Pump Up Your Book Promotion Virtual Book Tours

The Possibility of Everything Virtual Book Tour ‘09

pumpupyourbook — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 14:58:04 +0000

Join Hope Edelman, author of the book of the personal memoir, The Possibility of Everything (Ballantine Books), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

About Hope Edelman

Hope Edelman holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism from Northwestern University, and a master’s degree in English from the University of Iowa. She is the author of five nonfiction books: the international bestseller Motherless Daughters (1994), which was translated into seven languages; Letters from Motherless Daughters (1995), an edited collection of letters from readers; Mother of My Mother (1999), which looks at the depth and influence of the grandmother-granddaughter relationship; Motherless Mothers (2006), about the experience of being a mother when you don’t have one, from HarperCollins; and The Possibility of Everything (2009), her first book-length memoir, set in Topanga Canyon, California, and Belize.

Hope has lectured widely on the long-term effects of early parent loss. She has appeared on national and local television throughout the U.S., including the Today show and Good Morning America, and has also appeared on TV and radio in Toronto; Vancouver; London; Sydney; Melbourne, Australia; and Auckland, Wellington, and Christchurch, New Zealand.

She began her journalism career with a part-time job at Outside magazine, and soon after interned for three months at the Salem Statesman-Journal in Salem, Oregon. Her first full-time editorial job was at Whittle Communications in Knoxville, Tennessee. From there, she went on to the University of Iowa, earning a master’s degree in creative nonfiction writing in 1992, one of the first of its kind.

Since then, her articles and essays have appeared in numerous publications, such as the New York Times, the Chicago Tribune, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Washington Post, the Dallas Morning News, Glamour, Child, Parenting, Seventeen, Real Simple, Self, The Iowa Review, and The Crab Orchard Review, and many anthologies, including The Bitch in the House, Toddler, Blindsided By a Diaper, and Behind the Bedroom Door.

She is the recipient of a New York Times Notable Book of the Year designation and a Pushcart Prize for creative nonfiction. Nearly every July you can find her at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival in Iowa City, and periodically at other conferences and festivals throughout the U.S.

Hope plays piano and guitar (sort of); cooks a mean French Toast; and has discovered an unexpected aptitude for sixth-grade math. She lives in Topanga, California, with her husband, their two daughters, a fat cat named Timmy (“No, Mom, tell them he’s buff!”) and their pet tarantula, Billy Bob.

You can visit her website at www.hopeedelman.com.

The Possibility of Everything by Hope Edelman (click on cover to purchase)

About The Possibility of Everything

From the bestselling author of Motherless Daughters, the real-life story of one woman’s search for a cure to her family’s escalating troubles, and the leap of faith that changed everything for her.

In the autumn of 2000, Hope Edelman was a woman adrift, questioning her place in her marriage, her profession, and the larger world. Feeling vulnerable and isolated, she was primed for change. Into her stagnant routine dropped Dodo, her three-year-old daughter Maya’s curiously disruptive imaginary friend. Confused and worried about how to handle Maya and Dodo’s apparent hold on her, Edelman and her husband made the unlikely choice to bring her to Mayan healers in Belize, hoping that a shaman might help them banish Dodo-and, as they came to understand, all he represented-from their lives.

Examining how an otherwise mainstream mother and wife finds herself making this unorthodox choice, The Possibility of Everything chronicles the magical week in Central America that transformed Edelman from a person whose past had led her to believe only in the visible and the “proven” to someone open to the idea of larger, unseen forces. A deeply affecting and beautifully written memoir of a family’s emotional journey, it explores what Edelman and her husband went looking for in the jungle-and what they ultimately discovered-as parents, as spouses, and as ordinary people-about the things that possess and destroy, or that can heal us all.

Read the Excerpt!

A ragged dirt road twists through six miles of rain forest in
western Belize, linking the villages of Cristo Rey and San
Antonio. If you make this drive the day after a heavy December
rain, as my husband, Uzi, and I do, the road will still be gluey and
ripe. Its surface will be the color and consistency of mango pudding.
You might focus intensely on these two elements, mango and pudding,
to divert your attention from how the white van you’re riding in keeps
sashaying across the slippery road. And you might look down at the
three- year- old lying across your lap and think about how she is a child
who loves mangoes and loves pudding but that you have never thought
to put the two together for her before. You might look at her and think,
Mango pudding! Great idea! Let’s find a way to make some tonight! Or you
might think, If you’ll be okay, I’ll make you mango pudding every night for
the rest of your life. Or you might look down at her and just think, Please,
and leave it at that.Victor, our driver for this ride, maneuvers the eleven- seat passenger
van with more skill and less caution than I could safely manage.“Hee- yah!” he calls out as he deftly steers us out of a skid. Every time
the van’s back end fishtails, I spring for the door handle. I don’t know
what I’m thinking: grabbing the door handle in an unlocked car is only
going to result in an open door on a muddy road, but when you’re ricocheting
around in the back of a van without seat belts, with a sick child
lying across your thighs, the impulse is to lunge for something solid.

I tighten my right arm around my daughter Maya’s waist. Everything’s
fine, I tell myself. She’s going to be fine. I press my left hand against
the window and watch the landscape stream by between my fingertips.
The jungle grows flush against both sides of the road, tangled and pristine.
The bulldozers of American expatriates chewing up the Caribbean
coast haven’t found their way back here yet. Fat, squat cohune palms
burst up from ground level like Las Vegas fountains spraying out of the
forest floor. Thick, serpentine vines encircle tree trunks like lush maypole
ribbons. The biodiversity here is astounding. I never imagined
there could be so many different kinds of leaves in one place, or so
many shades of green.

The air outside is like nothing I’ve encountered before: energetic
and molecular and intense. A few hours ago, when we were sitting on
the front steps of our cabana at Victor’s resort, I took in deep gulps of
the jungle’s bright, wet promise, the loamy, rich animation of the dirt
marrying with chlorophyll to form air so dense it tempts you to take a
bite.

At lunch, we ate family style in an open- air dining hall lined with
rectangular wooden tables, under the thatched roof Victor and his sons
had woven from local palm fronds. While his wife and daughters
served heaping plates of rice and beans and bowls of fried plantains,
Victor meandered between the tables with a small pad of paper in one
hand and a bottle of orange Fanta dangling between the thumb and
forefinger of the other. As he approached each table he flipped a chair
around and sat on it backward, pulled a pen from behind his ear, and
scribbled down each family’s travel request for the day. A foursome of
fresh- scrubbed Brits— mother, father, daughter, son— wanted to go
canoeing on the Macal River. Two bearded men who looked too old to
still be backpackers wanted to see the nearby Maya ruins at Xunantunich.
A family from Montreal with two college- age daughters opted for
a few hours in the neighboring town of San Ignacio, a few miles downriver.
“Sure, sure,” Victor said to everyone, tossing back swigs from his
bottle. “We take you. No problem.” Victor quickly established himself
as part hotelier, part chauffeur, and part general contractor, a rainforest
Renaissance man in an olive green baseball cap. At our table, he
rested a hand on Uzi’s shoulder. We’d already put in our afternoon
request.

“Two o’clock,” Victor told us. “I’ll take you, or my son will.”

This drive to San Antonio rolls on. Our tires make loud sucking
noises as they peel away from the gummy earth. Off to our right, an
animal lets loose with what sounds like a familiar, plaintive howl. Maya
raises her head in recognition, pivots it around like a slow periscope,
then lets it drop back down against my thigh.

“You have coyotes here?” Uzi asks. He’s riding up front with Victor,
one hand braced against the glove compartment for support.

“What?” Victor maneuvers the van around a wide puddle.

“Coyotes,” Uzi says. “You know, like little wolves. We have them at
home.”

“Oh, yeah,” Victor says, swatting the air with his hand. “We got
anything you want here.”

Anything? Maya coughs her raspy cough against my leg, the sound
of gravel rattling between her ribs. I press my palm against her forehead.
I’m guessing 101, maybe 101.5, better than yesterday, but not by
much. I tuck a sprig of dark curls behind her ear.

Mi vida, I think. My life.

