Book Tour: Contingency by Paula Wiseman

 
Contingency by Paula Wiseman

Publisher: Mindstir Media

Publish Date: December 3, 2010

Paperback, 340 pages 
Fiction, Christian
Covenant of Trust Series #1
 ISBN: 9780981964829

***My review will come later this weekend - but from what I am hearing this is an amazing book!***

About Paula Wiseman

After working several years as research chemist, Paula Wiseman was blessed with the opportunity to stay home with her children and follow the writer’s path. She has been published in several Cup of Comfort devotional books and in Life Savors for Women. Contingency: Book One: Covenant of Trust Series, her debut novel, spent time on the Amazon.com Christian Fiction bestsellers list, and was also the #1 Hot New Release in Christian Fiction. Indemnity is her second novel. Paula blogs on matters of life and faith at www.paulawiseman.com.

 

About Contingency

Bobbi Molinsky’s comfortable life is shattered when a forwarded email from her husband’s account lands in her inbox. The email teases, “My whole evening is free again.” After an angry confrontation with Chuck, she is left with the broken remains of an eighteen year marriage. Bobbi agrees forgiving Chuck is the right thing, the God-honoring thing to do, but it leaves her empty and isolated. Teaching her second-graders is a burden. Taking care of her boys saps all her energy. It seems God Himself has walked away, leaving her to struggle alone. Bobbi can’t deny the transformation in Chuck, but genuine forgiveness requires trust, and trust is a risk she’s not willing to take. Can she let go of her deepest, most primal fears and save her marriage?

Read the Excerpt!

She sat at the breakfast table with her back to him. “Bobbi, where are the boys?” He didn’t want his sons to hear any of this.“Don’t you even say my name.” She spoke without turning around, her voice low with the same intense anger. “I hate you. I hate what you’ve done, and I hate you.” Chuck didn’t dare join her at the table. Instead, he moved over, and leaned against the sink so he could face her. She folded her hands in front of her and looked past him. “Are the boys here?” he asked again.
“They’re at Rita’s. And no, she doesn’t know.”
“Look, I—”
“Just give me the whole speech, Chuck. I’m sure you practiced it all the way home.”
She locked her eyes on his. That seething emotion wasn’t anger at all. It was humiliation and betrayal. He wanted her to be angry. He could face anger. He could fight that. But he couldn’t fight hurt. He never wanted to hurt her. For the first time in his life, his swaggering self-confidence evaporated, and he bolted.
“I can’t do this right now,” he muttered, stepping around the table. “I’m going to go. We’ll talk about this later.”
“This?” She slammed her hand on the table, and he froze. “Can’t you even say it?” She pushed back from the table and jerked herself to her feet. “Here, let me do it for you. You slept with another woman, Chuck! You had an affair! You committed adultery! You cheated on me.” She closed the gap between them until she stood mere inches away.
“For God’s sake, Bobbi—”
“God? Don’t drag Him into this! He didn’t have anything to do with it.” Bobbi pointed her finger right at Chuck’s heart. “It was all you!”
“I know!” His instincts told him to unload on her, to match her yelling and slamming, but he couldn’t. “I’m going.”
“Can’t you face me? You didn’t have any trouble facing me while you were having an affair behind my back! Why should now be any different?”
“Because you’re upset. I can’t talk to you when you’re upset.” He couldn’t think of anything better than that lame excuse. His points, his concessions, his action plan vanished.
“Upset? I just found out my husband is having an affair! How did you expect me to act when you got home?”
“Maybe coming home was a mistake!” he shouted as he walked back to the front hallway to get his bag and briefcase.

Contingency Virtual Book Tour Schedule

Monday, May 2

Book reviewed at A Room Without Books is Empty

“This is the first in a series and I am looking forward to reading the next book.   I would encourage you to pick up this book if you are looking for a well written, no holds barred book.  If you aren’t sure, I would encourage you to read the excerpt at the link above and make up your mind then.  The first chapter will have you wanting more.”

Tuesday, May 3

Interviewed at Beyond the Books

“When you get rejected, take a break from your project and write something new. Write for the pure joy of creation. Be brilliant again.”

