Fair” her multiethnic collection of short stories was published in 2000 by Beach Holme Publishers in Vancouver.
Her historical novel, “Waltzes I Have Not Forgotten” set between the World Wars was published in 2004 by Women’s Press, adding her maiden name Bernadette Gabay Dyer. Bernadette is one of the authors interviewed in the 2006 collection of author interviews entitled Why We Write, edited by H. Nigel Thomas and published by TSAR Publications. She lives and works in Toronto.
Two more releases by Dyer are scheduled. Spring ’08 brings “My Grandma Summer” followed by “My Grandma Winter” in the fall of the same year.
MudMen Special Guests at "Abductors"
Mudmen Special Guests at "Abductors" Book Signing
Rain Publishing Inc. celebrated the release of
Bernadette Gaby Dyer’s “Abductors” at Bar Italia on College Street in
Toronto with special guest appearances from the Mudmen.
Toronto (ON)-Three members of the MUDMEN, Rob and Sandy Campbell and Zoy Nicole came to wish Author-Bernadette Gaby Dyer great success with her book.
The six member rock band the “MudMen” whose song
“Lost” played on NBC’s The Black Donnelly’s visited because in Dyer's fantasy fiction novel the main character Graeme Hulis listens to the “MudMen” on several occasions. The band
presented Bernadette with copies of their newest CD release, while Bernadette
was only too happy to autograph copies of Abductors for the band members.
Bernadette greeted young and old to the launch.
Rain Publishing Inc. or known as RPI- wishes to send a special thank you to the musical talents of Stevie G, who entertained the guests, and Master of Ceremonies Jennifer Monteith.
Colin Richards of the Caribbean Camera was also in attendance.
Dryer has two more books to be released in 2008- this time picture books-as an artist the pictures are Bernadette's own creations, and the books "My Grandma Summer is scheduled to be released in April of '08 and My Grandma Winter in September '08" These colorful stories talk about blended families and the different cultures of each of the Grandmothers.
To contact Bernadette Gabay Dyer for a reading, please email authors at rainbooks dot com.
Rain Publishing Inc. celebrated the release of
Bernadette Gaby Dyer’s “Abductors” at Bar Italia on College Street in
Toronto with special guest appearances from the Mudmen.
Toronto (ON)-Three members of the MUDMEN, Rob and Sandy Campbell and Zoy Nicole came to wish Author-Bernadette Gaby Dyer great success with her book.
The six member rock band the “MudMen” whose song
“Lost” played on NBC’s The Black Donnelly’s visited because in Dyer's fantasy fiction novel the main character Graeme Hulis listens to the “MudMen” on several occasions. The band
presented Bernadette with copies of their newest CD release, while Bernadette
was only too happy to autograph copies of Abductors for the band members.
Bernadette greeted young and old to the launch.
Rain Publishing Inc. or known as RPI- wishes to send a special thank you to the musical talents of Stevie G, who entertained the guests, and Master of Ceremonies Jennifer Monteith.
Colin Richards of the Caribbean Camera was also in attendance.
Dryer has two more books to be released in 2008- this time picture books-as an artist the pictures are Bernadette's own creations, and the books "My Grandma Summer is scheduled to be released in April of '08 and My Grandma Winter in September '08" These colorful stories talk about blended families and the different cultures of each of the Grandmothers.
To contact Bernadette Gabay Dyer for a reading, please email authors at rainbooks dot com.
Promote, Promote, Promote
Self Promotion
By Tilly Rivers
I have been often asked how did you do it? How did you sale 100,000 copies of your last novel?
Of course, me being me, I smile and tell them I am extremely talented!
Reality is though, my old publishing copy did not sell the novels, we did it together, because I knew the secret to success, for you see a publisher can sing your praises, a publisher will promote, promote and promote, they invest not only the money into your novel your promotion and your marketing but into you. The time and finance to make you, to make your novel shine.
At least this is Rain Publishing’ working ethics.
However the ‘best’ advocate for my novels was me.
No one will be as passionate and excited about my accomplishments as I am. No one will be able to promote that passion, that driving desire, no matter how good they are, as well as I can.
My secret:
“Do something to promote your book and yourself everyday!”
So I am challenging you…are you doing something to promote yourself today?
First rule of promotion is to talk about your work to anyone and everyone. ALL THE TIME!
Use msn? Tell them about you’re an author
On chat lines? Belong to on line groups? Tell them you’re an author
Member of a club, organization or volunteer? Spread the good word; tell them that you are an author!
Shy? Time to get over it. While sitting in the doctors office or waiting for a bus, an easy opener in small talk is simply “What do you do for a living?”
Listen to their answer
What do you think will happen next?
You guessed it, they will ask you.
While you are shopping for groceries, shoes or undies ask the staff how long they have been working at the establishment.
