So, I think I’ve mowed the lawn for the last time this
season. Turned off the sprinklers, blew all the lines out, and covered the
barbecue grill. I’m ready for winter. At least it would appear that way.
In reality, I’m NEVER ready for winter. As any longtime
reader of this blog knows, I prefer summer. In fact, I’d like to do away with
winter completely. For some reason, that has never happened. I realize I could
move to Arizona and escape winter—most of the time anyway. But something tells
me if I were to relocate, the first winter, the state would have its
biggest snowfall in history with record low temperatures.
A couple of weeks ago, I was discussing my dislike of winter
with someone who couldn’t understand what I could have against it. Only three
things really; the cold, the snow—or ice, and the short days. Summer, on the
other hand, has none of those!
I was told it was unrealistic to expect warm sunshine all of
the time—that things would die. Like my grass, they said.
Obviously, this person has not lived in this area too long. I
asked and found the guy had moved here only a few weeks before so I guess I can
cut him a little slack. Still, it should have been fairly evident from all the
brown hillsides that the grass does die here—every summer. Unless... Unless it
is watered. I pointed this out and was met with a look of disbelief. Then, I was
told taking care of an irrigation system just seemed like a lot of work.
Which is how I remembered that I needed to winterize my
sprinklers! It is November already! Gotta make sure they don’t freeze up
and bust. I need them for my grass next summer—or sooner, if by some miracle we
get to skip winter this 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, and Smashwords. Amazon
Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
Back when I first started driving a truck and had a little
difficulty backing into tight areas, I had the “pleasure” of being sent to a
downtown Chicago business where the only truck access was through the alley. A
very narrow alley. About halfway down was the dock I was supposed to back into.
A recessed dock with concrete walls on both sides. The walls started as just
small curbs but the further down the dock recessed, the higher the walls
became. They were eight and a half feet apart—the exact width of my trailer—but due to all
of the trucks that had scraped them over the years, in effect, the space was a little
wider. There actually were several such docks, in Chicago and other mid-west
cities, but this particular one has a story.
These days, I would love the challenge—backing off of a
narrow alley into such a small opening, making sure to position the trailer
precisely between the walls, turning it right when it needed to turn, and
keeping it straight all the way to the dock—that would be fun. Back then, not
so much.
The guy on the dock, who told me where to back in, said not
to worry if it took me a while, because they were going to lunch. So, I had an
hour—to do the impossible. Or what seemed impossible at the time.
I waited until everyone left to move the truck. I certainly
didn’t need an audience! Once I was alone, I began. Doing a set up, I started
backing, angling the trailer toward the opening. Then, when it didn’t work, I
repeated the process a few times. Every time, I had to stop. I didn’t want to
add any fresh scrapes to the walls—or my trailer.
I was glad no one was watching my many failed attempts.
Except there was someone watching. And old man who hadn’t left for lunch. He
sat there on a bucket, munching on a sandwich—and watching me. I hadn’t noticed
him until he got up and, still chewing his sandwich, slowly walked over.
He nodded to me and climbed up on the step of the truck.
“Want some advice?”
I said I could use some and he told me, “Just run over the
curb. Makes the dock a lot wider at the start and gives you more room to turn
the trailer. Then, all you have to do is back up. If you can back straight,
you’ll have it made.”
Seemed reasonable, and I knew instantly he was right. I
could drop the trailer wheels off the curb where it was eight or nine inches
high and easily give myself an extra ten feet. I took his advice and in only a
minute or so, I was backed in. The old man waited until I set the brakes and
then satisfied I had made it walked off down the alley.
When the loading crew came back from lunch, the dock guy
asked if I had any trouble. “No,” I said. One of your workers helped me.”
“One of my workers?”
I nodded and described the guy and what he had told me. “I
figured he must have been a truck driver once.”
The guy on the dock laughed. “Charlie? No. He doesn’t even
drive. Doesn’t do much of anything. He’s just a crazy man who wanders around
down here. I wouldn’t take advice from him about anything.”
Well, that was comforting! A little disconcerting, actually.