Wednesday, May 4

Interviewed and book giveaway at A Cozy Reader’s Corner Reviews

“I love it when scenes fall into place in ways I didn’t anticipate.”

Thursday, May 5

Interviewed at Virginia Beach Publishing Examiner

“Dedicate a little time every day to promoting your book. That keeps you engaged and active without overwhelming you.”

Friday, May 6

Book reviewed at Rainy Day Reviews

“I would continue gushing about the book but I don’t want to give anything else away. I recommend this read to all:)”

Monday, May 9

Book reviewed at Life in Review

“I VERY highly recommend this book! It is beautifully written and the story is powerful and so realistic! I was hooked from the very start and I felt totally emotionally involved in their story!  I felt their heartache and pain and emotions. I truly cared about the characters and was rooting so hard for them! I loved this book and Paula Wiseman’s writing and I am so happy this is the start of a new series and I cannot wait for the next book!”

Tuesday, May 10

Interviewed at Blogcritics

“My faith is such a huge part of who I am. I wanted to write stories about people dealing with faith issues in the midst of some of life’s most challenging circumstances.”

Wednesday, May 11

Guesting at Literarily Speaking’s May 2011 Book Panel

Thursday, May 12

Book reviewed at Lynn’s Corner

Friday, May 13

Book reviewed at Reviews From the Heart

Monday, May 16

Book reviewed at The Phantom Paragrapher

Tuesday, May 17

Book reviewed at Ashley’s Bookshelf

Wednesday, May 18

Guest blogging at The Book Faery Reviews

Thursday, May 19

Book reviewed at The Book Faery Reviews

Friday, May 20

Book reviewed at My Reading Room

Monday, May 23

Book reviewed at One Day at a Time

Tuesday, May 24

Book reviewed at By the Book

Wednesday, May 25

Book reviewed at Bookworm Lisa

Thursday, May 26

Interviewed at Literarily Speaking

Friday, May 27

Chat & Book Giveaway at Pump Up Your Book’s Authors on Tour May 2011 Facebook Party

FTC Information: I received this book from the publisher through Pump Up Your Book Promotion for an honest review.  I have Amazon links on my review pages but I do not make any money from these because of NC laws.  I put them solely for people to check out the books on a retail site.

Just a note (my health and blogging)

My posting may be a little more sporadic over the next few weeks.  My health has returned to the state it was in in 2009 when I had two brain surgeries.  This all sounds worse than it really is (or I'm good at downplaying things).  I have a series of cysts in my spinal column that give me fits (a completely numb right arm plus pain) along with Chiari Malformation.  It's hard to explain, so I won't go into it.  Just suffice it to say that my health is in a state of decline at the moment.  I am tired, in pain and just feeling out of it.  With work and kids, plus we still have a week and a half of baseball season, I am worn out.

With all of that - I plan on fulfilling all of my commitments, I just may be a little bit slower at it.  I know there are days I will stay home in bed and then I can catch up on reading.  Please continue to follow my blog as I do plan on continuing to post some giveaways and reviews.  Just be patient, I may not be around every day. 

I am scheduled for an MRI and clinic appointment with my neurosurgeon on June 6th and hopefully then we will get to the bottom of what is going on.  Please if you will, lift me up in your prayers (and my family) or send happy thoughts.  They would be most appreciated.

I love this blog and the people and authors I meet so I plan to never abandon it and I am looking forward to Armchair BEA next week so stay tuned for that. 

Thanks everyone!

Book Tour: How Huge the Night by Heather and Lydia Munn

 

How Huge The Night by  Heather and Lydia Munn

Publisher: Kregel Publications

Publish Date: March 9, 2011

Paperback, 304 pages

Fiction, Young Adult

ISBN: 978-0825433108

*** My Book Review will be posted later today ***

About How Huge the Night:

Fifteen-year-old Julien Losier just wants to fit in. But after his family moves to a small village in central France in hopes of outrunning the Nazis, he is suddenly faced with bigger challenges than the taunting of local teens. Nina Krenkel left her country to obey her father's dying command: Take your brother and leave Austria. Burn your papers. Tell no one you are Jews. Alone and on the run, she arrives in Tanieux, France, dangerously ill and in despair.