Listen to their answer.
Ask them if they like their career.
Listen to their answer.
What do you think will happen next?
You guessed it, they will ask you.
Do you have business cards made up?
The business cards should clearly state your name, AUTHOR, and contact information. For privacy protection, please use the authors@rainbooks.com email and the RP telephone number.
Please for your own safety: NEVER give out personal information on business cards!
Because you have business cards made up and ALWAYS on you (from pockets to cases), you can give them your card.
The result, they will ‘check you out” on the website, I call this the curiosity factor.
Do not be surprised the next time you see that same person they approach you and tell you they have either purchased your novel, or went on the website to see your bio.
How many people do they know? How many people do you think they have told?
This is the beginning of market demand!
Word of mouth marketing. Easy hmmm?
Remember the rule of seven. Seven exposures results in a 95% rate of 1 sale.
The key is consistency.
Make it easy for people to find you. Every email sent out to friends and family should have a small tag on the bottom, letting them know about your book and where it can be found.
We all get, and have passed on those annoying chain emails that say we need to pass this on to ten people or else. Why not use them to promote you?
Do not be scared that people will be saying you are ‘bragging’ there is a big difference between ‘vanity’ and self promotion and branding.
I am proud of my accomplishments. If a mom can brag about baby George until she is pink in the cheeks, I can brag about baby book “X” until my cheeks are pink too!
By Tilly Rivers
I have been often asked how did you do it? How did you sale 100,000 copies of your last novel?
Of course, me being me, I smile and tell them I am extremely talented!
Reality is though, my old publishing copy did not sell the novels, we did it together, because I knew the secret to success, for you see a publisher can sing your praises, a publisher will promote, promote and promote, they invest not only the money into your novel your promotion and your marketing but into you. The time and finance to make you, to make your novel shine.
At least this is Rain Publishing’ working ethics.
However the ‘best’ advocate for my novels was me.
No one will be as passionate and excited about my accomplishments as I am. No one will be able to promote that passion, that driving desire, no matter how good they are, as well as I can.
My secret:
“Do something to promote your book and yourself everyday!”
So I am challenging you…are you doing something to promote yourself today?
First rule of promotion is to talk about your work to anyone and everyone. ALL THE TIME!
Use msn? Tell them about you’re an author
On chat lines? Belong to on line groups? Tell them you’re an author
Member of a club, organization or volunteer? Spread the good word; tell them that you are an author!
Shy? Time to get over it. While sitting in the doctors office or waiting for a bus, an easy opener in small talk is simply “What do you do for a living?”
Listen to their answer
What do you think will happen next?
You guessed it, they will ask you.
While you are shopping for groceries, shoes or undies ask the staff how long they have been working at the establishment.
Listen to their answer.
Ask them if they like their career.
Listen to their answer.
What do you think will happen next?
You guessed it, they will ask you.
Do you have business cards made up?
The business cards should clearly state your name, AUTHOR, and contact information. For privacy protection, please use the authors@rainbooks.com email and the RP telephone number.
Please for your own safety: NEVER give out personal information on business cards!
Because you have business cards made up and ALWAYS on you (from pockets to cases), you can give them your card.
The result, they will ‘check you out” on the website, I call this the curiosity factor.
Do not be surprised the next time you see that same person they approach you and tell you they have either purchased your novel, or went on the website to see your bio.
How many people do they know? How many people do you think they have told?
This is the beginning of market demand!
Word of mouth marketing. Easy hmmm?
Remember the rule of seven. Seven exposures results in a 95% rate of 1 sale.
The key is consistency.
Make it easy for people to find you. Every email sent out to friends and family should have a small tag on the bottom, letting them know about your book and where it can be found.
We all get, and have passed on those annoying chain emails that say we need to pass this on to ten people or else. Why not use them to promote you?
Do not be scared that people will be saying you are ‘bragging’ there is a big difference between ‘vanity’ and self promotion and branding.
I am proud of my accomplishments. If a mom can brag about baby George until she is pink in the cheeks, I can brag about baby book “X” until my cheeks are pink too!
