#BookReview “Hysterical Memories” by Eugene Wallace

~~~

4/5 Stars!

At times heartbreaking and harrowing, Hysterical Memories also offers up a bit of humor… even if purely unintentional.

From early childhood through middle-age, Eugene suffers a laundry list of life’s indignities including, domestic violence, bullying, alcoholism, substance abuse, prison, and homelessness.

While not an Indian Jones-type adventure, Eugene’s story is one of a transient lifestyle. When he’s released from prison after a rebellious youth, his travels will take him across much of the UK and its surrounding countries, taking jobs in the kitchens of low-level dives and five-star restaurants alike to survive.

The son of a schizophrenic mother with an evil streak and an abusive father, Eugene is hindered by his own struggles with mental illness and depression. While there were doctors and clinics always willing to dispense pills and rehab, Eugene never received a solid foundation of support, and all too soon was on his own again, in an alcoholic daze moving from job to job.

Though not a challenging read, Hysterical Memories is thought-provoking as it shows how easy it is to fall through society’s cracks and go from mental illness to crime to hopelessness.

However, despite the weird friendships, psycho bosses and landlords, and even manic episodes and suicide attempts, Eugene always managed to land on his feet and was able to complete college with a chef certification. Kudos to him!

Enjoy!

~~~

About Hysterical Memories
Memoir

Date Published: May 2021

Here is the story of a man’s life that has been riddled and ruffled with emotionally unstable personality disorder, a known mental illness. Despite spending a considerable part of his life at various rehabilitation facilities, Eugene’s life was largely marred with crazy-bound incidences. He was a convicted drug dealer with a history of violence. His case was so bad that he even attacked his dad with a claw hammer. He was everything you could think of when it came to drugs and crime. However, from the lowest depths of a mentally unstable man, Eugene rose to become one of UK’s finest chefs of all time.

~~~

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Bookshop

Publisher

~~~

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

~~~

#BookTour “Hysterical Memories” by Eugene Wallace

memories book tour

~~~

Memoir

Date Published: May 2021

Here is the story of a man’s life that has been riddled and ruffled with emotionally unstable personality disorder, a known mental illness. Despite spending a considerable part of his life at various rehabilitation facilities, Eugene’s life was largely marred with crazy-bound incidences. He was a convicted drug dealer with a history of violence. His case was so bad that he even attacked his dad with a claw hammer. He was everything you could think of when it came to drugs and crime. However, from the lowest depths of a mentally unstable man, Eugene rose to become one of UK’s finest chefs of all time.

~~~

About the Author


Eugene Wallace is a convicted drug dealer and a prize-winning chef with a mental illness and a crazy life full of incidents.

Contact Links

Website

YouTube

~~~

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Bookshop

Publisher

~~~

RABT Book Tours & PR

~~~

#BookBlitz “Hysterical Memories” by Eugene Wallace

~~~

Memoir

 

Date Published: May 2021

Here is the story of a man’s life that has been riddled and ruffled with emotionally unstable personality disorder, a known mental illness. Despite spending a considerable part of his life at various rehabilitation facilities, Eugene’s life was largely marred with crazy-bound incidences. He was a convicted drug dealer with a history of violence. His case was so bad that he even attacked his dad with a claw hammer. He was everything you could think of when it came to drugs and crime. However, from the lowest depths of a mentally unstable man, Eugene rose to become one of UK’s finest chefs of all time.

~~~

About the Author


Eugene Wallace is a convicted drug dealer and a prize-winning chef with a mental illness and a crazy life full of incidents.

 

 

 

 

Contact Links

Website

YouTube

~~~

Purchase Links

Amazon

B&N

Bookshop

Publisher

~~~

RABT Book Tours & PR

~~~

#BookTour “A Light Through the Pouring Rain” by James Ruvalcaba

~~~

Memoir, Grief

Published: December 2020

 

photo add-to-goodreads-button_zpsc7b3c634.png

 

A true story about a young couple’s battle with cancer.