I wasn’t sure who was crazy, the old man or me for listening to him. But the
thing is, his advice worked. Pretty well too. However, I think you can see why
after that I was a little more motivated to learn to back up on my own. ~
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, and Smashwords. Amazon
Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
A while back, I did something I haven’t done in ten years or
more—went to bed before midnight! That may seem late to a lot of people but for
a guy who usually stays up until 5:00 or 6:00, it was quite early. The reason
for going to bed at that time? Well... I’ll get to that in a minute.
Honestly, I don’t remember the last time I went to bed so
early; it may have been longer than ten years ago. I am pretty confident of the
ten years though because I’ve been on the night shift for that long. Weekends
and vacations I still maintain the same hours. If I didn’t, Mondays would be
very tiring. And when driving a truck, tired is not the thing to be.
But even before I started this shift, I rarely went to bed
before midnight. It just isn’t me. I’m a night person. I remember the days of
getting up at 4:30 am to go to work, and I still went to bed around 12:30 or
1:00.
Even as a kid, I stayed up until the wee hours of the
morning—and then went to school. In fact, this has been my lifestyle for most
of my life. Lucky for me, I don’t require much sleep.
My dad once told me that consistently staying up late would
eventually catch up to me. He said I’d look old by the time I was thirty.
(Okay, he said that more than once). But of course, I didn’t listen. Lately
though, I have to admit, he was right, it is definitely starting to
catch up with me, though I’m long past age thirty!
Switching gears slightly now. The other night, I gave a ride
to one of the drivers at my job whose truck had broken down. I didn’t know him
because he just recently started working there but the guy was very talkative
and asked a lot of questions. I answered his questions, telling him about
various things, including my grandchildren. After a while, he looked at me and
said, “How old are you anyway?”
“Forty-eight.”
He shook his head. “I thought you were about thirty.”
I laughed a little at that. It’s been a while since someone
mistook me for a thirty-year-old.
“You must have a very healthy life and get plenty of sleep,”
the guy said. “That’s hard for a truck driver.”
I laughed again. If you only knew... I’ve never been
accused of being healthy or getting plenty of sleep in my entire life!
I’m not sure if the guy really thought I was thirty or if he
was just talking. He’d been up a while and it was dark so his perception may
have been way off. One thing I do know, I certainly do not look, or
feel, thirty—unless, this is how my dad pictured of me at age thirty. I’ll have
to ask him.
Oh, I said I’d give the reason for going to bed so early.
It’s really quite simple, it was my day off, and I was tired! ~
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, and Smashwords. Amazon
Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
Back in the ’70’s, when I was a kid, burglar alarms were not
that sophisticated. They were quite easily defeated—although, I would know
nothing about that, of course! At least nothing I’ll admit! But burglar alarms
back then had another flaw and that was, they went off without much of a
reason. This I did seem to learn about.
We lived a block away from a locksmith store and as you can
expect, the owner of the business had an alarm. One day, quite by accident, I
discovered that bumping into the picture window would set off the alarm. I
wasn’t sure though, if it was the noise or the vibration that had set it off.
Obviously, I was nowhere to be seen when the cops showed up and after checking
things out once the owner had arrived, they all went on their way.
The next day, I decided to see just what had triggered the
alarm, the noise, or the vibration. It took only a few minutes to learn it was
the vibration from the partially loose, and rattling glass. I should have known
this, I guess, since car horns or sirens had never set it off but hey, I was a
kid! Anyway, I found that if I tossed small branches at the window, the alarm
would sound. Yay!
Being a kid, a troublesome and mischievous kid, I made it a
point to set off the alarm once or twice a week—just because. It must have
driven the storeowner a little nuts to have to continually respond to these
false alarms. I’m sure the police weren’t too happy either. Thankfully, I never
got caught. Not sure what would have happened, after all, I hadn’t broken in or
anything but they might have had some sort of punishment for being a
nuisance—like tell my dad or something!
We moved from that house a few months later so my prank had
to come to an end. And although the locksmith hadn’t known who to blame, the
sudden halt to the problem coinciding with me being gone most likely wasn’t too
hard to put together. I imagine he was probably happy to see me go, as were the
police. Which was good, happy people tend to forget things!