Book Stores
Look for Rain Publishing titles at the following bookstores / retail outlets:
Canex Retail Store 19 Wing COMOX Lazo, BC 250-339-8147
Canex Retail Store CFB Base, Canex MallShilo, MB 204-765-3000 x3323
Canex Retail StoreCTC Gagetown BaseOromocto, NB 506-422-2000 x2271
Chapters – Regent Mall1381 Regent Street Fredericton, NB 506-459-2616
Coles – Lancaster Mall621 Fairville Boulevard St. John, NB 506-672-7670
Hampton Pharmacy 599 Main Street Hampton, NB 506-832-5564
Coles Bookstore-Truro Mall -245 Robie Street -Truro, NS
902-895-4929
Books for Business
120 Adelaide St. W
Toronto, ON
416-362-7822
Bookers
172 Lakeshore Road
Oakville, ON
905-844-5501
Book Stop
1 Jockvale Road, Unit #5
Ottawa, ON
613-823-7455
Book Stop-2
1224 Place d’Orleans Drive
Ottawa, ON
613-841-7897
Bryan Prince Bookstore
1060 King St. West
Hamilton, ON
905-528-4508
Canadian Book Depot
566 Young St.Unit 2
Barrie, ON
705-728-2864
Canex Retail Store
8 Wing,
Trenton Base RCAF Road
Astra, ON
613-392-2811
Canex Retail Store
Bldg R-102
CFB Petawawa
Petawawa, ON
613-687-5595
Carl's Pharmacy
1207 Hurontario Street
Mississauga, ON
905-278-7041
Coles – First Canadian Place
100 King Street West
Toronto, ON
416-869-1079
Collected Works Bookstore
1242 Wellington Street West
Ottawa, ON
613-722-1265
Different Drummer Bookstore
513 Locust St.
Burlington, ON
905-639-0925
Flipping Pages
239 Main Street
Port Dover, ON
519-583-9991
Gravenhurst Book Store
120 Muskoka Rd. South
Gravenhurst, ON
705-687-0555
Oxford Book Shop
740 Richmond Street
London, ON
519-438-8336
New World Market Bookstore
514 Davis Dr.
Newmarket, ON
905-953-8602
Roxanne’s Reflections Book & Card Shop
152 St. Andrew’s St. W
Fergus, ON
519-843-4391
Toronto Women’s Bookstore
73 Harbord Street
Toronto, ON
416-397-1357
Wikwemikong Unceded Indian Reserve
19A Complex Drive
PO Box 112 Wikwemikong, ON
705-859-3001
U.S.A.
Bookshop Santa Cruz 1520 Pacific AvenueSanta Cruz, CA831-423-0900
Capitola Book Café 1475 41st Avenue Capitola, CA 831-462-4415
Books Inc. 2251 Chestnut StreetSan Francisco, CA415-931-3633
Books Inc. 2275 Market StreetSan Francisco, CA415-864-6777
Books Inc. 3515 California StreetSan Francisco, CA415-221-3666
Jan's Place at Mount Carmel St. Ann'sP. O. Box 13106Columbus, OH614-898-8800
Jan's Place is a cancer support center offering a single source for access to cancer support from various professionals, medical products, information, classes, support groups and therapy to comfort patients from diagnosis through treatment and into recovery. Our on-site library offers a wide array of books and information for reference and for purchase to enhance the journey for our patients and support their families and caregivers. Our retail space offers numerous products designed to ease discomfort and provide physical and emotional support during treatment.
For more information call: 614-898-8517.
Canex Retail Store 19 Wing COMOX Lazo, BC 250-339-8147
Canex Retail Store CFB Base, Canex MallShilo, MB 204-765-3000 x3323
Canex Retail StoreCTC Gagetown BaseOromocto, NB 506-422-2000 x2271
Chapters – Regent Mall1381 Regent Street Fredericton, NB 506-459-2616
Coles – Lancaster Mall621 Fairville Boulevard St. John, NB 506-672-7670
Hampton Pharmacy 599 Main Street Hampton, NB 506-832-5564
Coles Bookstore-Truro Mall -245 Robie Street -Truro, NS
902-895-4929
Books for Business
120 Adelaide St. W
Toronto, ON
416-362-7822
Bookers
172 Lakeshore Road
Oakville, ON
905-844-5501
Book Stop
1 Jockvale Road, Unit #5
Ottawa, ON
613-823-7455
Book Stop-2
1224 Place d’Orleans Drive
Ottawa, ON
613-841-7897
Bryan Prince Bookstore
1060 King St. West
Hamilton, ON
905-528-4508
Canadian Book Depot
566 Young St.Unit 2
Barrie, ON
705-728-2864
Canex Retail Store
8 Wing,
Trenton Base RCAF Road
Astra, ON
613-392-2811
Canex Retail Store
Bldg R-102
CFB Petawawa
Petawawa, ON
613-687-5595
Carl's Pharmacy
1207 Hurontario Street
Mississauga, ON
905-278-7041
Coles – First Canadian Place
100 King Street West
Toronto, ON
416-869-1079
Collected Works Bookstore
1242 Wellington Street West
Ottawa, ON
613-722-1265
Different Drummer Bookstore
513 Locust St.
Burlington, ON
905-639-0925
Flipping Pages
239 Main Street
Port Dover, ON
519-583-9991
Gravenhurst Book Store
120 Muskoka Rd. South
Gravenhurst, ON
705-687-0555
Oxford Book Shop
740 Richmond Street
London, ON
519-438-8336
New World Market Bookstore
514 Davis Dr.
Newmarket, ON
905-953-8602
Roxanne’s Reflections Book & Card Shop
152 St. Andrew’s St. W
Fergus, ON
519-843-4391
Toronto Women’s Bookstore
73 Harbord Street
Toronto, ON
416-397-1357
Wikwemikong Unceded Indian Reserve
19A Complex Drive
PO Box 112 Wikwemikong, ON
705-859-3001
U.S.A.
