Monday, March 2, 2015

Tax Time

Is a candy bar tax deductible? Perhaps. Depends on why it was purchased and what was done with it. For me, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t wining and dining anyone. That just doesn’t sound like me. Fairly convinced I didn’t give it away as charity either. Pretty sure I ate it. So, I’m thinking it’s probably not deductible.

But other items on the receipt are. Maybe. I’m never sure until I go through the items one by one, deciphering the store’s shorthand and non-standard abbreviations to determine what the product is. Once everything has been identified, it’s usually not too difficult to decide what’s tax deductible and what is not.

As I’m sure you guessed, I’ve been busy doing taxes. Sorting through a year’s worth of receipts and statements. For hours. Adding numbers. And then re-adding the same numbers. Hoping to come up with the same total at least twice. Of course, it doesn’t help when I discover I’ve included something I shouldn’t have. Or, placed it in the wrong category. Or, worse, take a break for a few minutes and find two more receipts.

Actually, now that we have computers to do our adding and virtually everything else these days, it’s far easier to tackle jobs like this. I guess you could say taxes are less taxing than they once were. The computer can take care of all the math; the adding, the subtracting, the re-figuring, etc. And, accurately too!

Unfortunately, that accuracy is totally dependant on what is entered. And when a human is entering the numbers, there’s always room for error. Especially, when that human is me. (Yes, despite the assertions of some, I assure you, I am quite human).

So, I spend a lot of time double checking; comparing what is on the screen with the paper on my desk. And then, I spend even more time correcting things. But, I figure it’s worth it. I’ve heard the IRS doesn’t have much of a sense of humor about inaccuracies in tax returns. Mistakes are not viewed as an acceptable excuse for a failure to pay the correct amount of tax due.

All in all, the project hasn’t been too time consuming. What’s a few hours of my time? Or days? I’ll just consider it my patriotic contribution. That doesn’t make the idea of paying my taxes any easier but it does make it slightly less frustrating.

Thankfully, I’m almost done. Probably would’ve been finished by now but I had to take a few minutes to write this blog post! So, I gave up for the night. There’s always tomorrow. Right now, it seems I’m hungry. Apparently, I worked up an appetite. Think I’ll remedy that with a candy bar!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Current Reads

If Only There Was Music... The Poetry Of Forbidden Love
Nonnie Jules

Beneath African Skies
Gillie Bowen

The Ruins Of Stone Hill
F. P. Spirit

SPOTLIGHT Author

Michael Eging
Annwyn's Blood


Sunday, February 22, 2015

Car Repairs

I gave up working on cars years ago. It is extremely annoying and makes me irritable and grumpy. Why? Because things never go right, there isn’t room to get to anything, and usually multiple trips to the store searching for some obscure tool is involved. I decided I’d rather make a payment on a decent car than spend the same amount or more on repairs. Life is easier that way.

But sometimes, I still find myself lying under a vehicle with wrenches, or reaching down into places too small for my hand to fit, or just staring at the engine, hoping for inspiration. Maybe I’m hoping it will fix itself. For some reason, that never happens.

This past week, the alternator on my wife’s car went out. I tried suggesting she should fix it. But that was met with a less than favorable response. And so, since I do not like paying the exorbitant fee for a mechanic—$120.00 an hour is a little ridiculous—the job fell to me.

It used to be, changing an alternator took only a couple of wrenches and about ten or fifteen minutes. But times change. Now, it takes longer than that just to find the alternator. And then once it is located, an entire arsenal of tools is required (and several hours) to figure out how to get the old one off and the new one on. By the time I was finished, I remembered very clearly why I stopped working on cars.

The good news is, it’s done. Everything is back together and I didn’t end up with any extra nuts or bolts. I got very few scrapes and cuts on my hands and made only one trip to the store. All in all, not a bad experience. And for those who may be wondering, yes, it works! Hey, I never said I didn’t know how to fix cars, just that I didn’t like to. Guess I could go into business as a mechanic. At $120.00 an hour, the pay would be good, but my wife probably would rather I not. There’s something about me being irritable and grumpy that she finds annoying.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Various Authors

Jack Everett

John Howell

SPOTLIGHT Author

Michael Eging




Monday, February 16, 2015

Off On The Wrong Track

After twenty years of driving a truck, I thought I’d seen it all when it comes to crazy things in the trucking world. But a few weeks ago, I came across something new. Something I had definitely not seen before.