 The Light Through the Pouring Rain is a remarkable love story that will pull on your heartstrings and leave you inspired. 

An emotional page turner that gives a first hand look into the lives of a
young couple madly in love and eager to start their lives together, only to
have it all halted by a cancer diagnosis. With no clear road map on how to
navigate their new normal, James and Anabel proceed into uncharted
territory, hand-in-hand, with the love of their families and their faith in
God to guide them.

~~~

EXCERPT

Preface

Unfortunately, millions worldwide have experienced the pain of losing somebody. Every loss is not the same; every person that has left our planet has left behind families and friends. Each loss is an apples-to-oranges comparison. What I mean by that is that being offered someone’s condolences is nice, but don’t let them compare their “friend of a friend” to your pain. Accept their comfort, but realize nobody knows how to speak to someone who has just gone through something traumatic, as you’ve gone through. I realize that only people that have experienced pain in its worst form can identify others that have pain behind their eyes and have been traumatized like yourself. Everybody goes through their pain differently, and there isn’t a textbook to help you get over the pain of loss.

There is a cycle of grief that is the closest I’ve seen to understanding the stages that you will be going through.

  • Denial stage: Trying to avoid the inevitable.
  • Anger stage: Frustrated outpouring of bottled-up emotion.
  • Bargaining stage: Seeking in vain for a way out.
  • Depression stage: Final realization of the inevitable.
  • Testing stage: Seeking realistic solutions.
  • Acceptance stage: Finally finding the way forward.

Losing a loved one is a shocking and traumatic experience. Sometimes it can hit your right away; sometimes it can hit you months later, like it did to myself. My best piece of advice is to take your time with each stage and realize that just because the list is in that order, that doesn’t mean that’s the order you will experience it. It goes out of order sometimes and rearranges itself enough to make your head spin. Everybody is different, and please, do yourself a favor and take as much time as you need. Don’t rush the process and use the process to heal. It may be one year later and I’m writing this book about my fiancée, but that doesn’t mean that I’ve healed. I’m far from it, to be honest, and I’m not exactly sure I will ever heal or be able to be in a relationship again. It is hard to come to grips with the fact that I found my soulmate, my best friend, my lover, and to have it all in one person, and I planned my life around this person and my happy ending will never come to fruition. It haunts me every day as I replay my life decisions over and over again endlessly. I don’t have any regrets about any decision I made during this process, because it was toward my goal of what I thought the perfect relationship should be. Now that has been taken away from me. I could never be resentful of anyone or ask, “Why did it have to be her? Why did this have to happen to me?” Because of my faith in God, I know this was a part of the plan. I knew Anabel would spark my brain and give me the baton to keep the marathon going and be able to help out so many around the world with our story. I know what I just said sounds crazy and may upset some, but I have a certain foundation of faith in God, and I trust his plan and refuse to let the pain I suffer on a daily basis—and the pain of her family and mine—to happen for no reason. I refuse to walk around with the weight of the world on my shoulders, with sadness, with depression and pain, when all Anabel ever did was bring happiness to anybody she ever encountered, although I have every right in the world to. I want everybody reading this to know that life and anything you experience is about perspective. This loss I will speak of could keep me in a dark place for the rest of my life, and I could stay there and it would be justified. Not a single soul on this planet could tell me otherwise. The world understands the aftermath of the loss of a loved one, and it comes with certain expectations. The world and the people who live on it understand that the one in pain will be a full bottle of emotions: full of anger, sadness, depressed, pissed off. That’s just a few of the emotions, and it’s not just limited to those. You can experience so many, and it’s okay. What I want to do with this story of Anabel and me is give you a different perspective on the life that we shared together, a glimpse of the real horrors and terrors that come along with the process of battling cancer. I think everybody understands the realities that come with battling cancer, such as weight loss, baldness, chemotherapy, and tiredness, but so many, including myself, don’t understand the true terror that comes along with it. I’ve lost so many family members to different kinds of cancer, but adults had shielded me from the horrors of it, and to be in the trenches with my partner was truly horrifying. I want to open the world’s eyes to the territory that comes with cancer, to make you think, Oh yeah, I didn’t even think of that. I want your brain to be there constantly running as you read this story and think even when life was stormy, they somehow were able to find the light through the pouring rain.