Bookshop Santa Cruz 1520 Pacific AvenueSanta Cruz, CA831-423-0900
Capitola Book Café 1475 41st Avenue Capitola, CA 831-462-4415
Books Inc. 2251 Chestnut StreetSan Francisco, CA415-931-3633
Books Inc. 2275 Market StreetSan Francisco, CA415-864-6777
Books Inc. 3515 California StreetSan Francisco, CA415-221-3666
Jan's Place at Mount Carmel St. Ann'sP. O. Box 13106Columbus, OH614-898-8800
Jan's Place is a cancer support center offering a single source for access to cancer support from various professionals, medical products, information, classes, support groups and therapy to comfort patients from diagnosis through treatment and into recovery. Our on-site library offers a wide array of books and information for reference and for purchase to enhance the journey for our patients and support their families and caregivers. Our retail space offers numerous products designed to ease discomfort and provide physical and emotional support during treatment.
For more information call: 614-898-8517.
David Stevenson and Andy Halmay
David Stevenson & Andy Halmay
David Stevenson and Andy Halmay are the oddest writing couple. They don’t even look like writers. But since they have both had acting careers, they could put on an act to look like writers, if they ever figure out what writers should look like. David is black, born in Trinidad, 6’3” and slender which makes him look even taller. Andy says he used to be 5’9” but senior citizenship has shrunk him a couple of inches. He also has Canadian and U.S. citizenship but was born in Romania.
Andy has two sons who are older than David but when David and Andy work together, they become a couple of enthusiastic teenagers who constantly find themselves in excited agreement, leading to high-fives and outbursts of loud laughter.
David has worked as an actor, dancer, singer, musician, martial artist, stunt man and stunt coordinator. Andy did that fifty years ago but he never got into stunts. As a pre-teenager he once fell out of a tall tree he was climbing and then he fell off a horse he was riding. That cured him of pursuing physical adventures. “Twice bitten, thrice shy,“ he coins a phrase.
Together David and Andy present a resume that sprinkles dozens of celebrity names with whom they’ve worked. Zsa Zsa Gabor, Lorne Greene, Leslie Nielsen, John Huston, Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Arthur Hiller, Bob Clark, Carl Perkins, Samuel Jackson, William Shatner, Lou Gossett, Jr., James Garner, Chris Rock, John Candy, Dan Aykroyd, Halle Berry, John Goodman, David Caradine, Hugh Jackman, etc.
David studied psychology and managing aggressive behaviour which often has him working with young offenders. Andy usually works on three projects at the same time. He has sold TV scripts all the way back to the pioneer days of live Television and spent twenty years on Madison Avenue winning six awards for creative excellence in commercials, documentaries and sponsored films.
In the summer and fall of 2006 Andy spent four weeks in Mumbai and Hyderabad, India, to scout locations and studios and to meet with Bollywood producers for some co-productions of film projects that he and David are developing. Their first collaboration, Dangerous Days for Dragon Dancer Vigilantes, as a book and film, may get so many sequels it may be thought of as a series.
David Stevenson and Andy Halmay are the oddest writing couple. They don’t even look like writers. But since they have both had acting careers, they could put on an act to look like writers, if they ever figure out what writers should look like. David is black, born in Trinidad, 6’3” and slender which makes him look even taller. Andy says he used to be 5’9” but senior citizenship has shrunk him a couple of inches. He also has Canadian and U.S. citizenship but was born in Romania.
Andy has two sons who are older than David but when David and Andy work together, they become a couple of enthusiastic teenagers who constantly find themselves in excited agreement, leading to high-fives and outbursts of loud laughter.
David has worked as an actor, dancer, singer, musician, martial artist, stunt man and stunt coordinator. Andy did that fifty years ago but he never got into stunts. As a pre-teenager he once fell out of a tall tree he was climbing and then he fell off a horse he was riding. That cured him of pursuing physical adventures. “Twice bitten, thrice shy,“ he coins a phrase.
Together David and Andy present a resume that sprinkles dozens of celebrity names with whom they’ve worked. Zsa Zsa Gabor, Lorne Greene, Leslie Nielsen, John Huston, Jackie Gleason, Art Carney, Arthur Hiller, Bob Clark, Carl Perkins, Samuel Jackson, William Shatner, Lou Gossett, Jr., James Garner, Chris Rock, John Candy, Dan Aykroyd, Halle Berry, John Goodman, David Caradine, Hugh Jackman, etc.