The weather was cold and a lot of trailer brakes were freezing up. A few of the newer drivers at my job had never experienced the joys of that and appeared to be having a difficult time of it. Actually, it’s really not that big of a problem. If the brakes are frozen, all it takes is a little rapping on the bottom of the drum with a hammer. But, if a guy doesn’t know that, or know exactly how and where to hit, it can be a nightmare. One guy apparently decided it was too much of a hassle and didn’t bother.

He made it out of the terminal fine. But as soon as he got to the county road where the ice gave way to dry pavement, he quickly blew two tires. It seems rubber doesn’t last long when skidding across the road.

I was on my way in, about two miles from the terminal, when I saw him sitting on the road. I stopped to see if he was okay, figuring he’d blown some tires. All this I’d seen before. Every winter someone does it. Usually, however, drivers do not stop and just sit there. We were on a narrow two-lane road with no shoulders. It was dark and he’d turned his lights off. Anyone coming around the corner would have a hard time seeing him.

I suggested he drive a half mile down the road to a big graveled lot and turn around. He’d already ruined the tires, it wasn’t going to hurt much to take the trailer back and get another one. Besides, he needed to get off the road.

But Mr. New Driver had other ideas. He thought it’d be better if he just backed all the way to the yard. Yeah, that sounded like a plan! Back two miles around corners, up and down a few hills, down a road with no painted lines, no shoulders, and a ditch on either side, while it’s dark. A new driver! Yeah, I didn’t want to be around for that!

I rolled my eyes, said okay, and drove on to the yard. I had another trip to make, so I switched trailers and headed back out. But I didn’t make it far. That same guy was blocking the road not too far from where I’d left him. At first, I thought he’d just gotten sideways but the closer I got, it was plain he had bigger problems.

Instead of backing all the way, he’d decided to use the railroad crossing to turn around. Yes, he’d backed the trailer off the road, down the tracks, then got the tires of his cab stuck in between the railroad ties. The rest of his cab was sprawled across the road, effectively blocking all traffic. He couldn’t move forward or backward. And now, instead of two blown tires, he had six.

Even more alarming was the guy’s suggestion that he get a ride with me and just leave his truck there—on the tracks! Our shop mechanic, who was on his way home, and I, both nixed that. It took over an hour and involved a chain and me towing the other truck but we did get the guy off the tracks and back to the yard.

Now for the kicker. While backing a truck to the yard from where the guy had stopped seemed like a bad idea, it is certainly not impossible. I know. I’ve done it. Twice. (No, I didn’t blow out my tires). Neither time was by choice. On both occasions, the train had derailed. Since that takes days to clean up, I was left with only one option: back up for two miles around corners, up and down a few hills, down a road with no painted lines, no shoulders, and a ditch on either side, in the dark. I made it just fine too. Of course, I didn’t try backing down the railroad tracks. Call me crazy but I’m pretty sure those were made for trains, not trucks!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Various Authors

Jack Everett

John Howell

SPOTLIGHT Author

Helen Treharne


Monday, February 9, 2015

Wrong Way

I guess it’s inevitable, given the number of miles I drive, that I seem to run into more than my share of drivers going the wrong way. Not literally run into them—at least not yet—but I do have occasion to see them quite frequently. Sometimes, I’m lucky and they’re on the other side of the freeway but far too often, they are on my side, barreling toward me at full speed. Being in a semi-truck, I’m not too concerned about my well being, but at a combined speed pushing 140 mph, something tells me these people wouldn’t fare too well in the event of a crash. Me, I’d just have a lot of paperwork to fill out.

I’ve written about this before, I know. But recent events warrant a revisiting.