Thrown together by the chaos of war, Julien begins to feel the terrible weight of the looming conflict and Nina fights to survive. As France falls to the Nazis, Julien struggles with doing what is right, even if it is not enough-and wonders whether or not he really can save Nina from almost certain death.

Based on the true story of the town of Le Chambon-the only French town honored by Israel for rescuing Jews from the Holocaust-How Huge the Night is a compelling, coming-of-age drama that will keep teens turning the pages as it teaches them about a fascinating period of history and inspires them to think more deeply about their everyday choices.

Link to buy the book: http://www.amazon.com/How-Huge-Night-Heather-Munn/dp/082543310X/ref=sprightly-20

About the Munn's:

Heather Munn was born in Northern Ireland and grew up in southern France where her parents were missionaries like their parents before them. She has a BA in literature from Wheaton College and now lives in a Christian intentional community in rural Illinois, where she and her husband, Paul, host free spiritual retreats for the poor, especially those transitioning out of homelessness or addiction. When not writing or hosting, she works on the communal farm. 

Lydia Munn, daughter of missionary parents, grew up in Brazil. She received a BA in literature from Wheaton College, and an MA in Bible from Columbia Graduate School of Bible and   Missions. With her husband, Jim, she has worked in church planting and Bible teaching since 1983, notably in St. Etienne, near the small town in the central mountains of France which forms the background of How Huge the Night. The Munns now live in Grenoble, France.

Blog Tour Schedule:

5/12

Julie Arduini: The Surrendered Scribe http://juliearduini.com

Sarah at Growing For Christ http://www.homeschoolblogger.com/ohiosarah

Tina’s Book Reviews http://www.tinasbookreviews.com

Jami's Reviews http://jamisreviews.blogspot.com

5/13

Becky at In the Pages http://inthepages.blogspot.com

Anna at Goannatree http://goannatree.blogspot.com

Debra at Footprints in the Butter http://debrakb.blogspot.com/

Jill at Book, Books Everywhere http://bookbookseverywhere.blogspot.com/

5/14

SusieQTpies at Scraps of Life http://cafescrapper-scrapsoflife.blogspot.com

Melissa at Books R Us http://www.booksrusonline.com

Heidi at Starts At Eight http://www.startsateight.com

Karla at Ramblin' Roads http://ramblinroadstoeverywhere.blogspot.com

5/16

Kari at Alas 3 Lads http://www.alas3lads.blogspot.com

Amy at The 160 Acrewoods http://www.the160acrewoods.com

Judy at Seize the Book Blog http://www.seizethebookblog.blogspot.com

Tracye at A Heart Poured Out http://tracyedukes.com

5/17

Laura at The Book Tree http://thebooktree.blogspot.com

Diane at That's What I'm Here For http://www.dianeestrella.com

Kim at Window To My World http://berlysue.blogspot.com

Crystal at My Reading Room http://myreadingroom-crystal.blogspot.com

5/18

Mollie at The Gandy's Home Base http://thegandyshomebase.blogspot.com

Heather at Proud Book Nerd http://proudbooknerd.com/

Kathy at I Am A Reader, Not A Writer http://iamareadernotawriter.blogspot.com

Stacie at Hobbit Door http://hobbitdoor.blogspot.com

5/19

Laura at Lighthouse Academy http://lighthouse-academy.blogspot.com/

Kaylea at My Scrappy Life http://kayebug2002.blogspot.com

Julie at My 5 Monkeys http://www.tableforseven-julie.blogspot.com

Melinda Joy: Living, Laughing, Loving http://www.reviewsbymelindajoy.com/

Elana at The Twinners Reviews & Giveaways http://www.thetwinners.com

5/20

Whitney at Rambles of a SAHM http://ramblesahm.blogspot.com

Isabelle at Canadian Ladybug Reviews! http://www.canadianladybugreviews.com

Charity at Giveaway Lady http://giveawaygal.blogspot.com

5/21

Musings By Lynn http://www.musingsbylynn@blogspot.com

Katie at Legacy of a Writer http://www.katieslegacy.blogspot.com

Lauri at Knits, Reads and Reviews http://knitsandreads.blogspot.co

Pamela at Daysong Reflections http://daysongreflections.com

5/23

Marissa at The Review Stew http://www.thereviewstew.com

Laura at Day by Day in Our World http://daybydayinourworld.blogspot.com 

Tina at Family Literacy and You http://familyliteracyandyou.blogspot.com

Janet at Home is Where God Sends You http://www.homeiswhereGodsendsyou.blogspot.com