These words that come to me are not the words of my own country,
but those of a language I struggled to learn for years, a language
that both exhilarates me and breaks my heart. Mi vida. At home in Los
Angeles, it is the language of the hardworking and the oppressed, of the
woman who cleans my house with care once a week, of the man with
the white pickup truck who trims the palm trees that line our driveway,
of the childless nanny who loves my daughter with a selfless passion
while I spend hours in front of a computer screen rearranging words.
But here in Belize it is the language of conquerors, the language that
overtook the indigenous Maya and then, centuries later, turned around
and pushed out the imperial British masters. A language that says,
“Here. This. Mine.”

Victor sits calmly behind the van’s steering wheel. Perhaps he’s
made this drive for dozens of guests before. I imagine a steady parade
of Americans traipsing into the jungle in their Lakers caps and Teva
sandals, acting entitled to their cures. Yet surely, we must stand out
from the pack. There’s Uzi, who’s forty, though so boyish no one can
believe his age, with an Israeli accent so slight it barely dusts the surface
of his speech. He’s a quintessentially low- impact kind of guy, softspoken,
careful to tread lightly on the earth. Not like me, who can’t
help leaving footprints and food wrappers in my wake everywhere I go.
And there’s Maya, three feet tall with a mop of dark curls, carrying two
rubber baby dolls tucked under her right arm, refusing to eat anything
but cucumbers and water for the past three days because everything
else hurts going down.

And me? How might I look to someone I’ve just met? Probably like
a medium- aged American woman in striped cotton pants who’s equal
parts grateful and unsure about being here and who can’t stop hovering
over her three- year- old— checking, fixing, trying to coax forkfuls of
food past the child’s tightly shut lips. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I
don’t make an impression at all. Maybe I’m just another tourist messing
up the bedsheets, acting as if I have a right to benefit from knowledge
that took Victor’s ancestors millennia to learn.

The low, brightly painted buildings of San Antonio Village appear
in the distance, like a handful of colorful marbles scattered across the
valley’s gentle bowl. The Maya Mountains rise blue- gray in the distance.
Maya coughs again.

“Ay, raina,” Victor sighs. He calls her “queen.”

Here in the land of the Maya, where body, mind, and spirit are
tightly intertwined, physical and spiritual illness are considered one
and the same. Physical symptoms, the Maya believe, erupt when the
life force that surrounds a person’s body, the ch’ulel, is damaged by
trauma or stress. Those who are sick in body are believed to first be sick
in spirit, and so Maya healers always treat both.

Uzi glances at me over his left shoulder, searching my face for a
sign. My gentle husband, always gauging my moods, always trying to
position himself on the safe side of conflict. Are you still okay with this?
his expression asks. I crimp the left side of my mouth and shrug my
shoulder slightly. I’m deliberately impossible to read.

Even now, eight years later, I cannot tell you if I traveled down
that road as a whole person, held intact by my own convictions, or if I
went there as a broken woman, mechanically following my husband’s
lead. I can tell you only what it is like to be riding in that van, on that
mango road, rolling past dense fields of brown and green. It is to be a
thirty- six- year- old woman, a mother and a wife, who is willing to do
anything—anything— to help her child.

Mi vida. I will tell you. This is how it feels. As if my life is lying
across my lap and I am bringing it into the jungle, to the man who
speaks with spirits, so it can be healed.

Here’s what reviewers have to say!

“Edelman writes eloquently about her struggle… With vivid descriptions of Belize and its Mayan history, The Possibility of Everything is an intimate account of the struggles of parenting, partnering and faith.”

—People

“Part mystery, part travelogue, part memoir, the book explores the gaps between science and faith, children and parents, and what we believe and what we wish for.”

—Redbook

“The Possibility of Everything returns to [Edelman’s] theme of mothers and daughters, place and purpose, and chronicles a profound spiritual awakening.”

—Malibu Times

“The true beauty of this book—and there is so much that is beautiful… is that Edelman relentlessly dissects her own perspectives and feelings with an uncommon courage…”

—Oregonian

The Possibility of Everything is a well-crafted tale of skepticism versus spirituality… Edelman’s writing soars highest when depicting her family’s eye-opening encounters in the humid tropical jungle with—just possibly—the supernatural.”

—Entertainment Weekly

“The book… stands as a rich example of memoir writing, much as her previous book Motherless Daughters did.”

—Albuquerque Journal

Watch the Trailer!

Hope Edelman’s THE POSSIBILITY OF EVERYTHING VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promotion’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Hope’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Hope, please contact Dorothy Thompson at thewriterslife@yahoo.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Sophia White, author of “Jesus is for Everybody”

pumpupyourbook — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 19:43:35 +0000

Join Sophia White, author of the inspirational christian book, Jesus is for Everybody (iUniverse), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

About Sophia White

The name “Sophia” is derived from σοφία, the Greek word for wisdom. Author Sophia White has made it her goal to share the divine wisdom and inspiration that God has shared with her with the entire world to revitalize the Christian community in the love and mercy of God.

“Sophia is the true love of God constantly circling, wonderful for human nature and such that is not consumed by age…everlasting until the end of time,” quotes Sophia. “Through illustrations and analogies I want to help people comprehend the consistency of God’s message and be able to conclude for one’s self that the scriptural recordings are more a matter of fact than individual interpretation.”

When she’s not writing Sophia works as an Information Technology Auditor in Washington D.C. and is a volunteer instructor with the Academy of Hope.

“Although I’ve had to travel extensively for my profession, meeting new people from all walks of life has been the highlight of my life,” says Sophia. “The accounting aspect of my job has taught me to seek an intellectual understanding for everything, including spiritual forces. Over the years, God gave me a mission to share my awareness.”

That’s exactly what Sophia has done with Jesus is for Everybody, demystifying the truths of the Bible and helping Christians find their way around the propaganda surrounding religion and back to the simple truths surrounding God’s love.

“Through illustrations and analogies, I want to help people comprehend the consistency of God’s message and be able to conclude for one’s self that the scriptural recordings are more a matter of fact than individual interpretation. What I’ve learned by researching insight for myself is that we must adopt and fully implement a belief system. As you continue to seek knowledge about Christ overall, it becomes evident how God sent His son into the world to help us build faith in everlasting life through Him.”

“The wisdom of this world is foolish in God’s eyes. It is written, “God catches wise people in their own tricks.” It is also written, “The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise don’t amount to anything.” [1 Corinthians 3:19-20]

Although Sophia is my given name, Sophia is also “a universal figure, representing wisdom, femininity, motherhood and sexuality” as indicated by Dr. Suzanne Schaup in her book written especially for women with a Christian background, interested in expanding our quest for spiritual wholeness. If my teachings represent a mere fraction of “Sophia” it can only be contributed to the grace of an Almighty God.

Find out more about Sophia at www.jesusisforeverybody.org

About Jesus is for Everybody

In today’s society it seems like we have everybody telling us what’s right and what’s wrong. The Christian religion has become an expression not of a relationship with God but of a right wing political standpoint. Author Sophia White takes religion out of the courtroom and puts it back where it belongs-in the hearts of Americans everywhere-with her new book “Jesus is for Everybody.”

In “Jesus is for Everybody” Sophia explores the science behind the scripture, breaking concepts down into simple, everyday applications that make sense for people of every walk of life and reminds people that religion is meant to be built on a deep, personal relationship with God. Many churches have lost that relationship. There are hundreds of Christians out there floundering because they are so busy trying to be Christians that they’ve forgotten who their father is.

Sophia White revitalizes that love with an exploration of the scriptures of the Bible and the intimate relationship we were meant to have with God in “Jesus is for Everybody.”

Here’s what reviewers have to say!

“Jesus is For Everybody by Sophia White is a lovely book. She has a deep understanding of her walk with God and wants to share that understanding with the reader. She accomplishes this in some unique ways.”

Mylinda Elliot

“If you are looking for information on a relationship with Jesus, White explains things in an easily understood way. She includes passages from the Bible to support her ideas and inspire a nonbeliever. She does not “preach” at all. In fact, her views are never clearly stated. It is obvious she is a believer but she lets the verses support her ideas. You will not feel that she is telling you what to believe but instead showing you different aspects of faith. Even if you don’t agree with the religious aspects, you can see her reasons for her beliefs.”

Jennifer S.

“By reading this I feel I have a better understanding of God and a real relationship with God. I feel better about myself and I have a sense of peace with all of the understanding I have gained. The author, Sophia White, did an excellent job writing this as anyone who can help to change a person’s life (or people) is phenomenal.”

