Bruce A. Borders

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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A Wizard Dreams

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.

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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.

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RAVE REVIEWS BOOK CLUB

Current Reads

Allergic To Life: My Battle For Survival

Kathryn C. Treat

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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 …”

ANGEL OF DEATH Book Trailer

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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.

AMAZON PURCHASE LINK:

"JESSICA: THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN INFANT" by Jeffrey Von Glahn

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Twitter: @JeffreyVonGlahn

Website: http://JeffreyVonGlahn.com

***This tour was sponsored by 4WillsPublishing.wordpress.com

To book your own tour, please contact us.***

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.

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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!

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Monday, December 22, 2014

'Tis The Shopping Season

Had the extreme misfortune to visit a department store this week. Why didn’t someone warn me it was Christmas time? I usually make it a point to avoid stores this close to the holiday. This was sure to try my patience.

I knew I’d made a mistake when I pulled into the parking lot. There were about twenty-five vehicles all circling, like a school of piranhas; waiting to pounce on the first available space as if it were dinner. I joined them—only until I could get back to the exit.

But I still needed to go into the store, so I parked at a nearby fast food restaurant and walked. That got me in the store but did nothing to help me navigate the crowded aisles. And by crowded, I mean packed; like sardines in a can. Only these sardines were moving—and pushing carts—and talking. Which meant most of them were not paying attention.

You’d think nearly everyone pushing a cart would also be a licensed driver, especially considering the million or so cars I’d dodged in the parking lot outside. But that assumption, logical though it may be, tends to give a guy a false sense of security. Apparently, the rules of the road do not apply to shoppers, and neither does common sense. These crazy people were running into each other, running into displays, and creating general mayhem with no regard for human life; most notable, mine. It was truly a madhouse.

Meanwhile, I’m just trying to get to the back of one aisle and then elude the frenzied mob on my way to the check out line. And I do mean line, as in a LONG line. Several of them, in fact.

With nothing better to do, aside from my never-ending to-do list, I waited—patiently. And waited—almost patiently. And then waited some more. I didn’t time it, so I’m not sure how long I waited. All I know is, I was late for work and I don’t even have a set time to be there!

Eventually, I did escape, and now I shall refrain from shopping until after Christmas.

So, what was so important that I just had to brave the raging tide of shoppers? Laundry soap. Seems after catching up on all the laundry due to the washer fiasco at my house (See last week’s blog) we were out. And for some reason, my wife thinks we need clean clothes to wear! Now you see why I was so “patient” at the store—got to keep the woman happy!

Merry Christmas!

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Sunday, December 14, 2014

Breaking News

Enjoyed a stay-at-home vacation last week—pretended I was rich and didn’t have to go to work. Really, I had a pretty full schedule of things I wanted to get done. But, as is usually the case, things don’t always cooperate.

The very first day, the washer broke and we had loads of laundry. I took it apart, trying to find what was wrong. After several hours I couldn’t find anything, so my wife and I went shopping. We almost bought a new one too, but when the lady at the store started backtracking on the advertised deal, my aversion to salesmen kicked in and I said, “No thanks.”

We went back home, without a washer, and I started looking for a good deal on the computer. Salesmen tend to do that to me; make me want to buy everything online. During my Internet travels, I came across a question and answer site for appliances, and there on the top was a guy saying he thought his door lid switch was bad. A light bulb suddenly turned on in my head!

I don’t know why I hadn’t thought to check the switch, but for some reason I hadn’t. Instead, I’d gone right to taking the whole thing apart.

Suspending my Internet activity, I went to test the switch and sure enough that was the problem. So for once, a pesky salesman, actually saved me money!

A quick Google search told me a new switch would cost me about thirty dollars plus shipping. Well, I didn’t feel like paying that much for a simple switch, (and waiting a week or so for it to be delivered) so, I just bypassed it. Took all of five minutes. And, it was free!

