Join Lynda Drews, author of the true crime book, Run at Destruction: A True Fatal Love Triangle (Title Town Publishing, Aug. ‘09) , as she virtually tours the blogosphere in November on her first virtual book tour with Pump Up Your Book Promotion!
About the Book
Deeply immersed in the close-knit culture of long-distance running, Pam and Bob Bulik were avid competitors. To all appearances, they were also a happily married couple, devoted to each other and their two young children. Then, Bob made a fateful decision. He began an extramarital affair that led to his wife’s tragic death and to one of the most sensationalized and heavily attended trials in Green Bay’s history.Candidly written by Pam’s best friend, Run at Destruction exposes the irresistible human passions that make us so vulnerable, and the ultimate price we pay for choosing to act on them. You’ll relive every detail of the crime and the exhaustive police investigation, and watch the courtroom drama from a front-row seat as a major homicide case unfolds in a small town where everyone knows all the players. Then, when you’ve heard all the evidence, you can decide for yourself – was Pam Bulik’s death a terrible accident, intentional suicide, negligent homicide or premeditated murder?
About the Author
Lynda Drews, a Wisconsin native and dedicated runner, recently gave the commencement speech at the University of Wisconsin – La Crosse, her college Alma mater. One lesson she shared with the graduates was: “to journal your life.” When Lynda, an IBM marketing executive, made the decision to retire after her thirty-year career, she returned to an earlier passion. Run at Destruction is the outcome.Even though this is Lynda’s first book, she has inside knowledge about the victim and the accused. One of the book’s themes is the impact her best friend’s mysterious death has on Green Bay’s close-knit running community. Lynda and her husband, Jim, a retired teacher and guidance counselor, helped launch the local running movement. Green Bay now hosts the nation’s fifth largest 10K, attracting more than 15,000 participants.
Along with a golden retriever named Bailey, Lynda and her husband have two sons, Collin and Chris. After they reached sixth grade, the author let them pick a yearly one-on-one trip with just their mom. One son chose exotic places like Cancun, the Bahamas, Costa Rica, and skiing in Oregon, while the other went to the bathroom sized PEZ Museum in San Francisco, and to eight different locales where the Dave Mathews Band played. Lynda may be the oldest person in the world that’s been to fifteen DMB concerts!
www.lyndadrews.com www.lmdrews.wordpress.com
Read an Excerpt
Now reaching the eight-mile mark in today’s half-marathon, I filed those memories of Pam in the back of my mind so I could focus on the target ahead. I was gaining on Dr. John Kiser, a good friend, my general practitioner, and someone I frequently tried to beat. Sirens filled the air as a rescue squad pulled up alongside him. John perplexingly climbed in. About ten minutes later I neared the corner by Pam’s home. An uneasiness crept through me. What was going on? She’d missed the start and now was absent from this spot. I strained my neck looking up the hill, which then turned left into the Buliks’ hidden cul-de-sac. There appeared to be a cluster of neighbors near the top, but I didn’t see Pam. I had a weird premonition that something was terribly wrong.
The effect of my pre-race caffeine had vanished, and a trudging heaviness enveloped my legs. A cluster of blackbirds, perched high on the crossbar of a light pole, cawed at me, their beaks jerking left and right, temporarily drowning out my raspy breathing. I tried to focus, but thoughts of Pam kept getting in the way.
Finally, the end was in sight. Place did not matter– first or last, runners and spectators would cheer. But today there was little applause. An uncanny quiet surrounded much of the black T-shirted group. Furtive glances from friends felt targeted my way.
Relieved to be crossing the finish line, I heard Dick announce 1:39:10. I was pleased.
But instead of congratulatory words, my friend gave me a despairing look, sliding his arm around my sweaty back, supporting me. “Lynda, there’s no easy way to tell you this.”
A stab of anxiety cut through me. “Tell me what?”
“They found Pam.”
I stumbled at his words, my worried eyes finding Dick’s. “What do you mean?”
“They found her at home.” He tightened his grip on me and heaved a body-racking sigh. “Lynda, Pam’s dead.”