Mick

Sophia White’s JESUS IS FOR EVERYBODY VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promotion’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Sophia’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Sophia, please contact Tracee Gleichner at reviewfromhere@aol.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Humor Author Pat Snyder, author of The Dog Ate My Planner

pumpupyourbook — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 17:14:32 +0000

Join Pat Snyder, author of the book of the humor/self help book, The Dog Ate My Planner (Two Harbors Press), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

About Pat Snyder

For nearly a decade, Pat Snyder, a recovering attorney and mother of three, has chronicled her crazed struggle to lead a balanced life in “Balancing Act,” a regular humor column that appears in Suburban News Publications, a chain of 22 weekly papers in the Columbus, Ohio, area.

When she is not dancing around in a Dr. Seuss hat and leading laugh-ins as a certified laughter leader with the World Laughter Tour, Pat speaks on life balance and leads workshops to help others bring more humor into their lives and their writing.

Before law school, as a reporter for the Akron Beacon Journal, she won state and national journalism awards. When her marriage to the late Bob Snyder made him both an unsuspecting stepparent and first-time parent, the two of them co-authored a Sunday column for The (Cleveland) Plain Dealer on the challenges of stepfamily living. Her account of their adventures combining his Hanukkah traditions with her Christmas ones was published in the book A Cup of Comfort for Christmas.

The Dog Ate My Planner: Tales and Tips from an Overbooked Life is her first book.

Pat lives in Columbus, Ohio, with all the dogs that eat her planner. Visit her online at www.PatSnyderOnline.com

The Dog Ate My Planner by Pat Snyder (click on cover to purchase)

About The Dog Ate My Planner: Tales and Tips from an Overbooked Life

The Dog Ate My Planner: Tales and Tips from an Overbooked Life offers genuine stress relief to parents, caregivers and everyone else with its upbeat “me too” stories and tips for tackling an overloaded life.

With cartoon illustrations throughout, The Dog features short, fun confessionals about a dozen different ”dogs” that have made the author’s life go amuck (computers, kids & pets, fashion, health, stress relief, home construction projects, the holidays, food, shopping, self-help, aging parents, partners) along with 74 ”Leash Laws” to tame them.

Written by a seasoned humor columnist and mother of three, The Dog brings home an important message:

Simplify your chaos when you can; when the dogs get out of control, laugh away the chaos and reduce your stress.

Read the Excerpt!

The following excerpt is from Chapter 7 (“How About A Holiday From The Holidays?”), “Let’s Stop Denying Men Holiday Joy.”I was in my usual pre-holiday State of Overwhelm the other day when my friend Bill gave me a new perspective.
“There is a glory and heroic posture to cranberry-stained hands that most men will never experience,” he bemoaned. “Not quite as out-of-reach as childbirth but, in our culture, pretty close.”
According to Bill, if women are up to their elbows in cranberries and tinsel, it’s all our own doing. Men would like to do more, but they’re afraid.
“Much like oil tanker captains encountering a harbor pilot, guys know when to leave the bridge,” he said. “And the smart ones either slip into their predefined specialties or stand by for orders.”
Not knowing much about boats, I went to my husband for help.
“He means the holidays are like a storm coming,” he said. “We just try to stay out of the way and not get covered with mess.”

Here’s what reviewers have to say!

“Pat Snyder uses humor to tackle the often perplexing realities of modern family and work life. Readers will be inspired to follow her lead by turning their own familiar frustrations into manageable, mini mirth moments. This is very enjoyable, easy, and useful reading.”

Steve Wilson, Founder, Cheerman of the Bored,
World Laughter Tour, Inc.

“Pat has an insanely funny way of talking about our everyday lives that leaves you laughing, crying, relating and somehow, hopeful. And her ‘leash laws,’ practical tips for organizing your time and you life, are right on.”

Marla Dee, President, Clear & SIMPLE, Inc.
Professional Organizers and Trainers

“Have you lost seven (or more) years of your life and have no clue where they went? Well, don’t waste more time sniffing the bushes and pawing the ground because in her new book “The Dog Ate My Planner”, Pat Snyder hysterically digs up every time waster — from decoding the latest technology to having Howard Hughes fingernails applied to flossing. Pat may not be able to give your your time back, but she certainly can help you laugh at yourself and enjoy life more. I was so happy reading this book, I rolled on my back in the grass. Twice.”

Leigh Anne Jasheway-Bryant,
author of Not Guilty by Reason of Menopause

“Pat Snyder shows you how to laugh at your hectic, out-of-control life. So don’t try to get your life in order. Put it off another day and read her book instead.”

Tim Bete, author of Guide to Pirate Parenting and
In the Beginning…There Were No Diapers

Pat Snyder’s THE DOG ATE MY PLANNER VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promotion’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Pat’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Pat, please contact Dorothy Thompson at thewriterslife@yahoo.com before November 23rd.

Announcing J.W. Nicklaus’ The Light, The Dark and Ember Between Virtual Book Tour ‘09

pumpupyourbook — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 02:27:38 +0000

Join J.W. Nicklaus, author of the book of short stories, The Light, The Dark, and Ember Between (Bedside Books), as he virtually tours the blogosphere in December on his second virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

About J.W. Nicklaus

J.W. Nicklaus resides in a place not entirely fit for human habitation about five months of the year. No pets to speak of, only the apparitions from which all romantics suffer.

An Arizona native, he’s been from one coast to the other, and a few places in between. College brought an AA in Journalism with a minor in Photography, and a Bachelor of Science in Telecommunications. His work experience has run the gamut from Creative Director for a small advertising firm in Tucson to a litigation support bureau in Phoenix (and assuredly some awkward stuff in the mix).

Snow has been featured prominently in his stories, perhaps because of the seasonless cli-mate he lives in. Nature was meant to be enjoyed and experienced, not hidden from the senses. So to that end, he hopes someday to live amongst those who are able to live through four true seasons, and not just blast furnace and warm.

He enjoys the occasional Arizona Diamondbacks game with his son, as well as watching him grow up. The experience of being a single dad has taught him far more about himself than he ever thought possible.

Within the expanse of every waking moment, he hopes his guardian angel keeps its arms open wide and heart ever watchful, for there but for one true Hope goes She.

For more about J.W. visit www.a vomnia.com.

About The Light, The Dark & Ember Between

A collection of short stories, each a splinter’s reflection of the human condition, firmly centered upon our oft tenuous, sometimes tensile bond with Hope, and careening flirtation with Love.

Fifteen stories: From the wispy fog of a love lost at sea, to an orphaned child who delivers a present of her own during a war-torn Christmas. These stories are gentle reminders to each of us of what it is to be human, and certainly of our affinity for the slightest glint of Hope.

Read the Excerpt!

From One Washington Diner:The interior lights punched holes in the dead of night, and in the stillness I could hear the buzz of glowing neon from the sign above. I’d hoped there would be the slim chance of some distraction from the empty, laughing darkness that taunted me. Pinching the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger, I shuffled through the front door, greeted by the hostess/cashier/night manager, who apparently was thriving on the not-so-delicate thrush of caffeine. Her uniform bore the hallmarks of traditional diner-dom: bobby sox, her skirt hemline right around knee level, and wide, flat lapels on her blouse. She looked me over for all of two seconds before making
her vocal appraisal.
“Let me guess…can’t sleep?” Her voice was disarming, welcoming, like a puppy that jumps in
your lap. Managing a frustrated grin I hoarsely replied, “That obvious?”
“Your eyes, your body language—yeah.” I should have had some snappy retort, but my mental haze precluded any such response and subsequently I let slip my small window of opportunity for any suitable comeback.
Instead, I yawned.
“Jeez, my only customer and I’m already boring you,” she blurted out. I thought she smirked, but couldn’t be certain in my unwillingly wakeful state. I glanced around the empty dining room and motioned from left to right. “Looks like you’re swamped. Should I come back later?”
Soft brown curls played upon her left shoulder as she turned her head slightly. “Early a.m. sarcasm—I like it. Sit wherever you like, I’m good at finding people in a crowd.” Even in my sleepless haze, I had to admit she was delightful.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll sit at the counter,” I croaked. “I’ll try not to be a bother.” Her hair gently fluttered as she shook her head. “Works for me. Cop a squat and I’ll be right with ya’.”
My mind was made up—she was indeed delightful, in a common denominator kind of way. Having never exceeded the mathematical scope of algebra during my academic career that suited me just fine.

Here’s what reviewers have to say!