5/24

Tiffany at A Cozy Reader's Corner Reviews http://acozyreaderscorner.blogspot.com

Carrie at Farming On Faith http://farmingonfaith.blogspot.com/ 

Renee at Doorkeeper http://reneeannsmith.com/

Kathleen at Reviews From The Heart http://reviewsfromtheheart.blogspot.com

5/25

Mandie at Taking Time for Mommy http://takingtimeformommy.com

Jacqui at Single Parent Retreat http://www.singleparentretreat.com

Maureen at Maureen's Musings http://musingsbymaureen.blogspot.com/

Stacie at Simply Stacie http://simplystacie.net

5/26

One Desert Roses' Blog--Christian Book Reviews http://www.onedesertrose.wordpress.com

Sharon at The Legacy of Home http://thelegacyofhome.blogspot.com

Norma at Wakela's World http://www.wakelarunen.com

Patty at Broken Teepee http://brokenteepee.com

Sharon at I Dream Of Writing for God http://sharonalavy.blogspot.com

Book Review: The Sandalwood Tree by Elle Newmark

The Sandalwood Tree by Elle Newmark

Publisher: Atria Books

Publish Date: April 5, 2011

Hardback, 368 pages 
Fiction, Historical

 ISBN: 978-14165-9059-0

My Review:
Why I read this: India during the transition period plus a cache of hidden letters had me.


My thoughts: A very interesting look at the lives of two different couples in two different time periods.  The writing keeps you interested and turning pages until the last one.

I keep branching out now that I review books on my blog.  I continue to find new authors and new types of fiction that I fall in love with.  Ms. Newmark is one of those times where I have branched out.  I have never read much about India until recently and now I am fascinated.  With books like Deanna Raybourn's Dark Road to Darjeeling to take me back in time and Shilpi Somaya Gowda's The Secret Daughter in the present, I have fallen in love with India and it's differences and similarities to our culture.  The Sandalwood Tree provides two different worlds, the India of the mid 1800s and the India of the mid 1940s.  A fascinating look at characters and the landscape of the country.  Though the main characters are all British, the looks into life in India are still very fascinating.

I'm not sure which story I liked more, and the nice thing is how well Ms. Newmark blends those stories together, it never feels forced or bumpy.  The stories just go from one to the next and I loved learning about each couple a little bit at a time.  The writing is magical and real to the time frames (or at least my feelings of what the time periods would be).  I think Ms. Newmark did excellent research for this book and it really shows.

If you love stories revolving around secrets and in exotic locales, then this is a book for you.  If you like interesting looks into relationships then this is a book for you.  If you enjoy being spellbound by a book for hours at a time, then this is a wonderful book for you.  It definitely held me under it's spell and made me sad that I had to put it down to get the kids to school and go to work, but I was happy it was waiting for me at lunch and the end of the day.


My Rating: 4.0/5.0

For more information on this book, please see my book tour post.

FTC Information: I received this book from the publisher through Pump Up Your Book Promotion for an honest review.  I have Amazon links on my review pages but I do not make any money from these because of NC laws.  I put them solely for people to check out the books on a retail site.

Book Tour: The Sandalwood Tree by Elle Newmark

The Sandalwood Tree by Elle Newmark

Publisher: Atria Books

Publish Date: April 5, 2011

Hardback, 368 pages 
Fiction, Historical

 ISBN: 978-14165-9059-0

***  My review will be coming later today.  ***

About Elle Newmark

Elle Newmark is an author whose books are inspired by her travels. Her work has been published into 16 languages and she lives in the hills north of San Diego with her husband, a retired physician. She has two grown children and five grandchildren.
To find out more about Elle or learn about her books visit http://ellenewmark.com

About The Sandalwood Tree

From incredible storyteller and nationally bestselling author Elle Newmark comes a rich, sweeping novel that brings to life two love stories, ninety years apart, set against the rich backdrop of war-torn India.