David studied psychology and managing aggressive behaviour which often has him working with young offenders. Andy usually works on three projects at the same time. He has sold TV scripts all the way back to the pioneer days of live Television and spent twenty years on Madison Avenue winning six awards for creative excellence in commercials, documentaries and sponsored films.
In the summer and fall of 2006 Andy spent four weeks in Mumbai and Hyderabad, India, to scout locations and studios and to meet with Bollywood producers for some co-productions of film projects that he and David are developing. Their first collaboration, Dangerous Days for Dragon Dancer Vigilantes, as a book and film, may get so many sequels it may be thought of as a series.
Visiting 2007: Dangerous Days a Huge Hit!
Actor and Stunt Man David Stevenson and Play Wright Andy Halmay Launch Their Book “Dangerous Days” in Toronto
Actor and Playwright pen what promises to be the action novel of the decade
Toronto (ON) – David Stevenson actor and stuntman (X-Men, F/X: The Series, I Come
In Peace) and veteran multi award winning film producer and President of Veni Vici
Entertainment Inc. Andy Halmay enjoy their first collaboration, Dangerous Days, as a
book and film this has been an adventure that they are happy to add to their long list of
accomplishments.
Together David and Andy present a resume that sprinkles dozens of celebrity names with
whom they’ve worked in the acting/film world. David studied psychology and managing
aggressive behavior which often has him working with young offenders. Andy usually
works on three projects at the same time. He has sold TV scripts all the way back to the
pioneer days of live Television and spent twenty years on Madison Avenue winning six
awards for creative excellence in commercials, documentaries and sponsored films.
Dangerous Days, the book, was released in July 2007 by Rain Publishing Inc. out of
Burlington Ontario. The first official RSVP event for the book launch was in August at "The Harleam" in downtown Toronto, whom's guest list was filled with the who's who of the acting, production, stuntman and music worlds.
######
To contact David Stevenson visit www.davidstevensonactor.com
Actor and Playwright pen what promises to be the action novel of the decade
Toronto (ON) – David Stevenson actor and stuntman (X-Men, F/X: The Series, I Come
In Peace) and veteran multi award winning film producer and President of Veni Vici
Entertainment Inc. Andy Halmay enjoy their first collaboration, Dangerous Days, as a
book and film this has been an adventure that they are happy to add to their long list of
accomplishments.
Together David and Andy present a resume that sprinkles dozens of celebrity names with
whom they’ve worked in the acting/film world. David studied psychology and managing
aggressive behavior which often has him working with young offenders. Andy usually
works on three projects at the same time. He has sold TV scripts all the way back to the
pioneer days of live Television and spent twenty years on Madison Avenue winning six
awards for creative excellence in commercials, documentaries and sponsored films.
Dangerous Days, the book, was released in July 2007 by Rain Publishing Inc. out of
Burlington Ontario. The first official RSVP event for the book launch was in August at "The Harleam" in downtown Toronto, whom's guest list was filled with the who's who of the acting, production, stuntman and music worlds.
######
To contact David Stevenson visit www.davidstevensonactor.com
Excerpt. Church Mouse Poor
Church Mouse Poor
Cristiano, Christine
ISBN 13: 9781897381441
Paperback; Perfect Bind; 8 x 8
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Thomas the Mouse lived in the old stone church at the far end of town. He had lived in the church all of his life. His mother had lived in the church all of her life and his grandmother had lived there too.
Thomas liked to watch the preacher's Sunday morning sermon from his hiding spot. He liked to hear the choir sing and he liked to watch the people too.
One day when everyone was leaving the church after the sermon, Thomas overheard Charlie Smith asking his mother if they could stop for ice cream on their way home.
"No, Charlie. We can't stop for ice-cream today." Charlie's mother said. "My car broke down yesterday and I had to pay to get it fixed. This week we are as poor as a church mouse."
Thomas's ears twitched. Thomas's ears quivered. He was shocked. He was stunned. He couldn't believe his ears. Was he as poor as a church mouse? But how could that be - he was the church mouse!
Thomas looked around his small home. He didn't think he was poor. He had lots to eat. There was always food in the people's kitchen at the back of the church. He had even stored some crumbs away for the long winter.
The home that he shared with his mother and grandmother wasn't very big, but it was cozy. Thomas had his own bed made out of a matchbox from the local general store. He had warm blankets made out of cotton batten, and he had a comfortable chair to sit on. Thomas, his mother, and his grandmother sat at the wooden table every night and ate dinner together. After dinner, his grandmother would read him a story from a big book. He would curl up on her lap and fall asleep. Then, his mother would pick him up gently and tuck him into his warm bed.