~~~

~~~

About the Author

Hello, I’m James Ruvalcaba. I began writing because I wanted to honor my fiancee Anabel’s legacy and to be a testimony of God’s goodness. On a personal level , I am a family man and hold them near and dear to me. I am a down to earth person that loves interactions and conversations.I believe the more we communicate the more we see the beauty of God’s previous workings.

Prior to being a writer , I worked with the special needs population for 10 years. I wanted to give back to the community and assist in achieving a higher quality of life as a tribute to my Sister who suffered from disabilities herself.

 

 Contact Links

Website

Twitter

Facebook

Instagram

YouTube

Promo Link

~~~

Purchase Links

Kindle Unlimited

Amazon

B&N

 

RABT Book Tours & PR

~~~

#BookTour “Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell” by Samantha Hart

BlindPony copy

Welcome to the blog tour for Blind Pony, a memoir by Samantha Hart! Read on for details and a chance to win a signed copy of the book!

56303766Blind Pony

Publication Date: March 15th, 2021

Genre: Memoir/ Biography

When your mother names you after your father’s affair, you might wish you were living someone else’s life.

For Samantha Hart, growing up on a farm in rural Pennsylvania had been no childhood idyll but rather a violent, surreal nightmare. A twisted vision of pastoral life part Faulkner part Dante. At fourteen years old, she ran away in search of her father, a character she only knew as Wild Bill. Discovering he wasn’t the hero she dreamt he’d be, she was on her own.

Arriving in Los Angeles at the peak of LA’s decadence where money, drugs, and good times flowed, she floated through a strange new world of champagne-soaked parties, high-stakes backgammon tournaments, and a whirlwind of international escapades flogging nude photographs. When a wealthy playboy mistakes her Pittsburgh accent for being British, it begins a spiral of white lies leading Sam to question everything she thought she knew about herself and who she could be.

Blind Pony is a story of healing and hope, a coming of age narrative intersecting themes of recovery, redemption, forgiveness, and the struggle it takes to define life on your terms.

Add to Goodreads

Excerpt

”A FAREWELL TO THE FARM”

I opened the door to the barn with a bit of trepidation. The smells that once pervaded my senses—new-mown hay, leather, and living animals—had turned to a dank, musty odor. I held Vignette’s hand as we stepped carefully past the empty stalls, ready for something sinister to jump out at any moment. We ventured toward a stable in the back, and above us was the plaque I carved with a wood burner, the name “Misty.” Misty was born when I was eight years old and was the offspring of my beloved pony, Princess.

“Follow me.” I darted up the narrow wooden stairs. Vignette stayed close on my heels as we headed to my grandfather’s abandoned workshop to rummage around for something to pry off the sign. The remnants of a moonshine distillery sat cloaked in dust in an open cabinet, and as I breathed in the musky air, I could feel my grandfather’s presence and hear the nasty whistling sound he made when he was coming for me.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

“No, honey, got some dust in my eyes. Let’s get out of here.”

I grabbed the crowbar, intent on rescuing Misty’s sign. It was a relic from my childhood, and I was unwilling to leave it to the wrecking ball.

“So, Misty was your pony, Mommy?”

“No, but she was my pony Princess’ baby, just like you are my baby. That’s why I got to name her and made this sign for her. Look, I have a scar on my finger where I burned myself making that sign.”

“That must have hurt. I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.” Equal measures of joy and sorrow overwhelmed me, conjured by a place I thought I would never see again. We traipsed outside so I could stow the plaque inside the car, and Vignette spotted an old tractor.

“Look at this cool tractor, Mommy! Can I climb on it?”

“Yes, but be careful,” I said. My mind drifted. I could almost hear the chatter between my sisters and me as we saddled up at the corral to take our horses out for trail rides.

Princess was blind in one eye, so she kept a slower pace than the other horses as we galloped up past the oil rig with its rhythmic chugging and stench of old black oil. The sound of thundering hoofs would ring in my ears, and by the time we reached the top of Gobbler’s Knob, the view would be invisible through the thick cloud of dust, and I’d be as blind as Princess.