In 1947, American historian and veteran of WWII, Martin Mitchell, wins a Fulbright Fellowship to document the end of British rule in India. His wife, Evie, convinces him to take her and their young son along, hoping a shared adventure will mend their marriage, which has been strained by war.

But other places, other wars. Martin and Evie find themselves stranded in a colonial bungalow in the Himalayas due to violence surrounding the partition of India between Hindus and Muslims. In that house, hidden behind a brick wall, Evie discovers a packet of old letters, which tell a strange and compelling story of love and war involving two young Englishwomen who lived in the same house in 1857.

Drawn to their story, Evie embarks on a mission to piece together her Victorian mystery. Her search leads her through the bazaars and temples of India as well as the dying society of the British Raj. Along the way, Martin’s dark secret is exposed, unleashing a new wedge between Evie and him. As India struggles toward Independence, Evie struggles to save her marriage, pursuing her Victorian ghosts for answers.

Bursting with lavish detail and vivid imagery of Calcutta and beyond, The Sandalwood Tree is a powerful story about betrayal, forgiveness, fate, and love.

Book Excerpt

When I found the hidden letters, I had just finished an assault on the kitchen window. I squeezed out the sponge and stood back, squinting with a critical eye. A yellow sari converted to curtains framed the blue sky and distant Himalayan peaks, which were now clearly visible through the spotless window, but the late-afternoon sun spotlighted a dirty brick wall behind the old English cooker. The red brick had been blackened by a century of oily cooking smoke and, just like that, I decided to roll up my sleeves and give it
a good scrub. Rashmi, our ayah, deigned to wipe off a table or sweep the floor with a bunch of acacia branches, but I would never ask her to tackle a soot-encrusted wall. A job like that fell well beneath her caste, and she would have quit on the spot.
The university chose that bungalow for us because it had an attached kitchen instead of the usual cookhouse out back. I liked the place as soon as I walked into the little compound full of tangled grass and pipal trees with creepers twisting around their trunks. A low mud-brick wall, overgrown with Himalayan mimosa, circled our compound with its hundred-year-old bungalow and vine-clad verandah, and an old sandalwood tree, with long oval leaves and pregnant red pods, presided over the front of the house. Everything had a weathered, well-used look, and I wondered how many
lives had been lived there.
Off to one side of the house, a path bordered by scrappy box-wood led to the godowns for the servants, a dilapidated row of huts, far more of them than we would ever need for our small staff. At the far end of the godowns a derelict stable nestled in a grove of deodars, and Martin talked about using it to park our car during the monsoon. Martin had bought a battered and faded red Packard convertible, which had been new and snazzy in 1935 but had seen twelve monsoons and too many seasons of neglect. Still, the jalopy
ran, I had a bicycle, Billy had his Red Flyer wagon, and that’s all we needed.
The remains of the old cookhouse still stood around back, listing under a neem tree, a bare little shack with a dirt floor, one sagging shelf, and a square of mud bricks with a hole in the center for wood or coal. Indians didn’t cook inside colonial houses—a fire precaution and some complicated rules having to do with religion or caste—and it must have been some very unconventional colonials who decided to attach a kitchen to the main house and install
a cooker, bless their hearts.
I hired our servants myself, choosing from a virtual army that lined up for interview. They presented their chits—references— and since most of them couldn’t read English they didn’t realize that the bogus chits they had bought in the bazaar might be signed by Queen Victoria, Winston Churchill, or Punch and Judy. The only chit I could be absolutely sure was authentic said, “This is the laziest cook in all India. He strains the milk through his dhoti and
he will rob you blind.”
In the end we had a scandalously small staff—a cook, an ayah, and a dhobi who picked up our laundry once a week in silent anonymity. At first, we’d also had a gardener, a sweeper, and a bearer—a more typical arrangement—but that many servants made me feel
superfluous.