I know, for all of you safety minded people, the door switch is a vital and critical part of the washing machine! If you can’t tell, that last sentence was heavily laced with sarcasm. Washers worked fine for years without the door switch. If we need to turn it off, there’s a dial within easy reach—push it in and, like magic, the washer shuts off. Besides, bypassing the switch was a lot less work than replacing it.

But then, I had to put the rest of the washer back together. Figuring we were going to need a new one, I hadn’t bothered to reassemble anything, just left it sitting there in the laundry room in pieces.

Well, if you’ve ever worked on a washer, you know they don’t go back together quite as easily as they come apart. Four hours. That’s how long it took to get it ready to use. All in all, I’d spent somewhere around six hours taking it apart and then putting it back together. Had I checked the switch first, I could have saved myself a LOT of time! Good thing I was on vacation!

All is well that ends well, as the saying goes. The washer works. The laundry is caught up. And, some of the stuff I wanted to work on, I got done. But not all. Probably because I spent too much time on a washer! And now, it’s back to work. Maybe on my next vacation, I can fix the dryer!

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The 7-Step Guide to Authorpreneurship

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Religion, Rage & w(R)iting

Today is a special guest day. I am hosting, not one, but three authors on their latest tour. Please welcome these authors from 4WillsPublishing.

Hi, and welcome to The Religion, Rage & w(R)iting Blog Tour for Authors, Shirley Harris-Slaughter, Rhani D’Chae and Harmony Kent. (Click on each author’s name to be taken directly to their Author Page at 4WillsPublishing, where you can learn more about them).

Shirley Harris-Slaughter

Rhani D'Chae

Harmony Kent

These three authors are wonderful clients of 4WillsPublishing, a publishing House dedicated to helping authors put out the best written, and marketing products for their literary work, possible.

This tour is a surprise tour, which means the authors knew nothing about it until it started! This is our gift to them to show our appreciation of their work, their dedication to putting out the great written word, and also a big THANK YOU for allowing us to showcase and promote them.

This is a 3 Author/7 Day/40 Blog Tour! Yes, for 7 days, The Religion, Rage & w(R)iting Blog Tour will sit on 40 blogs! And for 7 days, on 40 blogs, you will get a tiny tid-bit of something related to Religion, so that you never forget OUR LADY OF VICTORY, the rage of people, such as that displayed in SHADOW OF THE DRILL, and w(R)iting tips to help you POLISH YOUR PROSE! (Click on each book title to find out more about it).

This will be a fun tour, an inspirational tour, a delightful tour which has been designed to enlighten you, entertain you and help you overcome those feelings which bind us daily and keeps us from growing from point A to point B. Each day as you stop by each blog to find out what bit of inspiration is being shared, we ask that you take the time to leave a comment for the authors, visit their blogs, Follow them on Twitter and FB, and last but not least, please PICK UP A COPY OF THEIR BOOKS! They are all 5 star reads! And this tour wouldn’t be complete, if you didn’t check out TheReligion, Rage & w(R)iting Book Trailer! (Please note: these bits and quotes were not taken from the author’s books).

The Religion, Rage & w(R)iting Book Trailer

Before we forget, we’ve included another of our authors, NonnieJules. Although she’s a partner in our firm, she is STILL one of our clients! Her books, THE GOOD MOMMIES’ GUIDE TO RAISING (ALMOST) PERFECT DAUGHTERS, Daydream’sDaughter, Nightmare’s Friend and Sugarcoatin’ Is For Candy & Pacifyin’ IsFor Kids! are also very interesting and entertaining reads!

On this stop, we want you to dwell on this:

“Discipline is what makes a writer. If writing was like lifting weights, then I'd look like Mr. Universe. Write every day. Give the Muse a chance to get to know you.” ~ Tony D’Souza

Thank you for joining us on this stop of our tour. We are grateful to our host for allowing us to share with this audience and we hope that we have left you wanting more! To follow this tour, please visit the 4WillsPublishing EVENTS page for the complete tour line-up and to also register to win a SURPRISE pack of books as well as a stint on WHO’S ON THE SHELF WITH NONNIE JULES! Now, on to the next stop!!!!