The past was so vivid, I almost forgot I wanted to capture this moment with Vignette. As I went back to the car to retrieve my camera, the familiar sound of the gravel crunching beneath my feet unspooled memories of a story my mother had repeated to me throughout my childhood.

Late one night, Bill Butter pulled into the gravel driveway well past midnight. Dean Martin’s just-released record “Volare” blared over the car radio. Bill continued his drunken crooning after turning off the ignition,

though, in his stupor, he left the headlights on. My mother, Clara, peered out the upstairs window to see her husband silhouetted by the car’s lights, stumbling up the stone path, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Annoyed and embarrassed by his returning from these late-night trysts with other women, which had become too frequent, she climbed back into bed, pretending to be asleep, and got tangled up in her oversized flannel nightgown.

A gust of frosty Pennsylvania wind followed Bill up the stairs to the bedroom. He pulled his pants down just far enough to expose his stiffened penis, then threw himself on top of his wife while endeavoring, with frustration, to unravel the nightgown.

Clara realized her best option for keeping their small children from waking was to make way for the inevitable drunken thrust between her naked thighs. When he found his way to an orgasm, he hollered out the name of his current mistress, Pammy Sue, and unceremoniously deposited the seed that would grow into a girl destined to be nothing but trouble. The first sign of said trouble began the very next morning with a dead car battery.

Nine months later, my mother gave birth to her fourth child on the first day of fall. Dad thought I would be a boy, and he named me Sam. Maybe he hoped I would be a boy so he could stop hearing about Pammy Sue. As luck would have it, he pulled four aces. I was his fourth daughter.

My mother’s frozen heart determined to immortalize her husband’s infidelity and spelled it out on the birth certificate. But for as long as I knew my dad, he never called me by any other name but Sam. I always thought the name suited me. My mother prodded me so often with the reason my name was Pammy that my official name repulsed me.

Vignette tugged on my sleeve and snapped me back to reality. “Mommy, mommy, can we go now? I’m hungry,” she moaned. “Me too,” I said, and we went back into the car. I threw my camera on the back seat along with the “Misty” sign, figuring I had enough memories of the place. Nothing could change what happened here.

As my daughter and I drove down Clever Road, I glanced back at the old farmhouse in the rearview mirror one last time. It would soon disappear forever, along with the lilac and forsythia bushes and delicate lilies of the valley that poked through the spring thaw each year. The springhouse and the old maple tree where I hugged my grandmother for the last time would be gone.

But they would live on in my memories, along with many things I wished I could forget

Available on Amazon

About the Author

20864529

Samantha Hart’s career has spanned music, film, and advertising, earning her a reputation as an award-winning Creative Director. Her creative marketing campaigns brought prominence and Academy Awards to films such as Fargo, Dead Man Walking, and Boys Don’t Cry while earning cult status for independent features, Dazed and Confused, Four Weddings and A Funeral, and Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

With her partner, Sam built a successful company in the advertising industry, Foundation, with over forty employees and offices in Chicago and Los Angeles. Foundation earned distinction as an early disrupter of the traditional production and post-production models combining the two under one roof.

In 2017, Sam launched Wild Bill Creative which is a creative ideation company working with brand clients, non-profits, and start-ups.

Sam currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband, director James Lipetzky, and their sons, Davis and Denham.

Samantha Hart

Giveaway: Signed Copy of Blind Pony (Canada and US only)

a Rafflecopter giveaway

BlindPony copy

Blog Tour Schedule

August 16th

Reads & Reels (Spotlight) http://readsandreels.com

Nesie’s Place (Spotlight) https://nesiesplace.wordpress.com

@greeneyedgirl0704 (Review) https://www.instagram.com/greeneyedgirl0704/

August 17th