This past week, I had the opportunity to meet another of these wayward individuals who obviously had lost their way. I saw the car coming, headlights shining brightly, and strangely, on my side of the divider. The good news is the approaching car was in the left lane and I was in the right lane.

The first instinct in such a situation, is to move to the right and get off the road as far as possible. That’s just human instinct. But not being human, the DOT doesn’t see it that way. As a truck driver, I’m not allowed to leave my lane—even to avoid a crash. If I were to do so and cause another crash or if the driver coming at me suddenly figures out his mistake and swerves into me, it could, and likely would, be considered my fault. On the other hand, although there are no guarantees, if I maintain my own lane and there is a crash, I stand a much better chance of not being blamed. Brings a whole new meaning to stand your ground!

The “experts” will tell you when anything like this occurs there is no time to think about what to do. You just react. From the time you realize what is happening until the car goes zooming past is only seconds. Due to (too much) experience, I know the approaching vehicle is usually less than an eighth mile away when the realization occurs. Depending on the speed of both vehicles, that’s somewhere around three to four seconds at the most. Not much time to react. Yet, when it happens it seems as if everything slows down, providing ample time to think all sorts of thoughts and assess the situation.

As soon as I determined the vehicle was on my side of the road, I checked my mirror. A car was slowly trying to pass me. Due to the slight curve of the highway to the right, I knew the driver would be unable to see the oncoming car. And, being beside me, he would have nowhere to go. But what could I do? It’s not like I had time to write a message and hang it out the window!

But, I didn’t have to. I hit my turn signal and abruptly moved to the left, toward the center line, making it appear I was coming over, while not leaving my lane. My action had the intended effect. The car passing me suddenly slowed—amid much cussing from the driver, directed at me, I’m sure. But then immediately, the driver must have seen the headlights coming. He swerved into the right lane behind me so fast, I thought he might wreck.

The wrong-way driver flew past us both and disappeared down the road. The guy in the car behind me stayed there for the next few miles, apparently using me for a shield. In a matter of seconds, I’d gone from the stereotypical truck driver everybody loves to hate, to the guy who could provide a welcomed safety cushion. I know I probably gave the guy beside me a heart attack when he thought I was going to crush him. And I’m sure I was called every name in the book! And then some! I just wish I could have heard what he was saying because I think I had the perfect response:

“You’re welcome.”

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Various Authors

Jack Everett

John Howell

SPOTLIGHT Author

Robin Chambers


Monday, February 2, 2015

Long Awaited Road Trip

When my oldest daughter was two years old, I took her on a cross country trip. Just her and I. A father/daughter trip.

My wife had no desire to go along since she absolutely hates driving anywhere in the winter. This is probably due, at least in part, to a trip the two of us took before we got married. A trip that contained a little extra “adventure.” I wrote a blog about that event, which you can read here.

But back to the father/daughter trip. We traveled from Wisconsin to Wyoming to visit my parents at Thanksgiving. A memorable trip, and one I still look back on fondly. At the time, a few people thought I was crazy. Apparently, fathers do not generally take their small children on long trips. Well, I guess I’m not normal. We had a great time and I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. A few years later, I again took her with me, to Missouri this time.

Some years later, when my son came along, he and I made several road trips, to Wyoming and other places. Again, these trips made for great memories that I reflect on quite often. Reminiscing, as it is called. Now, I realize as a truck driver, my view may be skewed, but there’s something about a long road trip that connects people in a way nothing else can.

But wait, there’s more! I also have another child, a daughter. As a momma’s girl, when she was young, she never wanted to be away from her mother very long at all—with me or anyone else. And so, the two of us never took any extended trips together. That is, until this last weekend. She’s now an adult but better late than never, right?

Being that we’re smack dab in the middle of winter, as you can imagine, my wife did not wish to make the journey. So, the two of us, my daughter and I, drove to Idaho to help my son move. A three-day trip that brought back a lot of memories from the travels with my other two children and reminding me of what I’d missed out on with her.