I hadn’t thought much about it myself until a few years ago
when I was in need of a key. This was an old key that couldn’t be copied due to
its deteriorated and twisted condition—and the serial number was missing. Every
place I visited in town told me the same thing; the only one around who could
help me was the guy at the store I used to live by. People tell me I haven’t
changed that much, but I wasn’t too worried about returning, this was thirty
years later, after all. He couldn’t possibly know me all these years later,
could he? So, I paid him a visit.
When I walked in, the guy didn’t appear to recognize me and
I didn’t offer to remind him; just handed him the key and told him what I
needed. He didn’t talk much as he went to work and whatever small worries of
him suddenly remembering who I was dissipated. In a few short minutes, I had my
key. We tried it and it worked.
Then, it came time to pay. And by pay, I mean PAY. A lot. I
know the guy did what no other locksmith would even try but at nearly $40.00
for a single key, with no chip or anything, the cost was bordering on the edge
of insane. I did paid him, since I already had the key but I left wondering if
the guy’s prices were actually that outrageous or if he had recognized me after
all and I was paying for something more than a key! ~
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, and Smashwords. Amazon
Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
For several months, my wife has been wanting to take the grandchildren to a train park, specifically, the Pacific Northwest Live Steamers in Molalla, Oregon. She’s been planning the trip with my daughter and this past weekend we finally loaded up everyone for the journey. I’m not sure who was more excited, my wife or the grandchildren. After a two-hour road trip with only an occasional “Are we there yet?” we arrived at the park—nine of us: my wife and I, our son, a daughter, and all five grandkids! By this time, judging by the looks on their faces, the grandkids were definitely the ones who were more excited—I think. I suppose I should tell you a little about this train park. It was built in 1954 and features almost a mile of 7½-inch track with miniature, but real, steam engine powered trains. The trains are built to scale (1:22.5) and yes, visitors get to ride them! And, it’s free! Not even a parking fee! My kind of place! (They do accept donations). And apparently, it was my grandkids’ kind of place too. They rode the trains, over and over, around and around the track, laughing and smiling, happily taking in all the scenery and the authenticity of the setting. The setting was just as impressive as the trains. There were crossings, with lights and bells, a switching yard, steel bridges, and a depot—all built to the same scale as the trains. The track wound around the property through the trees, by the river, and across several roads. And, the place has not been overly commercialized! It’s a small park, in a small town, that looks, I suspect, much like it did in 1954. While the train park may be intended for kids, I had a lot of fun myself as well. For instance, I couldn’t help but think of a few Johnny Cash train songs and serenaded everyone while we waited in line (a treat I’m sure they all could have done without but they indulged me). But as I was saying, I had a good time—probably more so than my grandkids. The trains, the grounds, and actually, the whole place, was really quite interesting. So, it was an enjoyable and entertaining day. And that is sort of ironic because originally, I hadn’t planned to go. I usually stay at home to work when my wife and daughter go on their excursions with the grandkids. And figuring this would be a kids only park, I wasn’t too thrilled with the idea. But they kept asking me to go along. Repeatedly. Insisted, in fact. Almost forced me. I guess you might say I was railroaded. ~ 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, and Smashwords. Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
Did I ever tell you about the time I got on the wrong bus?
No? Well...
I think I must have been in about third grade. I rode the
bus to school, and home of course—usually the same one. Except on this day.
For some reason that I can’t remember, my class was running
late and let out a few minutes past the normal time. When I got down to where
the busses lined up, the area was full of kids. I was on one corner and
my bus was parked on the opposite corner, a block away.
I did a pretty good job of cutting through the bustling
crowd but with still a few feet to go, I saw my bus, the first one in line,
start pulling away from the curb. I didn’t panic. It wasn’t that far to
my house, I could walk and sometimes did. But walking would get me home late
and I hadn’t told my parents I would be walking. I knew if the bus showed up
and I didn’t get off, they would be looking for me. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have
gotten into trouble, once they learned why I had missed the bus but there’s
always that small chance; that fraction of time that I would be missing that might
prove me wrong. At least that was my logic on the matter.