I particularly disliked having a bearer, a sort of majordomo who trailed around after me, doing my bidding or passing my orders on to the other servants. I felt helpless as a caricature of a nineteenth-century memsahib, swooning on a daybed. Our bearer had been trained in British households and would wake Martin and me in the morning with a tradition called “bed tea.” The first time I opened my eyes to see a dark, turbaned man standing over me with a tray it scared me out of my wits. He also served our meals and stood behind us while we ate; it felt like sitting in a
restaurant with an eavesdropping waiter, and I was painfully conscious of our conversation and my table manners. I found myself delicately dabbing the corners of my mouth and keeping my spine straight. I could see that Martin felt it, too, and meals became an uncomfortable chore.
I didn’t want “bed tea,” I didn’t want a bearer—always there, always hovering—and I enjoyed feeling useful. So I kept our little house clean and watered the plants on the verandah myself. I liked the natural jungly look around the bungalow, and the notion of having a gardener struck me as absurd. Martin told me the expatriate community was appalled by our lack of servants. I said, “So?”
I kept the cook, Habib, because I didn’t recognize half the things in the market stalls, and since I didn’t speak Hindi, the price of everything would have tripled. I kept Rashmi, our ayah, because I liked her and she spoke English.
When I first met Rashmi, she greeted me with a formal bow, her hands in an attitude of prayer. She said, “Namaste,” and then began giggling and clapping, making her chubby arms jiggle and
her gold bangles jangle. She asked, “From what country are you coming?
I said, “America,” wondering if it was a trick question.
“Oooh, Amerrrica! Verryy nice!” The ruby in her right nostril twinkled.
Rashmi deeply disapproved of a household with so few servants. Whenever she saw me beating a rug or cleaning the bathroom she would hold her cheeks and shake her head, her eyes round and alarmed. “Arey Ram! What madam is doooiiing?” I tried to explain that I liked to keep busy, but Rashmi would stomp around the house mumbling and shaking her head. Once I heard her say, “Amerrrican,” as if it were a diagnosis. She started sweeping up with neatly tied acacia branches and taking out the garbage. I had
no idea where she took it, but it seemed to make her happy to do it.
Whenever I thanked Rashmi for something, she would waggle her head pleasantly and say, “My duty it is, madam.” I wished Martin and I could accept our lot so easily.
My beautiful Martin had come home from the war with a
shrouded, chaotic underside, wanting everything as neat as an army cot. It was about control, I know that, but he drove me nuts, picking at imaginary lint on my clothing and lining up our shoes side by side on the closet floor, like a row of soldiers snapped to attention. At first I complied and kept everything shipshape, simply because we didn’t need yet another thing to argue about. But I soon discovered that ordering furniture and annihilating dust gave me a fragile sense of control—Martin was on to something there—and
I enjoyed imposing my antiseptic standards on India, keeping my little corner of the universe as predictable as gravity. When this altered Martin came home from Germany, straightening books on the shelf and buffing his shoes until they screamed, he often complained of a metallic taste in his mouth, rushing off to brush his teeth five times a day. I didn’t know what he tasted, but I did know he had nightmares. He twitched in his sleep, muttering disjointed bits about “skeletons” and calling out names of people I didn’t know. Some nights he’d shout in his sleep, and I’d spring up,
shocked and scared. I’d dry the sweat from his face with the sheet and kiss the palms of his hands while his breathing calmed and my heart slowed.
His skin would be clammy and he’d be trembling, and I’d rock him and croon in his ear, “It’s all right. I’m here.”
After a while, when it seemed safe, I’d say, “Sweetheart, talk to me. Please.”
Sometimes he’d talk a little, but only about the language or the landscape or the guys in his platoon. He said it bothered him that German sounded so much like the Yiddish of his grandparents; then he shook his head as if he was trying to understand something.