Of course, this time, I wasn’t “in charge” of, well, anything really. I didn’t have to hold her hand when we got out of the truck, order her food, or think up road games to pass the time. In fact, I didn’t have to take care of her in any way. She is quite a capable person! In some ways, that made this trip quite different. Yet, in many ways it was the same. A father/daughter road trip. Just her and I.

And at last, my trifecta of father/child road trips is complete! Good thing too. Because, apparently, I’m older than I used to be. Although I drive for a living, weekend trips tend to wear me out these days. But before I go to bed for some much needed sleep, I just wanted to say thanks to my daughter for traveling along!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Various Authors

Jack Everett

Gillie Bowen

SPOTLIGHT Author

Robin Chambers

Monday, January 26, 2015

The Weather Forecast

Yesterday, where I live, it was supposed to be 65 degrees and sunny. They’ve been saying it was coming for a week or better. Great January weather, right? And I, for one, was looking forward to it. Well, turns out the high was only 47 and we saw not one ray of sunshine. Conditions were mostly foggy with a bit of drizzle.

Why is it that weather forecasters never suffer any ill effects for being wrong? This is a fairly well-paid profession yet, they are notoriously wrong in their predictions. It’s a pattern. I think half the time their brain is in a fog. But, somehow, they keep their job.

I can only imagine if I turned in a similar performance at my job as a truck driver. I’m quite certain I wouldn’t be around after a single day. I don’t think I’m alone. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people would be fired if they came anywhere close to the abysmal track record of meteorologists. Most bosses do not appreciate incompetence—especially when it’s on-going.

These days meteorology has moved away from the old weather vanes and anemometers to some rather expensive and sophisticated technology; Doppler radar, satellite imaging, weather balloons with sensors, forecasting software with weather models, not to mention theses guys go to college to study weather patterns and the climate. Despite the advancements, accuracy rates are no better than they were fifty years ago. Really!

In the sixties, weather forecasters held an aggregate average of approximately 70 percent. Some days were better than others, obviously, as were some forecasters in any given time. But the average for them all was roughly 70 percent.

Today’s meteorologists like to claim they are far better at predicting the weather and that they are continually advancing. I think that’s just to justify the millions of dollars spent on equipment—meteorologist’s toys. One guy I looked up, while researching for this post, maintains he has a 95 percent accuracy. But if you look, you’ll discover this includes next day and even same day forecasts! Well, even I could do pretty well by glancing out the window—probably get close to 100 percent accuracy, I’m thinking. But a true forecast, as in, not waiting until the weather is happening or about to happen, is still averaging about 70 percent.

I looked up the statistics on weather forecasts for my area and found that the average from the top ten forecasting services, which includes, The Weather Channel, AccuWeather, and the National Weather Service, was 65.31 percent for the last month and 65.86 percent for the last year. So much for the meteorologist’s claims of improvement.

In school, I had teacher who pointed out that if you predict the exact same weather for tomorrow as was experienced today and you’ll have a 70 percent accuracy. No college, no study of weather patterns, and no equipment. And you’ll do just as well as the weatherman—at least over a period of time. So again, why do these guys keep their job?

Incidentally, the Old Farmer’s Almanac, long ridiculed by many, including meteorologists, has about an 65 percent accuracy rating—and that’s a running total all the way back to when they started, in 1792! Some years, they were as low as 52 percent but other years it’s been as high as 80. Seems to me that meteorologists could save a lot of time and money by just buying a subscription to the Old Farmer’s Almanac!

Oh, and what did the Old Farmer’s Almanac forecast for this week where I live? Mild temperatures (39 degrees) and a little rain. Not perfect, but definitely better than the weatherman!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Current Reads

Kathryn C. Treat

Brian O’Hare

Ronesa Aveela


SPOTLIGHT Author

Robin Chambers



Monday, January 19, 2015

Profile Of A Sculptor

As a kid, I used to love school field trips. Aside from getting out of school, the trip itself was usually something fun and memorable. After one such outing to a museum, and without much forethought, I decided I wanted to be a sculptor. I’m not sure how old I was at the time, around eight or nine I think. I do remember being quite impressed by the statues and figurines on display. Fascinated, really. Everything looked so real, so exact, so perfect.