“The Light, the Dark, and Ember Between” is the kind of a book one should keep by the bedside or maybe in the car for those moments when we need a little lifting of our spirits, or just a slight boost to our day. Each of the stories is precious, and each is different. And every single one will remind you of the universal truth, taught in my favorite of those fifteen, “The Paper Doll” – `Love is the reason you’ll never be alone.’”

–ReaderViews

“Stories can be a lot more than just entertainment. “The Light, The Dark, & Ember Between” seeks to use fiction as a method of exploring the range of human emotion through moving stories. The result is a collection to be enjoyed bit by bit. Readers of short fiction will simply relish “The Light, The Dark, and Ember Between.”

–Midwest Book Reviews

“If you enjoy reading collections of short stories, then be sure to pick up a copy of The Light, The Dark, & Ember Between by Nicklaus. It’s perfect for quick reads when time is limited and the stories aren’t connected to each other so you can jump around story to story for whatever mood you may be in. Explore your human emotions as you read each of his stories. I personally enjoyed giggling while I read “Elevator Shoes” and “Short Attention Span”. Then of course Nicklaus had me sighing in awe after reading “Paper Dolls”.”

–The Book Faery Reviews

Watch the Trailer!

J.W. Nicklaus’ THE LIGHT, THE DARK & EMBER BETWEEN VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promotion’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit J.W.’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host J.W., please contact Dorothy Thompson at thewriterslife@yahoo.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Beverly Stowe McClure, Author of the Teen/Tween Contemporary Novel ‘Just Breeze’, on Tour in Dec. ‘09

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 20:17:06 +0000

Join Beverly Stowe McClure, author of the teen/tween contemporary novel, Just Breeze (4Rv Publishing), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her second virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT BEVERLY STOWE MCCLURE:

Beverly S. McClure started her writing career early—though she approached it kicking and screaming—when her eighth-grade teacher sent her poem “Stars” to a high school anthology and it was published in Young America Sings. She graduated from Midwestern State University and became a teacher. As soon as she discovered Dr. Seuss and other great children’s stories, she willingly put pen to paper and had stories and articles published in Ladybug, Focus on the Family Clubhouse Jr., U. S. Kids, Jack and Jill and other leading children’s magazines, including an article that was reprinted in a Scott Foresman Pre-K anthology and a breakout article that appeared in the June 2007 issue of Writer magazine.

A multi-published author, Beverly’s Listen to the Ghost, Secrets I Have Kept and Rebel in Blue Jeans are available in trade paperback. Her latest book is Just Breeze, and she has four more books under contract. A member of the National Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators and their North Texas Chapter, Beverly is the mother of three grown boys and lives in the country with her husband, Jack, where an occasional deer, skunk, or armadillo come to visit.

Visit Beverly at http://beverlystowemcclure.wordpress.com

ABOUT JUST BREEZE:

Eighth grade starts out the same as every other year for Breeze Brannigan. She’s still the tallest student, boy or girl, in her class, wears shoes that would fit an elephant, and her smile reveals dazzling braces that blind everyone within ten feet. She also has to deal with the dented fender on her sister’s VW that they paint to cover up and the new girl in school, Allison, who likes to steal boyfriends. Breeze isn’t concerned. She’s everybody’s bud. No boy is interested in her.

Then there’s Cam, AKA Carlomango Christiano y Moises, who Breeze thinks must be from another planet because none of the boys At Whispering Springs Middle School are that polite. He also has a secret, a secret that could mean life or death for Cam and his mother, a secret Breeze must help him keep.

EXCERPT:

The halls of Whispering Springs Middle School rang with laughter, joking, and teasing. High-pitched chatter and friendly shouts of greeting ricocheted off the walls. Locker doors clanged open, clattered shut. A banner reading GO COYOTES fluttered from the ceiling. The smell of freshly waxed floors stung my nostrils.

I sighed. My first day in eighth grade started out the same as seventh grade, sixth grade, fifth grade, and all the way back to kindergarten. Unless a new student had enrolled, I was still the tallest person, boy or girl, in my whole school.

And my feet … I yanked open the locker door and stuffed my gym shoes, or rather my canoes, inside. I wasn’t about to let anyone see they’d fit an elephant, with room to spare. My feet were trying to set a record for gianthood and doing a good job of it. Turn green with envy, Sasquatch. I bet your feet never grew two sizes in one summer. I made a mental note to walk carefully so not to tromp on other kids’ toes and break their bones. Eew. Painful.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT JUST BREEZE!

“JUST BREEZE is a fun read about the perils of middle school. It covers the territory quite completely with the struggle to fit in, annoying parents, even more annoying siblings, and the search for true love. Author Beverly Stowe McClure brings Breeze to life for the enjoyment of middle grade readers everywhere.” – Sally Kruger aka “Readingjunky”, TeensReadToo

Beverly Stowe McClure’s JUST BREEZE VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promotion’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Beverly’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Beverly, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Joan Hochstetler, Author of the Historical Novel ‘Wind of the Spirit’, on Tour in Dec.

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 19:36:55 +0000

Join Joan Hochstetler, author of the historical novel, Wind of the Spirit (The American Patriot Series, Book 3) (Sheaf House Publishers), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her second virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT JOAN HOCHSTETLER:

J. M. Hochstetler writes stories that always involve some element of the past and of finding home. Born in central Indiana, the daughter of Mennonite farmers, she graduated from Indiana University with a degree in Germanic languages. She was an editor with Abingdon Press for twelve years and has published four novels. Daughter of Liberty (2004), Native Son (2005), and Wind of the Spirit (March 2009), the first three books of the critically acclaimed American Patriot Series, are set during the American Revolution. One Holy Night, a retelling of the Christmas story set in modern times, is the 2009 Christian Small Publishers Fiction Book of the Year and a finalist for the 2009 American Christian Fiction Writers Long Contemporary Book of the Year.

Hochstetler is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers, Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Christian Authors Network, Middle Tennessee Christian Writers, Nashville Christian Writers Association, and Historical Novels Society. She and her husband live near Nashville, Tennessee.

You can find Joan online at www.jmhochstetler.com or at this book’s blog http://americanpatriotseries.blogspot.com.

ABOUT WIND OF THE SPIRIT:

Elizabeth Howard’s assignment to gain crucial intelligence for General Washington leads her into the very maw of war at the Battle of Brooklyn Heights, where disaster threatens to end the American rebellion. Yet her heart is fixed on Jonathan Carleton, whose whereabouts remain unknown more than a year after he disappeared into the wilderness.

Carleton, now the Shawnee war chief White Eagle, is caught in a bitter war of his own. As unseen forces gather to destroy him, he leads the fight against white settlers encroaching on Shawnee lands—while battling the longing for Elizabeth that will not give him peace. Can her love bridge the miles that separate them—and the savage bonds that threaten to tear him forever from her arms?

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

The sailboat heeled sharply to starboard, bucking against the inrushing tide and contrary winds at the broad mouth of the Hudson River. Entering New York’s Upper Bay, it tacked to the right and hugged the lee of the New Jersey shoreline, indistinct in the darkness, where a scattering of small islands provided concealment from the sleeping British men-of-war that swung lazily on their anchor cables off Staten Island.

Above Elizabeth Howard’s head, the sultry July wind boomed in the bellying sail of the small vessel, incongruously dubbed Implacable. Fluttering Elizabeth’s loose farmer’s smock, it tugged at the broad brim of her battered hat and teased strands of the brown wig that concealed her own deep auburn curls.

She maintained her balance instinctively by shifting her weight with the deck’s rise and fall, in the same movement clamping her hand over her hat’s crown to keep it from flying off her head. After a moment she glanced uneasily toward the black silhouette of the muscular Negro youth who held the tiller steady.

From what she could make out of his easy stance and calm countenance in the fitful ripples of light that reflected up from the waves, he appeared unperturbed. Reassured, she swung back to probe the misty, wooded shoreline of Staten Island drawing rapidly closer off the port bow. To their good fortune, the waning quarter moon had not yet risen, and only faint starlight danced across the fast-running, choppy sea.

“You’re certain this stretch of the island is safe, Pete?” she hissed, keeping her voice to an urgent whisper.

“The nearest farm is more’n a mile that way,” he growled, gesturing off to the west. “Ever’ time I come before, this cove been deserted. I scouted it extra careful.”

Nodding, she took a steadying breath, consciously releasing the tension that clamped her stomach in a knot. “Then let’s pray no one’s developed the urge to wander tonight.”