He told me that Germany was littered with castles and fairy-tale villages, all blasted to hell. He said the soldiers in his platoon were an unlikely bunch thrown together by war, men who would not otherwise have met. Martin, a budding historian, bunked with a fast-talking mechanic from Detroit named Casino. Also in his barracks were an American Indian named William Who Respects Nothing, and a Samoan named Naikelekele, whom the men called
Ukulele. Martin said they were OK guys, but a CPA from Queens named Polanski—Ski to the guys—had the wide slab face and flat blue eyes behind too many of the pogroms mounted against the Jews, and Martin had to keep reminding himself that they were on the same side.
But Ski cheated at cards and had a nascent anti-Semitic streak. Martin said, “Of all the decent guys in that platoon I had to haul Ski back to a field hospital while better men lay dead around us.”
His ambivalence about saving Ski haunted him, but it wasn’t the thing eating at him like acid.
One night, in bed, after having had an extra glass of wine with dinner, Martin knit his fingers behind his head and told me about a mess sergeant from the hills of Appalachia, Pete McCoy, who made a crude liquor with pilfered sugar and yeast and canned peaches. Pete had served an informal apprenticeship at his father’s still, deep in the woods of West Virginia, and in a rare, lighthearted moment, Martin did a skillful imitation. He drawled, “Ah know it ain’t legal.
But mah daddy’s gonna quit soon as he gits a chance.”
I said, “The nightmares aren’t about Pete McCoy’s moonshine.”
“Hey, you didn’t taste that stuff. Burned like a son-of-a-bitch going down.” His voice became abstract. “But sometimes the moonshine was necessary, like when Tommie . . . Well, anyway, McCoy was like the medic who brought the morphine.”
I said, “Who was Tommie?”
Martin looked away. “Ah, you don’t want to hear that stuff.”
“But I do. Talk to me. Please.”
He hesitated, then, “Nah. Go to sleep.” He patted my hand and rolled away.
World War II veterans were icons of heroism, brave liberators, and most of them were glad to leave the ugliness buried under the war rubble and get back to a normal life, or try to. But Martin had come home with invisible wounds, and our normal life was as ruined as the German landscape. I wanted to understand. I’d been begging him to talk for two solid years, but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t let me help him, and I felt worn to a stump from trying.
That business of rolling away from me in bed hurt, but by
the time we got to India, I was doing it, too. I was becoming as frustrated as he was tormented, and we took our pain out on each other. We hid in our respective corners until something brought us out with fists raised.
I couldn’t fix our insides, so I fixed our outside. I prowled around the bungalow searching for dust mites to exterminate, mold to slaughter, and smudges to wipe out. I vanquished dirt and disorder wherever I found it and it helped, a little. The morning I found the letters, I’d filled a pail with hot soapy water and pounced on the sooty bricks behind the old cooker with demented determination. I described foamy circles on the wall with my brush and . . . what? One brick moved. That was odd. Nothing in that house ever rattled or came loose; the British colonials who built the place had expected to rule India forever.
I put the brush down and forced my fingernails into the crumbling mortar around the loose brick, then wiggled it back and forth until it came out far enough for me to get a grip on it. I teased the brick out of the wall and felt a thrill of discovery when I saw, hidden in the wall, a packet of folded papers tied with a faded and bedraggled blue ribbon. That packet reeked of long-lost secrets, and I felt a smile lift one corner of my mouth. I set the blackened brick on the floor and reached in to lift my plunder out of the wall. But on second thought, I went to the sink first to wash the soot from my hands.
With clean, dry hands, I eased the packet out of its hiding place, blew the dust from its crevices, then laid it on the kitchen table and pulled the ribbon loose. When I opened the first sheet, the folds seemed almost to creak with age. Gently now, I smoothed the fragile paper out on the table and it crackled faintly. It was ancient and brittle, the edges wavy and water-stained. It was a letter written on thin, grainy parchment, and feminine handwriting rose and swooped across the page with sharp peaks and curling flourishes. The writing was in English, and the way it had been concealed in the wall hinted at Victorian intrigue.