So, since I didn’t feel like going back to the office and
having someone call my parents, I just got on the next bus in line. At this
point everyone reading this is probably thinking that wasn’t real smart, but
seeing the kids who were getting on, I knew where the other bus was going—out
of town. And to get out of town, it would go past my house.
Well, things worked out very well, or so I thought. As we
neared my house, I went to the front and told the driver I’d gotten on the
wrong bus and needed off at the next street. Problem was, he didn’t know me,
didn’t know where I lived. And, he said, he couldn’t just drop me off. Great!
That little set-back was easily remedied though—if I
hurried. We were almost to my house.
I pulled out my homework assignment—with my name written on
across the top—and showed it to the driver. Then, I pointed to the sign by the
side of the road. Satisfied, the driver stopped the bus and let me off.
What was on the sign? Well, my dad’s name. The sign was for
our church, which is also where we lived. And since my dad was the pastor...
you get the picture.
So, I thought my little genius plan to guarantee that I
wouldn’t get in trouble had worked. I was home, what could go wrong? Well, it
turns out that a bus traveling to the country, passing my house on the way,
gets there a LOT quicker than a bus making the rounds in town and finally
getting to my stop. Almost an hour quicker. And my parents weren’t home. And
the door was locked. And I didn’t have a key. So, I went next door to play.
And then, my parents got home. And my bus arrived. Neither
of which I saw.
They found me a while later. Let’s just say I was
wrong about not getting into trouble for missing my bus. ~
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, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com.
Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
In light of the recent lunar eclipse that occurred last
night, I have a story from a few years ago. Back around 1979. A total solar
eclipse.
I’ve always been a little stubborn. I was in sixth grade at
the time and during the days leading up to the eclipse, we were all instructed
to NOT watch the eclipse; to NOT even look toward the sun. Our eyes would be permanently
damaged, they said. Instead, we were told, we would make little shadow boxes so
we could experience the eclipse safely. The idea was we would watch the effect
of the eclipse as the shadow moved across our boxes. Everyone in my class was
told we had to make a box.
Well first, I didn’t know of anyone who could look directly
at the sun, it was too bright. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. Most of us
had tried long before this and discovered we involuntarily looked away. Second,
and more to the point of me being stubborn, this eclipse was a rare event.
There was no way I was going to miss it by watching a shadow displayed inside a
box.
Since I didn’t plan on using a box, I saw no point in making
one, so I didn’t. My teacher informed me that if I did not make a box I would
get and “F.” But since the “F” was only for that assignment, I decided it was
worth it. The day of the eclipse came and as I had so stubbornly informed everyone,
I had not made a box.
But apparently, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to watch
the real thing. Most all of the students in my class were excited and forgot
about their little box. When the eclipse started, we all were watching the sun.
Yet, not a single one of us went blind.
I think most people know how to shade their eyes with their
hand, it’s another almost involuntary action. It allows you to see what’s going
on without being blinded. We all practiced this technique that my teacher had
evidently never heard of, and then the strangest thing happened, it got dark!
Not completely dark but enough so we didn’t need to shade our eyes—because the
sun was gone! Not really that dangerous after all!
I did get my “F.” But I also proved my point—that I didn’t
need a box. My eyes were just fine afterwards! Although... Lately, I’m noticing
things are getting harder to see. The print on virtually everything is so small
these days! Maybe it’s just normal aging or... Maybe I should have made a box!
~
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, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com.
Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
A few months ago, I wrote a post (read here)
about being a sculptor. Specifically, how as
a kid I’d tried my hand at the art of sculpting without much luck but
then in later years while working as dental technician, I realized I was
sculpting teeth. After that enlightening discovery, I started making all sorts
of things: little guns and holsters, cars, candles, birds, or anything else I
could think of.
Recently, while sorting through my vast amounts of junk—er,
collectibles—I discovered some of the “art” I’d made. Yes, I saved most of it,
as I do with nearly everything. I dug through the box, remembering how fun it
was to create this almost meaningless stuff. I say almost meaningless, because
although it serves no purpose, it’s kind of nice to have and look at once in a
while. (My wife would probably not agree).