Back at school, we watched a film on how sculptors did their work. The art of sculpting, it said, was intensive and required skill, both in imagination and artistic ability. Well, I immediately discounted the possibility that it could be difficult. I figured since I could draw, and had never lacked for an imagination, then I could certainly be a sculptor. How hard could it be anyway?

At home that afternoon, I found my dad’s tool box, picked out a couple of chisels, along with a hammer, and went searching for a rock. A big rock. Time to make my mark on the world!

I spent a few hours chiseling (pounding with the hammer until I got a chunk of rock to fracture and come off) and then studying my progress. I hadn’t decided what I would make beforehand. I think I was hoping something would start to emerge and then I’d just go with that. Well, as you can imagine, things didn’t go quite that way. After several hours all I had was, well, a rock. A smaller rock than I’d started with, but still just a rock.

Okay, I thought, maybe they’d been right. Perhaps sculpting was indeed hard to do.
A few years later, I tried my hand again. I was older, had a better idea of what to do, but while there was a little improvement, the result was about the same. And so, although I hate to give up, hate to admit defeat on anything, I realized that maybe sculpting wasn’t for me.

Then, after high school, I went to work at a dental laboratory where we fabricated dental appliances; dentures, crowns, bridges, etc. The process is a little drawn out but it begins by designing the prosthesis in wax. Generally, a pre-formed mold is used, which is then customized to match the existing teeth, gums, and facial features. This is accomplished with various tools, one of which is a wax carver, also known as a sculptor. And sometimes the appliance is made from scratch. It was probably two or three years before I discovered that what I was doing was sculpting.

Remember how I said I don’t like giving up or admitting defeat? Well, I suddenly found a new inspiration. I made all sorts of things; guns and holsters, cars, birds, little faces and figurines, anything I could think of. Mostly, I stuck to wax sculptures but some of the stuff, I chose to make out of stone or metal. And surprisingly, they all turned out! No, my “art” will never be displayed in a museum and it’s definitely not the picture of perfection but I did manage to become a sculptor—of sorts. Hmm, maybe it’s time to try my luck on a rock again.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Allergic To Life: My Battle For Survival
Kathryn C. Treat

The Miracle Ship
Brian O’Hare

Mystical Emona: Soul’s Journey
Ronesa Aveela

SPOTLIGHT Author

C. S. Boyack
The Cock Of The South

 

Monday, January 12, 2015

Cheaper Gas!

A few years ago, I would have never thought I’d be happy with gas prices at more than two dollars a gallon. But that was before I’d been forced to pay nearly twice that much.

Everyone seems to be concerned with answering the question of why gas prices are dropping. I’m not really interested in the why, only that they are! And, like most people, I find it difficult to work up any sympathy for the companies that are losing money because of it. Those are the same companies that have taken advantage of me and everyone else for years. They were never too worried what the high prices were doing to any of us.

Recent reports claim that thanks to the falling prices, Americans are currently saving a few billion dollars per month! That’s a lot of money. And while I do more than my fair share of driving, I can assure you, I’m not saving quite that much!

Seriously though, living over 60 miles from my job means a weekly commute of around 650 miles. That adds up to a lot of gas over the course of a year. Wait, that adds up to a lot of gas over the course of a week. Especially since I drive a four-wheel drive pickup. And no, just to be clear, I NEVER considered buying a hybrid car. That’s definitely not  for me. I prefer to drive a real vehicle.

At any rate, you can see why the falling prices have me in such a good mood! But I know better than to allow myself to become too excited. Life has a way of handing a guy something with one hand and then taking it back with the other. I’m sure something will happen to even things out.

For the moment however, it is nice not to have to take out a second mortgage on the house just to buy gas.  Or, go without eating. And I no longer have the urge to shoot the dial on the pump either! Ditto for the sign. Good thing I guess, because so far, the price of ammo hasn’t really come down.