With practiced skill, Pete negotiated the narrow Kills between the looming bulk of the large island and Bergen Point, jutting out from the New Jersey bluffs. After reefing the sail to slow her speed, he brought the nimble craft into the breakers close to shore.

Elizabeth wasted no time clambering out into the seething surf. “Be back an hour before daybreak. If I’m not waiting for you . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“I’ll find you if I can,” Pete responded, his voice low and grim.

With a grunt she shoved the sailboat back into deeper water. Pete’s only response was to briefly touch his hand to his hat brim. He feathered the Implacable into the current and once more hoisted the graceful sail to the top of the mast.

Elizabeth waited only a moment to watch the boat tack out of reach before turning to wade through the hissing waves to the narrow strip of beach. When she turned again, the vessel’s sail had already diminished to a barely discernible triangle, pale against the gloom that wrapped the New Jersey shore. Though by habit he spoke little, she knew that Pete, the younger son of Isaiah Moghrab, the sergeant of a black platoon in her uncle’s regiment of Continentals, would keep his word.

Heart pounding, she melted into the dense underbrush that cloaked the low, sandy hills above the beach, found a concealed vantage that allowed her to observe the surroundings unseen. For some moments she waited, motionless, watching and listening intently. No unexpected sounds disturbed the sibilance of waves gurgling across the shingle, the sigh of wind in the full-leaved treetops farther inland, and the creak and groan of branches rubbing against one another.

At length satisfied no one was in the vicinity, she transferred her attention to her damp attire. Although the lower edge of her breeches had been thoroughly drenched by the waves, thankfully her tight fitting, knee-length boots had spared her feet and most of her lower legs. More than two miles lay between her and the British camp, she estimated, a less than pleasant walk with brine-soaked shoes and wet feet. At least, dressed as one of the local farmers, she should attract little attention in the unlikely event she encountered another wayfarer abroad at this late hour.

Frowning, she struggled to focus her thoughts on her mission. Her safety and the fortunes of the badly outnumbered American army, whose lines stretched all the way from New Jersey to Long Island, depended on her using both caution and daring to secure the intelligence General George Washington needed if he was to counter an attack by British General William Howe’s overwhelming invasion force.

Her thoughts, however, stubbornly kept drifting to more personal concerns.

It was past ten o’clock, Sunday, July 7, 1776. It had been a year since Washington had denied permission for her and Brigadier General Jonathan Carleton to wed. A year since the American commander had sent Elizabeth back into the besieged city of Boston to continue spying on the British, and Carleton far to the west to negotiate with the Indian tribes to support the colonists in their rebellion against the British king.

A year since Carleton had disappeared into the wilderness.

In that time, all she and Carleton’s aide, Colonel Charles Andrews, had been able to learn was that he had been captured by the Seneca and enslaved, a fate she had been told was worse than death. In spite of every effort, they had not been able to find him or even to learn if he was still alive.

At least neither had the British. For they sought Carleton as well—on charges of treason. The reward offered for his arrest was calculated to tempt even a loyal Son of Liberty to betray the man who, as the spy Patriot, had transmitted crucial military intelligence to the rebels in Boston while serving as British General Thomas Gage’s aide-de-camp.

Elizabeth blinked back stinging tears. Even her deepening relationship with Pieter Vander Groot, a young Dutch doctor in whose surgery she assisted several days a week, had not been able to erase her longing for the shelter of Carleton’s arms or the love that refused to relinquish its claim on her heart. In truth, her growing attraction to this handsome, gentle colleague had only intensified her anguish over Carleton’s unknown fate and equal confusion as to what course the Lord would have her follow.

Her heart contracting, she lifted her face to the warm sea breeze and stared toward the western horizon, beyond which stretched the vast forests into which Carleton had vanished. Despair flooded over her, as it had that afternoon on the terrace at Montcoeur, the temporary home she shared with her aunt Tess Howard on the outskirts of New York City.

Every fiber of her being cried out to go in search of him, to track him down if it took the rest of her life. But sober reflection assured her that such a course would only cause worry and hardship to those she left behind and offered no guarantee of success. For now, all she could do was keep on blindly trusting that, although she could not understand what good could ever come of hers and Carleton’s suffering, the Almighty had a hidden purpose even in this painful season.

Letting out a lingering sigh, she dashed away her tears with the back of her hand. At length she rose stiffly, then turned with reluctance toward the island’s interior and the duty that called her.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT WIND OF THE SPIRIT!

“With rich, vivid descriptions that draw you back in time, characters that become your best friends, eloquent language that will leave you breathless, and a romance that warms you from head to toe, Wind of the Spirit is a stunningly beautiful story about the fight for freedom, survival, and love in a savage land.” —MaryLu Tyndall, author of The Blue Enchantress

“If you like sweeping historical sagas, Wind of the Spirit deserves to be on your bookshelf.” —Robin Lee Hatcher, author of When Love Blooms

“A captivating tale of love and courage skillfully woven into the Revolutionary War, revealing all the human passions and valor that made America great.” —Louise M. Gouge, author of Then Came Hope

Joan Hochstetler’s WIND OF THE SPIRIT VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promoti0n’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Joan’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Joan, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.

Announcing John Tippets, Author of the Alaska Aviation History Book, ‘Hearts of Courage’, on Tour Dec. 09

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 19:10:40 +0000

Join John Tippets, author of the Alaska Aviation history book, Hearts of Courage (Published with Publication Consultants), as he virtually tours the blogosphere in December on his first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT JOHN TIPPETS:

John Tippets was born in Anchorage, Alaska in 1941. In 1947, the family moved to the Washington, D.C. area where John graduated from Northwestern High School (Hyattsville, MD) in 1959. He attended Brigham Young University, then served two years (1960-62) as a Mormon missionary in Eastern Canada.

John earned his B.A. and M.B.A degrees from the University of California at Los Angeles. While still in college, he started a career in aviation, checking bags for United Airlines, then working summer jobs with the FAA in Alaska and with the CAB in Washington, D.C. In 1966, he joined American Airlines as a part-timer in air freight and, subsequently, worked forty-two years associated with AMR in a variety of management and executive roles. For the final seventeen years prior to his retirement in 2008, he was the President & CEO of the American Airlines Federal Credit Union.

Publishing Hearts of Courage in 2008, John now does PowerPoint presentations of the story for interested groups, book signings, and other events. You can visit John Tippets’ website at www.JohnTippets.com.

ABOUT HEARTS OF COURAGE:

On January 5, 1943, an airplane with six onboard goes missing in remote Southeast Alaska with the pilot’s only radio message of “one engine has conked out, expect trouble.” The winter weather is extreme, searchers find no signs of the Lockheed-Electra aircraft, and all are presumed lost. One of those passengers was Joseph Tippets, age 29, of Anchorage, Alaska, an employee of the Civil Aeronautics Administration, and the first branch president of the small Latter-day Saint Anchorage congregation. Joseph’s wife, Alta, with her two-year-old son in Anchorage does not give up hope and is a source of strength and encouragement to others. On February 3, the crew of a small coast guard vessel on a routine patrol in Boca de Quadra was stunned to discover two starved and freezing survivors of the missing plane. One of those was Joseph Tippets.

Hearts of Courage is the story of Joseph Tippets’ experiences over those twenty-nine days and his subsequent efforts to help rescue the two injured passengers still stranded in their wilderness camp. Told largely in Joseph’s own words, this is a story of courage, determination, faith, and prayers answered. It is an aviation history story, a survival story, and a love story.

“We all remember the almost incredulous joy and amazement we experienced on February 3 upon hearing that two survivors had been found, including our good friend and coworker, Joseph H. Tippets. After a month of privation and suffering, the fact that even four of the six on board the ill-fated plane survived the long, miserable month almost taxes our imagination, and proves indeed that faith and hope and courage and endurance have tangible rewards.

“The age of miracles is not past!”

Marshall C. Hoppin, Alaska Regional Manager, Civil Aeronautics Administration, Mukluk Telegraph, March 1943

EXCERPT

In testing out the boat again, and after making a few more repairs, we became somewhat bold. We were on a point of land jutting out into the bay, which had a narrow outlet to the sea. We felt if we could make our way out to the open water, we would have a chance to get to Annette Island or find some inhabited place where we could get help.