B is for Book Review (Spotlight) https://bforbookreview.wordpress.com

Read & Rated (Spotlight) https://readandrated.com/

August 18th

@cindyroesel_readsandwrites (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/cindyroesel_readsandwrites/

Jessica Belmont (Spotlight) https://jessicabelmont.com/

@happily_undignified (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/happily_undignified/

August 19th

Liliyana Shadowlyn (Review) https://lshadowlynauthor.com/

Rambling Mads (Review) http://ramblingmads.com

@esmeralda_lagiggles18 (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/esmeralda_lagiggles18/

August 20th

Kristin’s Novel Café (Review) https://knovelcafe.wordpress.com/

Freelance Writer Janny (Spotlight) https://freelancewriterjannyc.com/

@booknerdkat (Spotlight) https://www.instagram.com/booknerdkat/

Misty’s Book Space (Spotlight) http://mistysbookspace.wordpress.com

Blog Tour Organized By:

R&R Button

R&R Book Tours

#BookBlitz “Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell” by Samantha Hart

BlindPony

All that glitters is not gold… Get an inside look at the darker side of the entertainment industry and the life of Samantha Hart in Blind Pony.

56303766Blind Pony

Publication Date: March 15th, 2021

Genre: Memoir/ Biography

When your mother names you after your father’s affair, you might wish you were living someone else’s life.

For Samantha Hart, growing up on a farm in rural Pennsylvania had been no childhood idyll but rather a violent, surreal nightmare. A twisted vision of pastoral life part Faulkner part Dante. At fourteen years old, she ran away in search of her father, a character she only knew as Wild Bill. Discovering he wasn’t the hero she dreamt he’d be, she was on her own.

Arriving in Los Angeles at the peak of LA’s decadence where money, drugs, and good times flowed, she floated through a strange new world of champagne-soaked parties, high-stakes backgammon tournaments, and a whirlwind of international escapades flogging nude photographs. When a wealthy playboy mistakes her Pittsburgh accent for being British, it begins a spiral of white lies leading Sam to question everything she thought she knew about herself and who she could be.

Blind Pony is a story of healing and hope, a coming of age narrative intersecting themes of recovery, redemption, forgiveness, and the struggle it takes to define life on your terms.

Add to Goodreads

Excerpt

”A FAREWELL TO THE FARM”

I opened the door to the barn with a bit of trepidation. The smells that once pervaded my senses—new-mown hay, leather, and living animals—had turned to a dank, musty odor. I held Vignette’s hand as we stepped carefully past the empty stalls, ready for something sinister to jump out at any moment. We ventured toward a stable in the back, and above us was the plaque I carved with a wood burner, the name “Misty.” Misty was born when I was eight years old and was the offspring of my beloved pony, Princess.

“Follow me.” I darted up the narrow wooden stairs. Vignette stayed close on my heels as we headed to my grandfather’s abandoned workshop to rummage around for something to pry off the sign. The remnants of a moonshine distillery sat cloaked in dust in an open cabinet, and as I breathed in the musky air, I could feel my grandfather’s presence and hear the nasty whistling sound he made when he was coming for me.

“Mommy, are you crying?”

“No, honey, got some dust in my eyes. Let’s get out of here.”

I grabbed the crowbar, intent on rescuing Misty’s sign. It was a relic from my childhood, and I was unwilling to leave it to the wrecking ball.

“So, Misty was your pony, Mommy?”

“No, but she was my pony Princess’ baby, just like you are my baby. That’s why I got to name her and made this sign for her. Look, I have a scar on my finger where I burned myself making that sign.”

“That must have hurt. I love you, Mommy.”

“I love you, too.” Equal measures of joy and sorrow overwhelmed me, conjured by a place I thought I would never see again. We traipsed outside so I could stow the plaque inside the car, and Vignette spotted an old tractor.

“Look at this cool tractor, Mommy! Can I climb on it?”

“Yes, but be careful,” I said. My mind drifted. I could almost hear the chatter between my sisters and me as we saddled up at the corral to take our horses out for trail rides.

Princess was blind in one eye, so she kept a slower pace than the other horses as we galloped up past the oil rig with its rhythmic chugging and stench of old black oil. The sound of thundering hoofs would ring in my ears, and by the time we reached the top of Gobbler’s Knob, the view would be invisible through the thick cloud of dust, and I’d be as blind as Princess.