But after I quit working at the dental lab, the creation of
my pieces of art stopped. Not having an entire lab full of equipment and
supplies at my disposal rather hampered my creativity. This no doubt made my
wife happy but I missed making my little treasures.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I had an occasion to need a few
items that we had in the dental lab. So, I ordered some supplies and basic
equipment. I now can create little trinkets again! (My wife will be so thrilled
to read this). I’m not sure what I will make first. Or, when I’ll have the
time. Or, what I’ll do with what I make. I guess I could sell it but that
doesn’t really fit with my habit of keeping everything. Although... it would be
one way to recoup some of my loss. But no, I’ll probably keep it all.
With the cost of the supplies and equipment, some (my wife)
would say this could be an expensive hobby. But I look at it more as an
investment. Should I, in the future, ever need dentures, I can make them
myself! Considering the cost of a dentist visit these days, I think the cost of
my hobby just went way down! ~
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, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com.
Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
So apparently, guys are not supposed to take young kids to a
restaurant by themselves. At least that’s what I hear. I’m not sure if they
aren’t allowed to or if people just think they shouldn’t. Either way, I guess I
went and broke the rule.
I found this out last Saturday. My wife and daughter went
shopping and I kept the one-year-old grandkid. I thought it would be a good
time to enjoy a nice dinner at my favorite Chinese restaurant. Yes, the
grandkid likes Chinese food. And he knows how to eat by himself, with utensils,
so it wasn’t a big deal. Or so, I thought.
We got a lot of strange looks from staff and other customers
the minute we walked in. The hostess, who wanted to seat us at a large table,
kept asking if the rest of our party would be coming soon. When I finally got
through to her that were alone, she gave me a strange look but seated us at a
table for two. Even the waitress appeared concerned, asking if I needed her to
help me feed the kid. I guess that was a nice offer but, uh, no. I’m quite
capable of managing on my own.
But, apparently people just don’t expect guys to take young
kids to a restaurant. I think what they expect is guys to be incompetent, or
intimidated, or something. Well, maybe some guys are. I am not. That doesn’t
make me special. Taking care of a one-year-old is not exactly hard. And doing
it successfully shouldn’t give anyone bragging rights. It should be just
normal. When my own kids were little, I took them anywhere and everywhere I
went. Seems only natural. Especially since the alternative would be to leave
them home alone. Pretty sure that would cause more problems than whatever
catastrophe everyone is waiting for.
Eventually, everybody at the restaurant got used to the idea
that we were there alone. But the waitress, still obviously worried about me,
came by and in her heavy Chinese accent asked, “Are you okay?” I nodded and she
went on her way. But in a couple of minutes she came back by. It was then that
the grandkid, who is into mimicking everything he hears people say, looked at
her and, in the same foreign accent, said, “Are you okay?”
She laughed, as did everyone within earshot. “He say that
like me,” the waitress said, smiling proudly.
We finished our meal, packaged up the leftovers, and went to
pay the bill—all the while the grandkid is listening intently to the workers
talk, trying to copy them. And doing a pretty good job if the audience response
was any indication! His audience being the entire restaurant!
All in all, we had a good time, ate some good food, and...
nothing terrible happened. But apparently, according to the wisdom of the
general public, guys are still not supposed to take young kids to a restaurant.
And they may be right. After we got home, I had only an hour or two to get rid
of the Chinese accent the grandkid had acquired—before his mother came back! ~
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, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com.
Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
WINNERS: Elizabeth Newton, Brian O’Hare, Richie Gerber
During the month of September, Rave Reviews Book Club is hosting one of the largest collective blog tours in the history of blog tours! Authors are promoting their own books on their blogs and visitors to these blogs can win prizes. (See the list of Grand Prizes). To enter just leave a comment below. Each time a visitor leaves a comment on a blog stop, their name will be entered into the drawings for our Grand Prizes at the end of the tour. Each time a visitor leaves a comment on a blog stop, their name will be entered into the drawings for DAILY PRIZES at each stop. Comments will be collected at each blog stop by 12 midnight, CST (at the close of each day) and winners will be announced the very next day! Winners of the GRAND PRIZES will be announced at the close of the tour.