On Saturday (day 25), we started out. We knew our chances were slim, but desperation and concern for our two comrades back in camp forced us to make a try. We sat in the bottom of the boat, actually sitting in the icy cold water. The boat leaked almost as fast as we could bail. We bailed with one hand and paddled wearily with the other for about an hour. There was only one inch of space on the side of the boat above the water. After a couple hundred yards, we had to run the boat to shore and tip it over to empty it, and then start again.

We should not have undertaken that trip. Before we left, I had a clear feeling that we should not go. It was more than a feeling, it was a warning. But we set out and, as a result, we were headed for disaster.

After we’d been rowing about two hours, a violent storm began to develop. The sky turned black and the waves got higher and higher, heavy swells forcing us to bail even faster to keep afloat. Nearly full of water, the boat capsized and we were dumped into the bay, chilling to the bone in the bitterly cold water. Cakes of ice were floating all around us. We lost our overcoats, cooking utensils, everything but the clothing we had on and our rifle.

Our clothing dragged us down and the waves tossed us around. Just for a moment, I lost all faith and was angry with the Lord. Why, I thought, have you let me go through so much, for so long, only to drown here today? But, almost as I completed that thought, with my head barely above water, I found my feet touching the bottom. Pushing off and trying to swim, we kept together and made it the short distance to the shore. But we found only rocky cliffs. The waves were dashing us against the slippery rocks and then drawing us back into the water. We could not find a hold. Our hands were so cold we could not hold on when we did get a chance. It took us more than a half hour to finally grasp a ledge and pull ourselves fully out of the water.

Fortunately, we had kept our matches in a bouillon cube tin sealed with adhesive tape and they were dry. We made a small fire and tried to warm our feet. It was like trying to thaw out a piece of ice. We then set out to try and return to our camp, encouraging each other as we went. We did find the remains of our boat washed up on the shore, beaten against the rocks and smashed. Miraculously, under the seat, I found a still preserved bundle with my scriptures and other personal papers.

We were able to shorten our return hike by a mile or more as ice at the north end of Weasel Cove was thick enough to hold our weight. We crossed there, and then worked our way back to our campsite near the point. It had been twelve hours since we had left. As we drew near the shelter, we saw a coast guard cutter circling the bay. Wildly, we ran toward shore, yelling, stumbling, and falling in desperation to get them to see us. But the boat went up the channel and right past Weasel Point before disappearing into the fog beyond.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT HEARTS OF COURAGE!

“Through the entire month, Joe never gave up his attempt to find rescue and return to his family. Even when all seemed lost, he kept their memories in his heart, knowing God would take him where he needed to be. . . . Alta knew her husband would return home. . . . That faith stayed with Joe and Alta for the rest of their lives.” – Libbie Martin, the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner

“‘Hearts of Courage’ by John M. Tippets is a story of tremendous courage and faith against seemingly insurmountable odds…John Tippets has turned the story of the Gillam crash into a page-turning, engaging and heroic story of courage and faith.” – The Book Connection

John Tippets’ HEARTS OF COURAGE VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promoti0n’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit John’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host John, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Dixie Phillips, Author of the Children’s Picture Book “One Noble Journey”, on Tour in Dec.

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 18:20:08 +0000

Join Dixie Phillips, author of the children’s picture book, One Noble Journey (Guardian Angel Publishing), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT DIXIE PHILLIPS:

Dixie Phillips began writing seasonal plays for children in 1987. These delightful programs have been published by Abingdon Press, Standard Publishing, Eldridge Publishing, Evangelizing Today’s Child and Gospel Publishing House. One of Dixie’s children’s books, Stubby’s Destiny, was awarded the 2008 Best Children’s Animal Story by Books and Authors. Guardian Angel Publishing has released Angel Eyes, One Noble Journey and Baby Jesus is Missing. Cinderfella and the Furry Godmother and Stilts the Stork will be released in 2010.

Dixie also has a passion for writing God’s truths for adults. She has contributed to an award-winning devotional book and has ghostwritten books on marriage, health, poetry and personal testimonies. She is currently a topical curriculum writer for Randall House. Dixie is a pastor’s wife of more than 30 years. She and her husband, Paul, have four grown children and have served the Gospel Lighthouse Church in Floyd, Iowa, for 28 years.

You can learn more about Dixie’s books and the Phillips’ ministry by visiting www.floydslighthouse.com.

ABOUT ONE NOBLE JOURNEY

Dixie Phillips has delivered another delightful tale in One Noble Journey. Two cultures collide in the tiny village of Westbury. An orphan girl from the lowlands, the daughter of a Count from the highlands and a baby raccoon will entertain the hearts of children of all ages. One Noble Journey is guaranteed to help shape small souls. Artist is Kim Sponaugle. This award winning duo, Dixie and Kim, teamed up again to produce another winner. Stubby’s Destiny won the Literary Award for Excellence Best of 2008 in the Children’s Animal Story category. Suggested age for readers 3-10.

EXCERPT:

The village of Westbury had two sides. The rich people lived in the highlands and the poor lived in the lowlands. Right in the middle sat Hannah’s Hope, a home for orphans. Perched high on the orphanage’s roof was a gold cross.

“Journey!” Bella called across the field of wild flowers. “Come and see what I’ve found.”

Journey looped her willow basket, full of fresh-picked flower petals, over her arm and trotted to her friend’s side. There in a ravine sat a baby raccoon nibbling on an ear of corn.

“I wonder where his mother is.” Bella inquired.

Journey knelt beside the tiny ball of fur and cooed. “I think he’s an orphan just like me.” She carefully picked him up and tucked him in her basket. “These petals will make a soft bed for him.”

Bella rubbed the tiny animal’s tummy and he began to purr like a kitten. “He’s sure a friendly little critter.” She grinned. “But he stole corn from our garden and Papa won’t like that one bit.”

The raccoon yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“The dark fur around his eyes looks like a mask.” Journey laughed. “Maybe we should call him – Bandit.”

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT ONE NOBLE JOURNEY!

“A powerful story of acceptance and forgiveness, One Noble Journey would make excellent Sunday school reading or the perfect bedtime story. I can’t wait to see what Phillips and Sponaugle come up with next!” – The Children’s and Teens’ Book Connection

Dixie Phillips’ ONE NOBLE JOURNEY VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promoti0n’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Dixie’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Dixie, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Contemporary Women’s Novelist Joy Dekok, Author of ‘Rain Dance’ on Virtual Book Tour Dec. ‘09!

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 17:39:23 +0000

Join Joy DeKok, author of the contemporary women’s novel, Rain Dance (Sheaf House), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her second virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT JOY DEKOK:

Joy DeKok and her husband, Jon, live in Minnesota on thirty-five acres of woods and fields. Joy has been writing most of her life and as a popular speaker shares her heart and passion for God with women. In addition to writing novels, she has also published a devotional and several children’s books.

Visit Joy online at: http://www.joydekok.com/, http://raindancebook.com/, http://www.believe4kids.com/, and http://www.gettingitwrite.net/.

ABOUT RAIN DANCE:

Jonica is infertile. Stacie chooses an abortion. One is prolife the other prochoice. Both are suddenly alone in misunderstanding, facing hypocrisies in their belief systems, and grieving – one the death of a dream and the other the death of her child. As their hearts break where in the world will they find healing and grace? Can shattered dreams be part of the plan?

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

Jonica

Life as I knew it ended.

In the waiting room I sat in the front row, hoping the chair next to me would remain empty. A year ago, when we first came to the clinic, hope ruled. The receptionists smiled and welcomed me with friendly small talk.

It didn’t bother me that the infertility department was in the same section of the clinic as OB/GYN. I loved watching new moms cradle their little ones wrapped in soft blankets, toddlers by their sides.

Once, while a woman nursed her fussy newborn daughter, I sat on the floor and played Hot Wheels with her three-year-old son. When the nurse called his mom, he grinned at me and said, “Tanks!” as we collected his cars from the floor and put them in his bag. He grabbed his mom’s outstretched hand, curling his fingers around two of hers. The reach pulled up his red Pooh T-shirt, and his little belly button peeked out. I yearned to feel my child’s hand hold fast to mine.

Painful tests, frequent invasive exams, nauseating drugs, terrible periods, and embarrassing questions became my reality.

The gals at the desk no longer chatted with me. Instead, they accepted my appointment card and directed me to sit down. The air filled with baby sounds and smells now made me sick. Bile burned my aching throat.