The past was so vivid, I almost forgot I wanted to capture this moment with Vignette. As I went back to the car to retrieve my camera, the familiar sound of the gravel crunching beneath my feet unspooled memories of a story my mother had repeated to me throughout my childhood.

Late one night, Bill Butter pulled into the gravel driveway well past midnight. Dean Martin’s just-released record “Volare” blared over the car radio. Bill continued his drunken crooning after turning off the ignition,

though, in his stupor, he left the headlights on. My mother, Clara, peered out the upstairs window to see her husband silhouetted by the car’s lights, stumbling up the stone path, cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. Annoyed and embarrassed by his returning from these late-night trysts with other women, which had become too frequent, she climbed back into bed, pretending to be asleep, and got tangled up in her oversized flannel nightgown.

A gust of frosty Pennsylvania wind followed Bill up the stairs to the bedroom. He pulled his pants down just far enough to expose his stiffened penis, then threw himself on top of his wife while endeavoring, with frustration, to unravel the nightgown.

Clara realized her best option for keeping their small children from waking was to make way for the inevitable drunken thrust between her naked thighs. When he found his way to an orgasm, he hollered out the name of his current mistress, Pammy Sue, and unceremoniously deposited the seed that would grow into a girl destined to be nothing but trouble. The first sign of said trouble began the very next morning with a dead car battery.

Nine months later, my mother gave birth to her fourth child on the first day of fall. Dad thought I would be a boy, and he named me Sam. Maybe he hoped I would be a boy so he could stop hearing about Pammy Sue. As luck would have it, he pulled four aces. I was his fourth daughter.

My mother’s frozen heart determined to immortalize her husband’s infidelity and spelled it out on the birth certificate. But for as long as I knew my dad, he never called me by any other name but Sam. I always thought the name suited me. My mother prodded me so often with the reason my name was Pammy that my official name repulsed me.

Vignette tugged on my sleeve and snapped me back to reality. “Mommy, mommy, can we go now? I’m hungry,” she moaned. “Me too,” I said, and we went back into the car. I threw my camera on the back seat along with the “Misty” sign, figuring I had enough memories of the place. Nothing could change what happened here.

As my daughter and I drove down Clever Road, I glanced back at the old farmhouse in the rearview mirror one last time. It would soon disappear forever, along with the lilac and forsythia bushes and delicate lilies of the valley that poked through the spring thaw each year. The springhouse and the old maple tree where I hugged my grandmother for the last time would be gone.

But they would live on in my memories, along with many things I wished I could forget

Available on Amazon

About the Author

20864529

Samantha Hart’s career has spanned music, film, and advertising, earning her a reputation as an award-winning Creative Director. Her creative marketing campaigns brought prominence and Academy Awards to films such as Fargo, Dead Man Walking, and Boys Don’t Cry while earning cult status for independent features, Dazed and Confused, Four Weddings and A Funeral, and Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

With her partner, Sam built a successful company in the advertising industry, Foundation, with over forty employees and offices in Chicago and Los Angeles. Foundation earned distinction as an early disrupter of the traditional production and post-production models combining the two under one roof.

In 2017, Sam launched Wild Bill Creative which is a creative ideation company working with brand clients, non-profits, and start-ups.

Sam currently lives in Los Angeles with her husband, director James Lipetzky, and their sons, Davis and Denham.

Samantha Hart

Giveaway: Signed Copy of Blind Pony (Canada and US only) Closes July 18th

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Book Blitz Organized By:

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#BookSale ⭐️ Think Black: A Memoir⭐️ by Clyde W. Ford