Runners clustered around at the finish line, weeping and whispering. Through my own tears I mentioned my earlier premonition, how, when Pam had not been at the corner, I’d somehow thought, I hope she didn’t commit suicide.
Friends attempted to console me. Dr. John Kiser was now among them. Another friend had driven him back to the finish. John worked in the local hospitals’ emergency rooms, and knew the paramedics who’d coincidentally picked him up. They’d been responding to a 911 call and asked for his assistance. John had been troubled when they’d turned down the Buliks’ driveway. Even though another rescue squad had beat them to the scene they’d entered the home and been directed to the master bathroom off the foyer.
John paused so I could prepare myself. My heart beat spastically, dreading what I’d hear next.
Near the Buliks’ 4×6 foot whirlpool bathtub, he said that a white hospital blanket had covered a body. Kneeling beside it, the coroner had uncovered Pam’s face.
A soft moan escaped my lips. I visualized my friend just last weekend, so alive. I’d told Pam how proud I was of her and then had given her a hug, feeling her warm breath against my neck. Of course we weren’t sisters, but the way I’d felt about her was as dear as that bond.
My pained eyes caught John’s. “Do you know how she died?”
“Apparently, Lynda, she drowned.”
“Drowned?” I could not comprehend.
The effect of my pre-race caffeine had vanished, and a trudging heaviness enveloped my legs. A cluster of blackbirds, perched high on the crossbar of a light pole, cawed at me, their beaks jerking left and right, temporarily drowning out my raspy breathing. I tried to focus, but thoughts of Pam kept getting in the way.
Finally, the end was in sight. Place did not matter– first or last, runners and spectators would cheer. But today there was little applause. An uncanny quiet surrounded much of the black T-shirted group. Furtive glances from friends felt targeted my way.
Relieved to be crossing the finish line, I heard Dick announce 1:39:10. I was pleased.
But instead of congratulatory words, my friend gave me a despairing look, sliding his arm around my sweaty back, supporting me. “Lynda, there’s no easy way to tell you this.”
A stab of anxiety cut through me. “Tell me what?”
“They found Pam.”
I stumbled at his words, my worried eyes finding Dick’s. “What do you mean?”
“They found her at home.” He tightened his grip on me and heaved a body-racking sigh. “Lynda, Pam’s dead.”
Runners clustered around at the finish line, weeping and whispering. Through my own tears I mentioned my earlier premonition, how, when Pam had not been at the corner, I’d somehow thought, I hope she didn’t commit suicide.
Friends attempted to console me. Dr. John Kiser was now among them. Another friend had driven him back to the finish. John worked in the local hospitals’ emergency rooms, and knew the paramedics who’d coincidentally picked him up. They’d been responding to a 911 call and asked for his assistance. John had been troubled when they’d turned down the Buliks’ driveway. Even though another rescue squad had beat them to the scene they’d entered the home and been directed to the master bathroom off the foyer.
John paused so I could prepare myself. My heart beat spastically, dreading what I’d hear next.
Near the Buliks’ 4×6 foot whirlpool bathtub, he said that a white hospital blanket had covered a body. Kneeling beside it, the coroner had uncovered Pam’s face.
A soft moan escaped my lips. I visualized my friend just last weekend, so alive. I’d told Pam how proud I was of her and then had given her a hug, feeling her warm breath against my neck. Of course we weren’t sisters, but the way I’d felt about her was as dear as that bond.
My pained eyes caught John’s. “Do you know how she died?”
“Apparently, Lynda, she drowned.”
“Drowned?” I could not comprehend.
Lynda Drew’s RUN AT DESTRUCTION VIRTUAL BLOG TOUR ‘09 will officially begin on Nov. 2 and end on Nov. 27. You can visit Lynda’s blog stops at www.virtualbooktours.wordpress.com during the month of November to find out more about this great book and talented author!
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1 comments:
It is very interesting for me to read this article. Thanx for it. I like such themes and anything that is connected to them. I definitely want to read more soon.
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