I clenched my jaws and begged the Almighty silently, Please don’t let anyone ask, “How far along are you?” I’m tired of telling women with swollen stomachs that I’m here for infertility testing.

I buried my nose in a magazine that Ben, my husband, had received in the mail and wanted me to read. As I browsed the first few pages, my mind wandered.

I’d made this appointment to tell Dr. Steele we no longer wanted medical intervention to help us conceive. It cost too much in every way. Our health insurance didn’t cover any of the testing, and we’d paid more than ten thousand dollars with no end in sight. Putting a dollar amount on the changes inside our marriage proved impossible. Our intimate life revolved around my temperature. Charts and a thermometer took the place of candles on the nightstand.

Each month when my flow started, our failure to conceive was once more confirmed. Every cramp slammed the truth home. No success again. Will you always betray me? I accused my body. I chastised myself: You keep messing up. I defended myself to my internal tormentor: It isn’t my fault.

Then the cycle started again with the silent hope . . . maybe next month . . . easing its way back into position.

I didn’t want to disappoint Dr. Steele. His raw passion for the work inspired respect and his stern demeanor intimidated me. I longed to be one of his success stories instead of admitting defeat. A high voltage man specializing in in vitro fertilization, he focused his energy on finding an answer. He didn’t consider quitting an option.

I lifted a silent cry to God. Infertility is harsh and relentless. Where are You in all of this?

I stiffened my spine and tried to swallow the lump in my throat. I ordered my tears to stay put. This wasn’t the time or the place.

I regretted not calling his assistant and leaving a message. Why did I have to see his furrowed brow and hear his certain criticism?

A still small voice said, “Do not be afraid, but speak, and do not keep silent; for I am with you.”

I knew the Voice but was in the mood to argue. I was so fragile and broken I was sure that nothing I said could possibly help anyone.

Pick someone else! My heart screamed.

He didn’t.

A couple of chairs down, two women talking interrupted my internal babbling. “This blotchy upholstery makes me dizzy. Of course, it could be the morning sickness.”

The other huffed as she pushed on her side. “This one won’t keep his foot out from under my ribs!”

When a nurse called the woman with the rib tickler, she stood up with a soft grunt and followed the nurse, one hand on her back, the other resting on the mound of unborn baby under her maternity top.

I had dressed in comfortable clothes for the appointment: jeans and my favorite soft pink sweatshirt. The loose fit sometimes hid my flat stomach. In this room I was an oddity—a true outsider.

In a flurry of color and energy, a woman stood in front of the chair next to me. Shiny, jaw-length, jet-black hair and jade green eyes sparkled in the clinic lights. Her flat stomach caught my attention and I wondered if she was like me.

“Hi! Is anyone sitting here?” she asked.

“No.”

She sat down and crossed her jeans-clad legs. Her purple silk blouse and short, clear-lacquered nails glistened. The scent of jasmine swirled by, then seemed to waft back to her as if unable to bear the separation.

She pushed her hair behind her ears, and dangly silver earrings twinkled. “I’m Stacie.”

“My name’s Jonica.”

“Pretty name.”

“Thanks.”

She pulled a book out of her bag and asked, “So, how far along are you?”

I gave my new answer, “I can’t have children.”

The statement sounded clipped and whiny, so I added, “We’ve been coming to the infertility clinic for months, but now I’m here to terminate medical intervention.” Instead of confident, the words sounded defensive.

“Can’t, but still want to, huh?”

“Yes. But not this way.”

She raised a sculpted eyebrow. “I’m here to terminate something too—a pregnancy.”

She rushed on. “I’m new in a local law practice. My goal is to be a partner one day, representing women and children damaged or wronged by men. A pregnancy right now could hold me back or even halt my advancement. I need to establish myself first. There’s time for a family later—much later. I’m glad we can choose if or when to complete a pregnancy.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled, then tightened her lips and turned to her book, flipping it open. The light danced off a silver-trimmed boot as her foot began to swing slightly.

Tingles of shock pricked my fingertips and toes. My lips went numb, and my throat constricted. I took a deep breath and looked down. Her offensive made me want to defend life, but I didn’t have the strength. I needed to conserve my energy for my meeting with Dr. Steele.

I turned a page in my magazine and stopped. Every muscle in my already stressed body tensed. The photo in front of me showed the tiny hand of an unborn baby resting on a surgeon’s finger. The doctor had performed corrective surgery in vitro when pre-natal tests confirmed spina bifida.

God, give me the courage to show this to Stacie.

The nurse stepped up to the microphone and called my name. I closed the magazine, offered it to Stacie and said, “I’m done with this. You might find it interesting.”

She looked up briefly, took the magazine, and tucked it into the outside pocket of her purse. “Thanks. Nice to meet you.”

“Same here.”

I followed the nurse down the hall, watching her waist-length auburn braid swish against her straight back and thinking I’d just lied. It wasn’t nice to meet Stacie. I could have lived my whole life never having heard her pro-abortion dissertation.

The nurse indicated the examination table. “Dr. Steele will be right in for your consultation. Just have a seat.”

While I waited for the doctor, my dread increased. Dr. Steele was confident we could conceive with a little help from a friend: him. Photographs and thank you letters lined the walls. Smiling parents held babies and celebrated birthday parties. Happy faces beamed from family pictures.

I remembered the questionnaires we had filled out about our health, motives, and ability to pay. The doctor invited us to add a page about anything we wanted. Ben and I wrote about our faith.

Dr. Steele read it and commented, “I feel much like a creator myself.”

Ben said, “We believe in only one Creator.”

Our physician shrugged and diverted our attention to the first test. He kept all conversations professional from then on despite the intimacy involved in our circumstances, even when disappointment moved me to tears in front of him. I guess that made it easier for all of us.

I gripped my damp, cold hands in my lap, while my thoughts tip-toed back to the woman in the waiting room. I decided it was time for a pity party.

How could this happen today of all days? I’m saying goodbye to a dream and she sits next to me? There’s nothing wrong with her goals. All the things she wants to do are good, but she is willingly sacrificing her baby on the altar of achievement. Does she think that because abortion is legal all women agree with her? Who was she trying to convince—herself or me? It’s not fair. Why can she conceive and I can’t?

Before I could battle the subject out further, the door swung open on silent hinges and Dr. Steele entered. His short, bristly gray hair stood straight up. Hazel eyes with amber flecks smiled from behind gold-framed glasses. His yellow smiley-face tie softened his starched shirt, creased trousers, and shiny shoes. A stethoscope hung around his neck.

“Hello, Jonica.”

We shook hands, and he sat in his desk chair.

“Where’s Ben?” he asked, as he slid a brochure on in vitro fertilization toward me.

His chair creaked when he leaned forward. “We can start anytime you’re ready.” He paused for a moment anticipating an affirmative answer.

A Godzilla-sized cramp squeezed my stomach.

I heard myself say, “Ben and I are done. Our insurance doesn’t cover the financial end of it, and the emotional costs are far too expensive. We don’t want to face the moral and ethical dilemmas that heroic medical methods involve.”

All my practice in front of the mirror at home hadn’t improved my verbal delivery here either.

He snapped his chair into the upright position. His eyes lit with a golden fire, and his lips drew a straight line across his face. He ran his hand through his hair, and let out a loud, slow breath.

“I can’t believe an educated and intelligent couple like you and Ben can’t see the future in medical science. Why let some outdated religious beliefs keep you from realizing your dreams?”

“God is the Creator of science. He knew you before your conception and gave you life as well as your incredible abilities as a doctor. He is the One who leads Ben and me in all areas of our lives. We’re uncomfortable with frozen sperm, harvested eggs, and test-tube babies. We don’t want to deal with three to six microscopic embryos—which we believe are human beings—inserted into my body and possibly losing them all. Each time we lost one, we’d grieve. We’ve decided to focus our love on the children already in our lives.”

“That’s quite a sermon.”

Suddenly short of breath, I couldn’t get a single word out. Cool air crossed over my tongue so I knew my mouth was open. The sensation caused a reflex action, and I pressed my lips shut.

“I’m sorry you feel this way. My confidence is in human abilities and science. Many Christian couples come to me for help and are grateful for our methods.” He flipped my file shut and continued, “What makes you superior to them?”

“We’re not better than anyone else—and if it works for others without guilt, I’m happy for them. It just isn’t right for us. I’m sorry I sounded so defensive. I hate it when I get that way. We made this a prayerful decision. I hoped you’d accept our choice. I didn’t want it to end this way.”