~~~

“Powerful memoir. . .Ford’s thought-provoking narrative tells the story of African-American pride and perseverance.”

–Publisher’s Weekly (Starred)

“A masterful storyteller, Ford interweaves his personal story with the backdrop of the social movements unfolding at that time, providing a revealing insider’s view of the tech industry. . . simultaneously informative and entertaining. . . A powerful, engrossing look at race and technology.”

–Kirkus Review (Starred)

In this thought-provoking and heartbreaking memoir, an award-winning writer tells the story of his father, John Stanley Ford, the first black software engineer at IBM, revealing how racism insidiously affected his father’s view of himself and their relationship.

In 1947, Thomas J. Watson set out to find the best and brightest minds for IBM. At City College he met young accounting student John Stanley Ford and hired him to become IBM’s first black software engineer. But not all of the company’s white employees refused to accept a black colleague and did everything in their power to humiliate, subvert, and undermine Ford.

Yet Ford would not quit. Viewing the job as the opportunity of a lifetime, he comported himself with dignity and professionalism, and relied on his community and his “street smarts” to succeed. He did not know that his hiring was meant to distract from IBM’s dubious business practices, including its involvement in the Holocaust, eugenics, and apartheid.

While Ford remained at IBM, it came at great emotional cost to himself and his family, especially his son Clyde. Overlooked for promotions he deserved, the embittered Ford began blaming his fate on his skin color and the notion that darker-skinned people like him were less intelligent and less capable—beliefs that painfully divided him and Clyde, who followed him to IBM two decades later.

From his first day of work—with his wide-lapelled suit, bright red turtleneck, and huge afro—Clyde made clear he was different. Only IBM hadn’t changed. As he, too, experienced the same institutional racism, Clyde began to better understand the subtle yet daring ways his father had fought back.

1.99 for a limited time at all online retailers!

Amazon

~~~

Still $2.99! Cicely Tyson’s “Just As I Am”

This price won’t last much longer – $2.99 at all online retailers – an $11 savings!

Grab your copy now!

 

just as I am

~~~

“In her long and extraordinary career, Cicely Tyson has not only succeeded as an actor, she has shaped the course of history.” –President Barack Obama, 2016 Presidential Medal of Freedom ceremony

“Just as I Am is my truth. It is me, plain and unvarnished, with the glitter and garland set aside. In these pages, I am indeed Cicely, the actress who has been blessed to grace the stage and screen for six decades. Yet I am also the church girl who once rarely spoke a word. I am the teenager who sought solace in the verses of the old hymn for which this book is named. I am a daughter and a mother, a sister and a friend. I am an observer of human nature and the dreamer of audacious dreams. I am a woman who has hurt as immeasurably as I have loved, a child of God divinely guided by his hand. And here in my ninth decade, I am a woman who, at long last, has something meaningful to say.” –Cicely Tyson

Amazon

~~~

#BlogTour “Lark and the Loon” By Rhiannon Gelston

I’m delighted to be participating
in author Rhiannon Gelston’s blog tour for her latest release, LARK AND
THE LOON
.

◊ Genre: Memoir with a Twist
◊ Publisher: WiDo Publishing (July 17, 2020)
◊ Print & eBooks
◊ Paperback: 284 pages
◊ ISBN-10: 1947966251
◊ ISBN-13: 978-1947966253

Lark and the Loon follows
the adventures of a tentative boy named
Lark, as he is catapulted out of all that he
knows, into a courageous journey beyond his wildest
imagination.

Upon receiving a special gift
from his Gramps, Lark embarks on a reflective journey of self-discovery as the
innovative story weaves the true-life memoir of his mother (the author) in with
a fantastical journey. With some special new-found friends, Lark travels back
and forth from a symbolic tree to his mother’s true memories of life and death
moments, and simple moments, found everywhere from wild Africa to their very
own living room. Lark and his friends must ascend this tree and gain the
important life lessons offered along the way if they ever hope to find their
way out. Within this journey, Lark finds these lessons, and ultimately himself,
in the space between imagination and truth in this wild tale.

The story explores friendships,
philosophies, and everyday challenges and joys, both from a child’s perspective
and from a parent’s perspective. This memoir with a twist results in a coming-of-age
story that ultimately leads to a new understanding of self, others, and the
world that surrounds us.