But perhaps the best part of the new lower gas prices is that I can now afford to go to work. Hmm. Now that I think about it, not sure if that makes me happy or not.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice-President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

______________________________



Current Reads

Allergic To Life: My Battle For Survival
Kathryn C. Treat

The Miracle Ship
Brian O’Hare

Mystical Emona: Soul’s Journey
Ronesa Aveela

SPOTLIGHT Author

C. S. Boyack
The Cock Of The South


Thursday, January 8, 2015

Today, I am happy to host Jenny Hinsman on her 4WillsPublishing sponsored Blog Tour. Jenny Hinsman is the author of Angel Of Death.








Excerpt from Angel of Death 
     Gunner pulled her hair to the side so he could rest his chin on her naked shoulder.  “Tance, until I met you I’d given up on the idea of having something special with anyone.  Sure, I dated and slept with some of the girls, but I never cared if I saw them again, it was just never right, no sparks.  It was like I was just kind of on auto-pilot for so long, getting set up on dates through friends and always agreeing because I was single and that’s what I was supposed to do.  It was all just robotic, for lack of a better word.” 
     She was nodding as he spoke, because she knew exactly where he was coming from, if she had a dollar for every date Audrey set her up with she’d have money like Audrey.  She just went through the motions because that’s what college coeds did: dated, had fun and slept around.  She never connected with anyone long enough, nor did she even have the slightest interest in sleeping with any guy she ever went out with.  She was curious at times, what it would be like to have sex.  There were a few times she considered losing her virginity, just to be done with it, but she was never brave enough or stupid enough.
     “Then this gorgeous blond, with the most stunning blue eyes, walked into my office a few weeks ago, and I immediately felt something … something exciting.  I can honestly say, I don’t think a woman has ever had that affect on me.  I swear, the first time we touched … I knew I needed to make you mine.  I saw my future in those stunning eyes of yours.”  He brushed his lips up and down her neck.  “I love this, Tance.”
      Tancy moved the tray and got onto her knees to face Gunner.  “I feel like I can say ‘ditto’ to everything you just said.  Your first touch sent sparks through me, and the first time our lips touched it felt more right than anything ever has in my life.  The first time we made love and you held me in your arms all night, it felt like home, only no home I’ve ever known.  I trust you implicitly, I want this … us … you.”  She straddled his lap and kissed him with raw, passionate emotion. 
       They began to arouse one another, and she rode him like that until they both

climaxed, saying one another’s names.  “Tance, you have me …”



Blog Tour Links:




This tour sponsored by 4WillsPublishing.wordpress.com
To book your own tour, please contact us.

Tuesday, January 6, 2015

Blog Tour - Jeffrey Von Glahn

Today, I am happy to host Jeffrey Von Glahn on his 4WillsPublishing sponsored Blog Tour. Jeffrey Von Glahn is the author of JESSICA: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN INFANT.




BOOK BLURB:
Jessica had always been haunted by the fear that the unthinkable had happened when she had been “made-up.” For as far back as she could remember, she had no sense of a Self. Her mother thought of her as the “perfect infant” because “she never wanted anything and she never needed anything.” As a child, just thinking of saying “I need” or “I want” left her feeling like an empty shell and that her mind was about to spin out of control. Terrified of who––or what––she was, she lived in constant dread over being found guilty of impersonating a human being.

Jeffrey Von Glahn, Ph.D., an experienced therapist with an unshakable belief in the healing powers of the human spirit, and Jessica, blaze a trail into this unexplored territory. As if she has, in fact, become an infant again, Jessica remembers in extraordinary detail events from the earliest days of her life––events that threatened to twist her embryonic humanness from its natural course of development. Her recollections are like listening to an infant who could talk describe every psychologically dramatic moment of its life as it was happening.

When Dr. Von Glahn met Jessica, she was 23. Everyone regarded her as a responsible, caring person – except that she never drove and she stayed at her mother’s when her husband worked nights.