“This is goodbye then. I wish you the best in your life.” He rose to leave.

“Do you ever wonder if you’re wrong and God is real?” I asked, also standing.

He held the door open for me. “I don’t need to hear about your beliefs. I read your forms, and other Christians come here. I’ve heard it all before.”

I reached into my purse. “I’d like to give you a small gift as my thanks for your effort to help us.”

“Clinic policy doesn’t allow us to accept gifts from patients.”

“Maybe you’d like to borrow this book from me then.” I handed him The Case for Christ.

“This is a new one,” he muttered, glancing at the back cover.

“I know you’re disappointed and so are we. Please know we appreciate your knowledge and the time you spent with us. I’d love to be able to send you a photo of a little girl who looks like me or a little boy who looks like Ben celebrating a birthday or Christmas. Without divine intervention, that’s not going to happen.”

The lump in my throat warned me I was close to tears, but I managed to say, “Goodbye Dr. Steele.”

The golden flames in his eyes receded. “Good-bye.”

I watched him walk away. For all his gruffness and disbelief, I would miss him. He wanted to help us conceive and couldn’t. In a way, we’d both just lost. I walked down the hallway in the opposite direction. It was over.

When I returned to the waiting room, I heard the receptionist call, “Stacie Cutter.” Stacie got up and followed her out of my sight down the other hall.

I wanted to run and considered finding the stairs. Instead I paced while the elevator made a slow climb to my floor. A man on crutches and a woman in a wheelchair shared my descent and got off on different floors along the way down.

I dug the keys out of my purse while I speed walked to the parking ramp. Shaking, I missed the lock on my car door and the key scratched the paint.

I got into the car. Yanking on my seatbelt, I grabbed my payment stub from behind the visor. The tires squealed as I took the tight ramp corners a little faster than usual.

Hold on until you get home, I commanded my tears.

I paid the smiling man at the booth, then three red lights and two stop signs later pulled into our driveway. I ran up the sidewalk, unlocked the back door, and threw my purse on the counter.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen with both fists clenched so tightly that my fingernails gouged my palms. My mind registered the pain, and then I pressed harder.

I sobbed out loud, “Lord, I’m angry! Why us? We waited for intimacy until marriage. We did what You asked. We love children. We tithe, we pray, we go to church. We believe in You, and we always will. Please tell me why You give children to women who will throw them away. Father, I feel so empty!”

Only the ticking clock answered my cry.

God said no. Our dream died, and Ben would always come home to only me.

WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT RAIN DANCE!

“This book is a must read for all women. Although it is a fictional story the author has brilliantly captured the many issues that women struggle with and offers hope that can only be found in Jesus. She also shows how looking beyond our own circumstances can bring blessings into our lives and the lives of others. I’ve ministered to broken women for over twenty years and I’m thankful for resources like Rain Dance that will reach women who are hurting and give them hope.” – Sue Liljenberg, International Director, Healing Hearts Ministries International

“Rain Dance is truly a prodigious book…a must read.” – Ane Mulligan, Editor, Novel Journey

Joy DeKok’s RAIN DANCE VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promoti0n’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Joy’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Joy, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.

Announcing Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein, Author of the Tween and Teen Fiction Book “The Truth (I’m a girl, I’m smart and I know everything)”, on Tour in Dec.

pumpupyourbook — Wed, 04 Nov 2009 16:53:43 +0000

Join Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein, author of the tween and teen fiction book, The Truth (I’m a girl, I’m smart and I know everything (The Enchanted Self Press), as she virtually tours the blogosphere in December on her third virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!

ABOUT DR. BARBARA BECKER HOLSTEIN:

Dr. Barbara Becker Holstein is the originator of The Enchanted Self(R). She has been a positive psychologist in private practice and licensed in the states of New Jersey and Massachusetts since 1981. She is currently in private practice in Long Branch, New Jersey with her husband, Dr. Russell M. Holstein.

She is the author of The Enchanted Self, A Positive Therapy, Recipes for Enchantment, The Secret Ingredient is YOU! and There Comes A Time In Every Woman’s Life for DELIGHT.

Her newest book, The Truth, I’m Ten, I’m Smart and I Know Everything! is another first in positive psychology. Written by a ten-year-old girl as a diary, Dr. Barbara has been able to imbed lots of positive truths that we all need to remember and live by, regardless of our age.

The girl’s edition, titled: The Truth, (I’m a girl, I’m smart and I know everything) debuted February 2008 in bookstores nationwide. You can get your copy now at www.enchantedself.com.

ABOUT THE TRUTH (I’M A GIRL, I’M SMART AND I KNOW EVERYTHING):

THE TRUTH, (I’m a girl, I’m smart and I know everything) is a delightful, humorous secret diary, written by a girl who is 10-11 years of age. She is wise and yet so innocent. She makes us laugh and cry and know that we are secretly heroines. This easy read for girls, (the mother’s edition has a different introduction, different questions at the end, and some pages that are slightly more sophisticated) has within it a psychological message for girls, that they can and must hold on to the best of themselves as they grow up. Girls love the book and so do their mothers. Girls recognize themselves and finally feel totally understood while their moms remember themselves, feel closer to their daughters and everyone has lots to talk about.

EXCERPT:

Dear Diary, date: September 20

I am in love. I thought I would fall in love when I was much older, maybe 15 or 16. Not today.

I was sitting in class, reading a social studies chapter, trying to answer an awful question at the end of the chapter, “Which state has the most coal mines,” when the door opened and a new kid walked in.

There he was! I knew as soon as I saw him. He was wearing a cute plaid shirt and he had brown hair and brown eyes. I could imagine kissing his lips.

My heart felt like it turned over in my body. My pulse started to race. I couldn’t concentrate. I felt excited, like I suddenly had a big secret. “Our eyes locked.” I read that in a book that my mom had by her bed. It was true. When I looked into his brown eyes, I felt we had known each other forever. Looking at him made me feel all fluttery inside.

I wanted him to sit near me so badly I could have died. But he sat in the row in front of me, a little to the right. Not too bad. Now I can look at him all day. My best friend, Angela, sits beside him, to his right. I hope she doesn’t fall in love with him too. He’s mine! His name is Paul.

What people are saying about the girl’s edition of The Truth:

“‘The Truth (I’m a girl, I’m smart and I know everything)’ is a slim volume full of much wisdom. Told in honest, childlike diary form, the entrancing story of an eleven year old girl emerges–her hopes, her fears, her struggles, her new awarenesses and her advice. It is the story of a child on the verge of growing up and it is a touching portrait that cleverly weaves in all the psychological hurdles in a girl’s young life. Pertinent questions are provided at the back to help children better understand the issues presented in the book. A wonderful teaching tool!” – Phoebe, Amazon.com Reviewer

“I was entranced by this open view into the heart of a young girl. The writer has skillfully written a profoundly deep piece yet the purity of the girl’s emotions are extraordinarily free of any “adult” supervision. As a writer and a man, I am impressed how much this story touched my heart. Kudos to Barbara for a masterful job.” - John Franklin, author of Gift of the Jaguar

“As the father of two young girls ages 4 and 7 I can assure you this is a great book for the other gender(us men). I work with thousands of young people and run Life Success groups for teen girls.This book is going to be my bible for me to learn more about the inner workings of being a girl. I am going to use it with my girls groups to have them venture back a little to uncover some of the stuff they picked up along the way. Thanks Doc,what a great book!!!” - Kevin Touhey, Life Coach

“‘The Truth’ would be a terrific little book for a therapist to give to families to read at home as an adjunct to therapy. The book would be a delightful experience for moms and daughters to read together and talk about their reactions and thoughts. It could help the generations understand each other better and relate to each other by sharing thoughts about their common feelings and life experiences. Reading this book will make you laugh and cry, and that’s the truth!” - Lucinda M. Seares-Monica, Psy. D.

Dr. Holstein’s THE TRUTH (I’M A GIRL, I’M SMART AND I KNOW EVERYTHING) VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Dec. 1st and end on Dec. 16th as part of Pump Up Your Book Promoti0n’s 12 Days of Christmas Virtual Book Tour Special. You can visit Dr. Holstein’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of December to find out more about this great book and its talented author. If you would like to host Dr. Holstein, please contact Cheryl Malandrinos at cg20pm00@gmail.com before November 23rd.