~~~

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Lark

“Free to be you and me.”

—Marlo Thomas

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. Lark slowly opened his eyes. He was in completely different surroundings once again. BEEP. BEEP. June was no longer here, and Lark was no longer there. Things were no longer red. They were mostly white with hints of vanilla and yellow, with bright lights and people. He looked quickly around and realized he must be in a hospital room: a small room with babies in metal cribs surrounded by beeping machines. Sitting in a chair right in front of him, yet totally oblivious to his sudden presence, was his mother. She looked so tired. She looked more tired than Lark had ever seen her before. Her hair was wild and unbrushed, and deep blue and purple circles cast a shadow under her big brown eyes.

Mommy was singing “You Are My Sunshine” softly in a chokedup whisper, colorless, salty tears streaming down her face, and somehow, Lark was here to see it. He was here to hear it. He was here to see and to hear but mostly here to feel. That was what the adventure was all about.

Lark didn’t start out adventurous. He started out impulsive yet hesitant, imaginative yet rigid. Adventure was something he had learned how to do, over time. It was a choice, and like anything else, it took practice. Sometimes it was hard. Sometimes it was easy. No matter what, he found it always seemed to be the right choice if he managed to get out of his own way.

To do that, Lark needed to let go and just go with the flow, and in doing so, he was able to become his true self. Some people spent their entire lives running from themselves, so afraid they would finally catch up with themselves and be forced to have a good, long, hard look at who they were and where they came from and where they were going. Forced to look at who they were becoming.

Lark had done just that; he caught up with himself. He had that good, long, hard look within, and once he did, he realized he didn’t need to look forward and backward so much; he found he needed to look within. With a glance to the side every now and then, he could see all around him. He could become.

Lark learned all this by the time he was ten.

~~~


LARK AND THE LOON
is
available at AMAZONBarnes & Noble * WiDo Publishing. Also, be sure to add it to your TBR List
on Goodreads.

Meet the
Author


RHIANNON GELSTON
loves to
lose herself in all things creative. She enjoys writing, painting, live music,
traveling, sports, being outdoors, exploring, playing, spirituality, and energy
work. She has a BA in English and an MS in Occupational Therapy with a
pediatric focus. Rhiannon just had her first novel published. It is a memoir
with a twist called, LARK AND THE LOON, available wherever books
are sold.

Rhiannon grew up on Spa Creek in
downtown Annapolis. Home for Rhiannon will always be the sound of the halyards
hitting the masts on a breezy day, a pile of crabs saturated in Old Bay,
raft-ups with friends as kids cannonball off of the stern, and time with family
and friends, in, on, and around the Chesapeake Bay.

She lives in Annapolis with her
husband, their five lovely and lively children, and their black lab, McNasby.

Connect with Rhiannon on Facebook and Instagram.

Be sure to enter the tour wide
giveaway. It ends May 3. The grand prize is a $25 Amazon Gift Card and an eBook
of LARK AND THE LOON. The second-place winner has to be a US
resident as the gift is a signed copy of LARK THE LOON. The third-place
prize is an eBook that two winners will receive. If the Rafflecopter widget
doesn’t work, you can still enter by clicking HERE.

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Thanks for stopping by today.
Doesn’t this sound like an intriguing memoir?