For many months, Jessica’s therapy was stuck in an impasse. Dr. Von Glahn had absolutely no idea that she was so terrified over simply talking about herself. In hopes of breakthrough, she boldly asked for four hours of therapy a day, for three days a week, for six weeks. The mystery that was Jessica cracked open in dramatic fashion, and in a way that Dr. Von Glahn could never have imagined. Then she asked for four days a week – and for however long it took. In the following months, her electrifying journey into her mystifying past brought her ever closer to a final confrontation with the events that had threatened to forever strip her of her basic humanness.
BLOG POST:
This excerpt appears in Ch. 1 in the book, although it occurred in the fourth year of her therapy.

I was floating in water and hearing it flutter in my ear. I heard a steady heartbeat. I was stretching and yawning, calm and peaceful. My only concern was growing. All that was happening seemed to be in preparation for a different dimension in my life.
I remember ‘thinking’ before I was born all that was going to happen. I was going to be born so somebody could love me and touch me, so I could be enough, so I could be a part of a big, working thing and I could have an effect on the world.
All of it was going to be so neat. I was going to be a part of a whole big world. The world was a good place, and I was going to be a part of it! Me! The world was going to be better because I was here, because there was nothing like me. Nowhere could the world get what it was going to get from me. I was important, as important as anything. Even the tiniest speck!
During labor, I felt squeezed. I wasn’t frightened. I was going along with the process of being born. I was starting to get out when somebody pushed me back in. Gosh darn it! I was not in charge of my birth anymore. They were pushing my head in, and I couldn’t breathe. I was very frightened and confused. I thought I was going to die before I could get out.
Somebody was jerking me and scaring me. Everything was just jerking and pulling and turning. It hurt everywhere on my body. I didn’t know what to do. I was dizzy. I wanted to go back to where it was quiet. Make them stop! Leave me alone! Everyone leave me alone, and I’ll be just fine. Let me do it!
The doctor simply plucked me out of my mother and said, ‘Here’s the little troublemaker. I can tell she’s going to be a stubborn one.’ My mom hurt, and she hurt physically because of me. There was a lot of confusion. The lights were bright, and the room was noisy. The medical team was in a panic, and everyone was yelling.
It seemed like the whole world was a mess. Things weren’t going right, and it was all because of me—because I was ready to be born and I wasn’t doing it right! Everyone was frightened and scared, and they didn’t understand.
Two nurses took me and washed me roughly. They were talking and laughing with each other and were unaware of how they were treating me or how I felt. I remember one of them saying, ‘Who do you think you are? You’re just another person to take care of.’
I was hungry and screaming and scared. It didn’t matter. Nobody wanted to touch me and hold me and smile at me. There was a whole room full of people. I just had to wait! I wasn’t any more important than anybody else! Everyone was doing what had to be done, and I had to just behave and stop crying.
And I’d learn…I’d learn I was a nobody, that I was just like everybody else. It didn’t matter what I wanted or expected. I was in the real world, and I’d just have to wait. I was nobody special, and I didn’t deserve anything any more than anybody else did. It didn’t make any difference who I was. I was just one more person to take care of. It all made me feel like I wasn’t what they were looking for, like I was a nobody. Who the hell was I?
They weren’t concerned about me. They were just concerned with what I had done and how hard I had made it for everybody. Like I had any control over it! All I had done was be born. And it was no big deal! I came out ‘thinking,’ ‘Ta, ta, I’m here!’ And everybody goes, ‘Big deal!’
“Everybody felt like I had to prove myself. It was like everybody thought it was a tough, mean, crummy world. Welcome to it, kid! You’re no different than the rest of us. It’s all crummy and rotten and look what you’re a part of. They must have had a lot of bad attitudes.
“I felt like going and hiding. What did I do good? I was just born! It didn’t matter what I had to offer. Nobody saw any good in me. I was waiting for someone to be so delighted and happy I was here, that I was out and now the world was a better place because there was one more good thing. Nobody felt I had contributed something only I could. I thought something unique had just happened and never in the space of time would anything like that happen again, because I was different. I was one of a kind, and I could contribute things nobody else could.
I do feel like I’ve committed a grave transgression because I was born. Because of me, I added more hurt to this world. I didn’t add good things. I wasn’t good, and special, and one of a kind. I felt so awful, like I didn’t have a right to live.
Everybody thought the world was crummy and a mess and that I added to the awfulness and the crumminess. I felt so disappointed. Yuck. This was what I had waited for?
After being cleaned up, I went to sleep. When I woke up, I decided to give the world another chance. It was tough being born. It was.
Then she looked at me directly and asked, “Do you remember all this stuff? Do you think I’m cuckoo? I know all this happened.