FTC Information: I received this book from the publisher through Pump Up Your Book Promotion for an honest review.  I have Amazon links on my review pages but I do not make any money from these because of NC laws.  I put them solely for people to check out the books on a retail site.

Saturday Giveaway #10 winner

Saturday giveaway is going on hiatus this week, but will be back next week.  It's been a busy week around here and the blogger problems haven't helped.  I haven't felt well, each of my boys has had 2 baseball practices and 3 ball games this week so it has been crazy.  So forgive me for this week.

However I do have the winner of last week's giveaway:

Cheryl Free

I will be contacting Cheryl over the weekend for her choice of two books from here.

Stay tuned - there are more giveaways going on, be sure and check the sidebar and I'll be back with the Saturday giveaway next week!

Book Review: The Lost Girls by Jennifer Baggett, Holly C. Corbett and Amanda Pressner

The Lost Girls by Jennifer Baggett, Holly C. Corbett, and Amanda Pressner

Publisher: Harper Perennial (Reprint edition)

Publish Date: April 26, 2011

Paperback, 560 pages 
Non-fiction
ISBN: 978-0061689079

My Review:
Why I read this: The premise sounded fascinating and I seem to really be enjoying travel memoirs lately.



My thoughts:  A fun book to read, while these women do face some serious issues in their lives, I admire them for following their dreams and sharing them in this book.


I really enjoyed reading this book.  It is told in alternating chapters by each of the women on the journey as they travel from country to country on their around-the-world in one year trip they planned.  The stories told from each country are fascinating and heart-felt.  I truly believe each of the women learned something about themselves from each journey taken and sometimes in just the little things on the trip.  I like the fact that they don't sugarcoat things.  For the most part the friends get along, but there are issues and hurt feelings along the way and they don't gloss over the situations and make you feel like this is three wonderful friends who face no problems when spending a year together in some third-world countries.

Another thing I like is what I just mentioned.  These aren't bored women touring the known places, they set out to achieve goals they wanted and most of them are in what are considered to be third world countries.  I admire the women for setting the goals, leaving their lives and going after them.  It is just amazing what they did and the careers they gave up to find themselves and learn about different groups of people as well.

The Lost Girls is a fascinating book.  I think it is a great read for just about any woman (men too).  I can live vicariously through their adventures and examine my life for changes I want to make (though I don't plan on traveling anytime soon since I have two school-age children).  But there are lessons to be learned through this book and enjoyed them and the travel stories and think they went hand-in-hand very well.


My Rating: 4.5/5.0


About the Book:
With their thirtieth birthdays looming, Jen, Holly, and Amanda are feeling the pressure to hit certain milestones—score the big promotion, find a soul mate, have 2.2 kids. Instead, they make a pact to quit their jobs, leave behind everything familiar, and embark on a yearlong round-the-world search for inspiration and direction.
Traveling 60,000 miles across four continents, Jen, Holly, and Amanda push themselves far outside their comfort zones to embrace every adventure. Ultimately, theirs is a story of true friendship—a bond forged by sharing beds and backpacks, enduring exotic illnesses, trekking across mountains, and standing by one another through heartaches, whirlwind romances, and everything in the world in between.

About the Authors: 
Jennifer Baggett is currently pursuing a freelance writing career and conspiring with her fellow Lost Girls on their next great travel and business adventures. Most recently she served as a Marketing Manager in the Branded Entertainment and Sponsorships Department at the Sundance Channel. She held the position of Integrated Marketing Manager for Vh1, Vh1.com and Vh1 Classic, and she worked in the Marketing/Ad Sales department at NBC Universal. She hails from Bowie, MD, and lives in New York City.

Amanda Pressner is a travel and lifestyle journalist and has served as Senior Nutrition Editor at Shape magazine and assistant editor at Self. She has contributed to national publications, including USA Today, Travel + Leisure, Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, Fitness, Prevention, Woman’s Day, First for Women, Seventeen, and Brides. She is a native of Tampa, FL, and lives in New York City.

Holly C. Corbett is a freelance writer who worked as an editor in the “Happiness” department of Self and served as the service and travel editor at Woman’s Day magazine. Her work has appeared in other publications such as Women’s Health, Prevention, Shape, Fitness, Seventeen, and Newsday. She lives in Syracuse, NY.

Find out more about Jennifer, Amanda, and Holly at The Lost Girls website, on Facebook, and on Twitter.

FTC Information: I received this book from the publisher through TLC Book Tours for an honest review.  I have Amazon links on my review pages but I do not make any money from these because of NC laws.  I put them solely for people to check out the books on a retail site.