I’m happy to be participating in the Rave Reviews Book ClubBACK-TO-SCHOOL BOOK & BLOG
BLOCK PARTY and I’m very excited to have the opportunity to profile
some of my books. Although I branch out to other genres and styles from time to
time, I tend to write mystery/crime/suspense novels, usually with a theme of
some sort of injustice that has occurred. I love to write so the list of books is
constantly growing!
My Books:
Available as ebook and paperback. Links are to Amazon but most books also available on Barnes & Noble, Kobo, iTunes, Smashwords, and more.
When eighteen-year-old Cynthia Holt takes a job at a former
sanitarium, now operating as an assisted living center, she discovers there is
something more occurring than providing the elderly with housing and care.
Something very strange is going on behind the locked door of Room 913. After
she is warned to stay away from the room and to not discuss it or the occupant
with her co-workers, she is even more intrigued. And suspicious. Letting her
curious nature guide her, she immediately begins asking questions. When she
finds that Room 913 has been closed off; locked and sealed for many years, her
curiosity turns to concern. Though rumors abound, no one seems inclined to talk
about it. Not giving up so easily, Cynthia persists in her inquisitive pursuit
until she finds out the truth - or does she?
The justice system is just a system, not a just system.
Sentenced to fifteen years in prison for a crime he didn't
commit, Ethan Rafferty has one thing on his mind—payback! With his time up, the
ex-con is free to pursue his mission of revenge. The District Attorney, Mariana
Clark, who, during the trial suppressed evidence that would've exonerated him,
is the focus of his vengeance. Intent on making her life miserable, Ethan employs
a variety of tactics to antagonize and torment the woman. Unable to retaliate
through the courts, considering her role in the previous trial, Mariana decides
to fight fire with fire. Soon, their feud escalates to a point where neither
imagined it would go.
Which one will prevail, Ethan or Mariana? Who will win? Can
either? Or, are both of them bound to a destiny produced by a Miscarriage of
Justice?
What would you do if Child Protective Services showed up on
your doorstep with an army of Sheriff’s deputies and tried to remove your
three-year-old from your home? Knowing there's no justification for their
action and the court documents they presented are fabricated, would you stand
by or fight to protect your child?
Over My Dead Body
explores the deadly reaction and consequences when a protective father,
Jeff Blake, tries to prevent the state from
taking his daughter. The director of Child Protective Services uses his
position to exact a personal vendetta in removing three-year-old Ashley from
the Blake’s home.
The situation quickly becomes violent as Jeff resorts to the
only response he feels he has. By the end of the short encounter, three people
are dead. Ironically, Ashley is still taken, so the tragic fiasco gained
nothing.
Matters are further complicated when Amy, the wife and
mother, winds up in a mental ward due to the trauma she witnessed in her home.
Jeff and Amy’s daughter is placed in temporary foster care, while the family’s
attorneys attempt to salvage what they can and re-unite the family. The police,
as well as the Courts, understandably, are not too concerned with the needs of
the family and it seems the entire justice system is against them.
Complete with many twists of fate, the story looks at the common
problems of a typical family caught between love and the law.
When a teenage boy, who thinks he knows it all, leaves home
in search of a better life, he finds out the hard way what everyone must learn—growing
up isn’t an easy thing to do.
Leaving home at fifteen, Kyle Davis’ path to adulthood takes
him on an eventful ride, and at times a dangerous one. His firsthand
experiences with the cruel realities of a callous world drive home the point
that he has a lot to learn and a long ways to go.
Unwilling to admit his mistakes, he flounders a while before
finally accepting life for what it is—hard work. It takes considerably more
time for him to reach the point of going home and apologizing. That’s when he
discovers the world didn’t stop to wait for him. Home isn’t quite the way he
remembers it, and he sees how drastically things can change.
Still, certain things remain the same; principles and values
are a constant. It isn’t a persons age, location or where they are in life that
determines when they’ve become an adult. Kyle realizes The Journey is more than
merely miles traveled. The road to maturity, whether literal or figurative,
takes a person only as fast as they are willing to go. Yet, at some point,
everyone has to make The Journey.