Charlie's mother must have been talking about some other church and some other mouse. Thomas wasn't poor at all. He had his mother and his grandmother who loved him and took care of him. Four other mice families lived in the church too, so there was always someone to play with…
Cristiano, Christine
ISBN 13: 9781897381441
Paperback; Perfect Bind; 8 x 8
Sample Excerpt, © Rain Publishing Inc.
Thomas the Mouse lived in the old stone church at the far end of town. He had lived in the church all of his life. His mother had lived in the church all of her life and his grandmother had lived there too.
Thomas liked to watch the preacher's Sunday morning sermon from his hiding spot. He liked to hear the choir sing and he liked to watch the people too.
One day when everyone was leaving the church after the sermon, Thomas overheard Charlie Smith asking his mother if they could stop for ice cream on their way home.
"No, Charlie. We can't stop for ice-cream today." Charlie's mother said. "My car broke down yesterday and I had to pay to get it fixed. This week we are as poor as a church mouse."
Thomas's ears twitched. Thomas's ears quivered. He was shocked. He was stunned. He couldn't believe his ears. Was he as poor as a church mouse? But how could that be - he was the church mouse!
Thomas looked around his small home. He didn't think he was poor. He had lots to eat. There was always food in the people's kitchen at the back of the church. He had even stored some crumbs away for the long winter.
The home that he shared with his mother and grandmother wasn't very big, but it was cozy. Thomas had his own bed made out of a matchbox from the local general store. He had warm blankets made out of cotton batten, and he had a comfortable chair to sit on. Thomas, his mother, and his grandmother sat at the wooden table every night and ate dinner together. After dinner, his grandmother would read him a story from a big book. He would curl up on her lap and fall asleep. Then, his mother would pick him up gently and tuck him into his warm bed.
Charlie's mother must have been talking about some other church and some other mouse. Thomas wasn't poor at all. He had his mother and his grandmother who loved him and took care of him. Four other mice families lived in the church too, so there was always someone to play with…
Author Profile: Christine Cristiano
Author Profile Research and Reviews
Church Mouse Poor
Christine Cristiano
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.writersweekly.com/this_weeks_article/000512_08132003.html
www.brampton.com/calendar/calendar.php?op=view&id=9580
www.thebramptonguardian.com/entertainment/article/37998
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
inkspotter.com/.../newsletters/inkspotternews/InkSpotter News 5.06.pdf
www.webspawner.com/users/wordwizardry/index.html
rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=&sort=&...&page=2
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/home.php?cat=265
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16186&cat=265&page=1
canadianartsnet.com/component/.../task,userProfile/user,91
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
writersontherise.wordpress.com/2007/09/13/september-2007-roar-board
www.amazon.com/Church-Mouse-Poor-Christine-Cristiano/dp/1897381441
archives.zinester.com/54495/141108.html
www.stratfordgazette.com/wheels/article/33760
caledon.library.on.ca/index.php?...&month=09&day=22&Itemid=69
www.ticketcyclone.com/cityguides/ON/Brampton
www.jamespot.com/news/en/tag-mozart+imax.html
Church Mouse Poor
Christine Cristiano
Rain Publishing Inc.
www.writersweekly.com/this_weeks_article/000512_08132003.html
www.brampton.com/calendar/calendar.php?op=view&id=9580
www.thebramptonguardian.com/entertainment/article/37998
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
inkspotter.com/.../newsletters/inkspotternews/InkSpotter News 5.06.pdf
www.webspawner.com/users/wordwizardry/index.html
rainbooks.com/Shop/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=&sort=&...&page=2
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/home.php?cat=265
www.rainbooks.com/Shop/product.php?productid=16186&cat=265&page=1
canadianartsnet.com/component/.../task,userProfile/user,91
www.mycaledon.ca/lifestyle/article/33760
writersontherise.wordpress.com/2007/09/13/september-2007-roar-board
www.amazon.com/Church-Mouse-Poor-Christine-Cristiano/dp/1897381441
archives.zinester.com/54495/141108.html
www.stratfordgazette.com/wheels/article/33760
caledon.library.on.ca/index.php?...&month=09&day=22&Itemid=69
www.ticketcyclone.com/cityguides/ON/Brampton
www.jamespot.com/news/en/tag-mozart+imax.html
Excerpt. Word Wars
Word Wars
Stevenson, Chris
ISBN 13: 9781897381298
Paperback, perfect bind, 5.5 x 8.5
Excerpt Word Wars © Rain Publishing Inc.
ONE
Mikus Harold Markus slicked his moist palms over his tuxedo pants and drew his shoulders back. He cupped his breath to test for that tell-tale sour, but the odor was lost in cheap aftershave wafting from his neck. He noted irritably that his pant cuffs dragged; Joanne had tailored the scratch-made suit but the alterations weren’t finished. He looked at the tips of his shoes and could count his teeth in the shine. So far so good.