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

SPOTLIGHT TOUR - JOHN HOWELL

Today, I'd like to welcome fellow Rave Review Book Club Member, John Howell. John is the author of My GRL. Please take a moment to read his informative interesting post.

John Howell

This is the ninth stop on what has been a fantastic tour as a Rave Reviews Spotlight Author. If you would like to be chosen for this honor you need to be a member. To find out how go to the website http://ravereviewsbynonniejules.wordpress.com/ and read all about it. You can also see all my tour stops listed under Spotlight Authors.

The subject of this guest post is to continue some of the information that may be of interest. My book My GRL is written in the first person present tense. Some have wondered if I did this on purpose. Yes, of course, I did. I wanted my story to be told with the reader totally involved. Using present tense subtly adds a degree of tension to the action since it is happening right then. One of the problems in using the present tense you have very little opportunity to do a lot of character flashbacks. It is not that it can’t be done, but the whole value of the present tense is to keep it current and in front of the reader. Using flashbacks in the past defeats the impact of the present tense.

The first person point of view also serves to bring the reader into the head of the protagonist. All the action in the story is either done by the character or is observed by the character. Therefore, a lot of the description that could normally be done by a third party narrator is impossible. The character can only see what is in his sight. He can only interpret expressions to get to feelings and can only react to situations that are presented to him. One thing a first person character can do effectively is think to himself which allows him to have a dialog with the reader.

I have been told that the combination of first person present tense is one of the toughest ways to craft a story. I don’t happen to agree which probably means I am used to the POV and so it is a comfortable way to go. I do some stories in the third person past and I must say it opens many opportunities to build in some situations behind the main character’s back (so to speak) First person has to be all up front. There are situations created by backroom machinations, but the character and the reader are not aware of them until they happen. This adds an opportunity for more surprises because the reader accepts the fact that the narrator knows nothing other than what is seen or felt. Here is an excerpt from chapter one of MY GRL. I think you will get a sense of First person present form this.

Excerpt:

Gerry and I finish our beers at the Sandbar and make a move to cross the crowds toward the front door. Before the karaoke noise starts, we agree to go to another place for some pizza. She directs something to me which I can’t understand, so I hold my hand to my ear and try hard to hear her. She looks a little upset. I signal we should wait until we get outside to talk.

She nods and I take the lead, reach back, grab her hand and act like a bulldozer while I separate the crowd as we pass through. It becomes harder since everyone has begun to pay attention to the drunken girl singing what sounds a little like a slurred Avril Lavigne song to the karaoke machine on the stage up front.

We make it to the door and go out into the humid night. I drop Gerry’s hand and notice there are two guys walking toward us. I tell her to stay close and figure the guys will eventually make way and go into the bar. I am about to ask her what she was trying to get me to understand in the bar, when I feel a rush of air behind me and hear what sounds like someone thumping a watermelon. That’s the last thing on my mind when the lights of the world go out.

My GRL can be found:

US - http://www.amazon.com/John-W.-Howell/e/B00HMRWO6C

Canada - http://www.amazon.ca/My-GRL-John-W-Howell-ebook/dp/B00HV3QECW/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1406542498&sr=1-2

UK - http://www.amazon.co.uk/John-W.-Howell/e/B00HMRWO6C

Australia - http://www.amazon.com.au/My-GRL-John-W-Howell-ebook/dp/B00HV3QECW/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1406542498&sr=1-2

Barnes and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-grl-john-w-howell/1118199518?ean=9781625530592

iBooks - https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/my-grl/id803503649?mt=11

Kobo - http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/my-grl

Martin Sisters Publishing http://www.martinsisterspublishing.com

I can be reached:

Web: http://www.johnwhowell.com

E-mail: Johnhowell.wave@gmail.com

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