All cats can be a little strange! Some might even be crazy!
But it takes a smart cat to pull off some of the things this lovable cat named
Stupid does! Follow his adventures, told in his own words. (Based on the life
of a real cat, who thanks to his head-shaking behavior, earned the nickname of
Stupid).
WARNING: These books contain language that some may
consider offensive. This language, along with multiple acts of violence, is
directed toward Islamic radicals. If you are sympathetic to the terrorists
cause, sensitive to criticism of radical Islam, or are easily offended by such
content - DO NOT READ.
The Not-So-Politically-Correct Books on Fighting Terrorism.
Cruelly honest and unabashedly patriotic, slightly offensive
but extremely effective, Wynn Garrett is America’s answer to the problem of
domestic terrorism. When the Department of Homeland Security, assigns him the
job of eliminating the terrorist threat by any means necessary, they expect him
to follow a few reasonable guidelines. He turns out to be anything but
reasonable.
A proud American, Wynn Garrett is determined America emerge
victorious, and employs questionable tactics in his personal war on terrorism—much
to the consternation of his superiors in Washington. They constantly attempt to
curb his reckless behavior, but to no avail.
And coming soon...
The Lana Denae Mystery Series
by Bruce A. Borders
Dead Broke, the first title in this series, is scheduled to be published by the end of 2015.
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Rules.
After two weeks of writing about my present day activities,
I think it’s time I dredge up some story from the past. Wait, that makes it
sound like I’m digging up dirt on myself, which I’m definitely NOT going to do.
Not that I don’t have such stories. I do. Plenty. I’m just not going to write
about them!
Okay, now that that’s settled, where was I? Oh yeah, the
skeleton that I once kept in my closet. And sorry to disappoint anyone but that
word, skeleton, isn’t a metaphoric representation of some big bad secret. I had
actual bones, a full set. And no, it wasn’t a lab model. It was a real live
skeleton! Okay, probably not “live.” I’m sure the creature that once used the
bones was quite dead.
As you probably guessed, the skeleton wasn’t of the human
variety. I’m not sure what is was—a small animal of some sort—but definitely
not human. (I’m not really a psycho). Whatever it was, I found it while
“exploring” outside one day and brought it into the house—for safe-keeping, I
suppose. I know I said it wasn’t a big bad secret but I did try to keep it
hidden—mainly from my mother. Had she discovered the skeleton, I think she
would have quickly disposed of it. So, I kept it out of sight.
Back then, our family used to take long road trips, and usually,
we didn’t stop for a motel, we just kept driving. (No surprise I’m now a truck
driver). My dad, in order to stay awake, would listen to talk shows on the
radio. In those days there were only two: Larry King and the Night Caps. Since
I’ve always had an aversion to sleeping, I was usually awake and listening too.
I’m not sure which of the shows it was and I have no idea
now what they were discussing but I remember the guy on the radio saying,
“Everybody’s got a skeleton or two in their closet.”
Everybody? So why was I trying to hide mine?Oh
yeah, my Mother! Then, I started wondering why I’d never seen any skeletons
in anyone else’s closet. You got to remember I was pretty young at the time and
had never heard that particular phrase before.
Well, after that, I decided to get rid of the skeleton.
Didn’t want to be like everybody else! But being a kid, by the time we got
home, I’d forgotten all about it. Didn’t think of it again until we moved a
couple of years later. As I was packing, my dad came into my room and seeing
the skeleton, asked what I was doing with it.
By this time, I was a little more familiar with the English
language, idioms in particular. I said to my dad, “Doesn’t everybody have a
skeleton in their closet?”
He laughed but said I still needed to get rid of it, which I
did—I stashed it in a partially hidden cubby hole in the closet. Yeah, the same
closet, in the house we were moving out of. Hey, someone new was going to move
in and to paraphrase an old saying, “Everyone needs a skeleton in their closet!”
~
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, and Smashwords, or at www.bruceabordersbooks.weebly.com.
Amazon Profile - http://www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS.
Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.