He’d just walked down the gentle rise of Cathedral Hill and stopped before the overhead glidewalk. From there he could just make out the half-mile spires of Opal City over the residential complex, consisting of blocks and spheres that held mostly single family and bachelor residents. The only things that broke up the monotony of the gray and cream-colored geometric hovels were the imported elms and spruce trees that had been meticulously planted along the plasticine surface roads. There were very few shops and privately owned businesses in the Green sector – up-city was reserved for the collision and clutter of commerce. The sun dawned in the east, and the birds started whistling tunes. Puffy clouds walked in a windy sky. The air was sweet and day was making promises it looked like it would keep. Mikus felt entirely pleased about the start of a new day.
He pumped his legs up the ramp, silently assessing his suit and wondering if he looked 20th century. Joanne had insisted that it was common for “gentlemen” to adorn themselves in such a fashion; however, he suspected it was her feeble attempt at capturing some semblance of the past. What was the meaning of flared cuffs and a fluffy blouse? To blow one’s nose on them out of convenience? And the tie around his neck -- it felt like an animal tether.
This was a prime interview, the second most important evaluation to date, succeeding his vocational placement at the San Temecula Girl’s College. This is the proper attire for a first impression, he reminded himself again, even if it is a slice out of the past.
As Mikus neared the top of the ramp he checked his identifier bracelet (also known as the ‘wrist snitch’), just as a reminder. He was nobody, lost in a sea of humanity without the federally mandated bauble. The bracelet held everything in data storage from his criminal history to his credit allotment. He had to do nothing more than shove the bracelet pin into one of the many thousands of receptacles located in the city to make a transaction. As a primary source of his identity, he wouldn’t be Mikus Harold Markus, Citizen Patriot of the United Western Enterprise without it. As he anxiously checked his navigator, he wondered if Joanne was already on her way to rendezvous with him.
Mikus stopped just short of the glidewalk and observed the conveyor speed and pedestrian traffic. Somehow the gate had been left open and a green boarding light welcomed him to enter. A few standing riders, gripping the handrails, nodded to him as they glided by – some offered salutations, and a few sneered -- for they had come up from the south, the “upper poverty” class. Mikus was low middle income from the Green and wondered why they felt such a yawning chasm between his social standing and theirs. Browns and Blues didn’t care much for the Greens. Mikus lived in a chopper-gun-shot foam geodome just like seventy percent of the populace.
Watching the glidewalk speed near his feet, he decided he wouldn’t stop the conveyor via the hand post dial. The other Citizen Patriots had schedules to meet so he would time his leap onto the walk and catch himself along with all the rest of the flowing traffic. That would show that he was considerate, not to mention agile enough to perform the maneuver. It wasn’t his fault that the timer gate was open and showing green. Normally a rider would have to wait for a five-minute red light interval before the tram stopped to allow boarding.
Mikus inched forward to judge the jump speed. A passing face said, “Hoy, Citizen Patriot! Grand day!”
Mikus looked up. “Yes, it’s the grandest day.”
“It’s against the law to walk a red,” said someone harshly.
Mikus hesitated and stuck his foot out, his shoe toe testing the speed of the conveyor tram with a scraping hiss. He looked up feeling embarrassed, smiling wanly, trying to show he was a good sport but not afraid of public transportation.
“It’s against the law!” someone warned again.
“Hoy, my darling…it’s…me!”
Mikus heard the familiar voice pass by. He looked up and caught a glimpse of his girl-mate flowing down the glidewalk. It was Joanne, and so stunning and impeccably dressed in that gorgeous…
Mikus lost his footing and twisted awkwardly, falling forward. He caught himself but the fringe of his baggy cuff sucked down into the service crack between the frame and the moving conveyor. There came a wrenching tear followed by a tug of such force that Mikus flailed backward and hit the ramp landing. His pants and shorts were shorn from his body with one stark yank and sped down the glidewalk flapping like little flags.
Mikus got to his feet and threw himself on the conveyer tram with a thud-smack, making swimming motions, groping for the guardrail. He felt a strong hand reach down to assist him, just as he was getting to his knees and flashing his naked cheeks to the rear pedestrian traffic.
“Mama, look at that man,” said a small female waif, who might have been nine-years-old and on her way to a fashionable children’s school in the uptown Red or Yellow.
“Ho, my God.”
“Will somebody help that Citizen Patriot up, please?”
“I wouldn’t go near the druggard.” …
Stevenson, Chris
ISBN 13: 9781897381298
Paperback, perfect bind, 5.5 x 8.5
Excerpt Word Wars © Rain Publishing Inc.