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Sunday, January 4, 2015

My Dad's Hands

I remember as a little kid of about three or four, looking at my dad’s hands and wondering why they looked the way they did. My hands were smooth, his were not. After I got a little older, I realized it was because he worked for a living and that’s how working hands look.

But even after I’d been working for a while myself (still as a kid), my hands didn’t look nearly as callused or weathered as his. I used to check my hands at night, especially after a particularly hard day’s work, and though it seemed they should be developing calluses and toughening up, they never really matched my dad’s hands. I decided it was because he must work more than I did. A LOT more, apparently. After all, he was always working on something. Me, I spent a lot of time playing. Still, I wanted my hands to look like that.

As a teenager, they did develop a few calluses and become a little rougher, but nothing like my dad’s. In school, I learned that due to genetics, eventually my hands would inevitably have many of the same features as my father’s. But I figured that was only referring to size and shape. Besides, by then, I had given up on the idea my hands would ever look like his.

Life went on and I grew up, and continued working—and aging. I’m not sure when it happened, but one day, I noticed my hands had the same weathered look as my father’s when I was a little boy. Of course, by this time, his hands were obviously well beyond where mine were. Still, my hands had become like his were when I first noticed them. I had inherited his hands! Or, not.

Although I’m sure genetics played a role, I knew I hadn’t actually inherited his hands. Instead, what he’d given me was a work ethic. That, combined with time, and I suppose a little due to genetics, had given me my dad’s hands.

Since that epiphany, I’d pretty much forgotten about it—until recently. Over the Christmas holiday, my son was home for a few days, and I noticed his hands were starting to take on the same look. Apparently, I passed the working thing on to him as well—and the hands. Hope he doesn’t mind.

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Monday, December 29, 2014

That Time Of Year

Another year almost gone. Seems like it just started. I guess it’s true what they say, the older you get, the faster time goes. I had a lot of stuff I wanted to get done this past year and barely made a dent in it. Not enough time. The story of my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I managed to accomplish a lot of things. We are talking about a whole year here. But in comparison to what I have left, it’s like I was on vacation.

The problem is, I schedule about thirty hours of work for every day. And, as you may know, there are currently only twenty-four hours in each of them. At least that’s what I’m told. Seems like it’s a lot less. And every year it gets worse. Drastically worse. If things keep progressing at this rate, by the time I’m sixty, there’ll only be about two hours in the day. And I’ll still have thirty hours of work to do in each one.

Maybe I need a time machine to slow things down a bit. If I could set it to give me thirty-six hours a day, that should do it. It might even provide me with a little time to sleep! On second thought, that probably wouldn’t work—I’d just come up with more things I wanted to do. And the next year we’d be revisiting the same issue—all the things I didn’t get done.

Perhaps a more viable solution would be to consult all those people who spend their entire day and night protesting everything under the sun. They seem to have a lot of free time. Would it be possible to borrow some of theirs? Or maybe all of it? After all, they’re apparently not using it.

Okay, back to reality. While it would be nice to find a few extra hours, unless some Einstein figures out how time being relative can actually help me, it’s never going to change. I’m stuck with a mere twenty-four hours in the day that fly by.

People tell me I should relax, not try to take on so many projects. (Hello? Like that would work! I’d get even less done). Quite often I’m advised to slow down, take it easy, or just stop. I’d have more time, they say. Yeah, right! I can’t do that—before you know it, another year will be gone!

Happy New Year!

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook and paperback on iTunes, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS. Bruce A. Borders also serves as the Vice President of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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