ONE
Mikus Harold Markus slicked his moist palms over his tuxedo pants and drew his shoulders back. He cupped his breath to test for that tell-tale sour, but the odor was lost in cheap aftershave wafting from his neck. He noted irritably that his pant cuffs dragged; Joanne had tailored the scratch-made suit but the alterations weren’t finished. He looked at the tips of his shoes and could count his teeth in the shine. So far so good.
He’d just walked down the gentle rise of Cathedral Hill and stopped before the overhead glidewalk. From there he could just make out the half-mile spires of Opal City over the residential complex, consisting of blocks and spheres that held mostly single family and bachelor residents. The only things that broke up the monotony of the gray and cream-colored geometric hovels were the imported elms and spruce trees that had been meticulously planted along the plasticine surface roads. There were very few shops and privately owned businesses in the Green sector – up-city was reserved for the collision and clutter of commerce. The sun dawned in the east, and the birds started whistling tunes. Puffy clouds walked in a windy sky. The air was sweet and day was making promises it looked like it would keep. Mikus felt entirely pleased about the start of a new day.
He pumped his legs up the ramp, silently assessing his suit and wondering if he looked 20th century. Joanne had insisted that it was common for “gentlemen” to adorn themselves in such a fashion; however, he suspected it was her feeble attempt at capturing some semblance of the past. What was the meaning of flared cuffs and a fluffy blouse? To blow one’s nose on them out of convenience? And the tie around his neck -- it felt like an animal tether.
This was a prime interview, the second most important evaluation to date, succeeding his vocational placement at the San Temecula Girl’s College. This is the proper attire for a first impression, he reminded himself again, even if it is a slice out of the past.
As Mikus neared the top of the ramp he checked his identifier bracelet (also known as the ‘wrist snitch’), just as a reminder. He was nobody, lost in a sea of humanity without the federally mandated bauble. The bracelet held everything in data storage from his criminal history to his credit allotment. He had to do nothing more than shove the bracelet pin into one of the many thousands of receptacles located in the city to make a transaction. As a primary source of his identity, he wouldn’t be Mikus Harold Markus, Citizen Patriot of the United Western Enterprise without it. As he anxiously checked his navigator, he wondered if Joanne was already on her way to rendezvous with him.
Mikus stopped just short of the glidewalk and observed the conveyor speed and pedestrian traffic. Somehow the gate had been left open and a green boarding light welcomed him to enter. A few standing riders, gripping the handrails, nodded to him as they glided by – some offered salutations, and a few sneered -- for they had come up from the south, the “upper poverty” class. Mikus was low middle income from the Green and wondered why they felt such a yawning chasm between his social standing and theirs. Browns and Blues didn’t care much for the Greens. Mikus lived in a chopper-gun-shot foam geodome just like seventy percent of the populace.
Watching the glidewalk speed near his feet, he decided he wouldn’t stop the conveyor via the hand post dial. The other Citizen Patriots had schedules to meet so he would time his leap onto the walk and catch himself along with all the rest of the flowing traffic. That would show that he was considerate, not to mention agile enough to perform the maneuver. It wasn’t his fault that the timer gate was open and showing green. Normally a rider would have to wait for a five-minute red light interval before the tram stopped to allow boarding.
Mikus inched forward to judge the jump speed. A passing face said, “Hoy, Citizen Patriot! Grand day!”
Mikus looked up. “Yes, it’s the grandest day.”
“It’s against the law to walk a red,” said someone harshly.
Mikus hesitated and stuck his foot out, his shoe toe testing the speed of the conveyor tram with a scraping hiss. He looked up feeling embarrassed, smiling wanly, trying to show he was a good sport but not afraid of public transportation.
“It’s against the law!” someone warned again.
“Hoy, my darling…it’s…me!”
Mikus heard the familiar voice pass by. He looked up and caught a glimpse of his girl-mate flowing down the glidewalk. It was Joanne, and so stunning and impeccably dressed in that gorgeous…
Mikus lost his footing and twisted awkwardly, falling forward. He caught himself but the fringe of his baggy cuff sucked down into the service crack between the frame and the moving conveyor. There came a wrenching tear followed by a tug of such force that Mikus flailed backward and hit the ramp landing. His pants and shorts were shorn from his body with one stark yank and sped down the glidewalk flapping like little flags.
Mikus got to his feet and threw himself on the conveyer tram with a thud-smack, making swimming motions, groping for the guardrail. He felt a strong hand reach down to assist him, just as he was getting to his knees and flashing his naked cheeks to the rear pedestrian traffic.
“Mama, look at that man,” said a small female waif, who might have been nine-years-old and on her way to a fashionable children’s school in the uptown Red or Yellow.
“Ho, my God.”
“Will somebody help that Citizen Patriot up, please?”
“I wouldn’t go near the druggard.” …
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