December 16, 2010

Say what, Robson?

The cover isn't finished yet...this is just an ad
Mary thought the last person she wanted to see on her Hawaiian vacation
was her ex-brother-in-law, a Montana Park Ranger...
Facebook?- If you could only see me struggling with the simplest of computer tasks, Robson, you'd laugh. Interface with Facebook? Oh, my. I did look around Google, hoping for a little button I could just push, but no luck. I appreciate your input. Thanks for writing. Facebook button, huh? Hmmmmm...I'll look around some more...
Boogie, Boots, & Cherry Pie- I had an email asking why I delayed my newest romance to do a piece for a multi-cultural website. It was a tough call; I'm normally very methodic about my work habits. The answer is that the multi-cultural thing was a collaborative effort, and I didn't want to keep other writers waiting for me to finish my piece of the project.
Quote du jour: "Trouble rides a fast horse." Jimmy Stewart in The Cheyenne Social Club
See all of my books and read sample chapters here:
purchase my books on:

December 13, 2010

Merry Christmas!

2010 Christmas card

"Mary thinks the last person she wants to see on her Hawaiian vacation is her ex-brother-in-law, a Montana Park Ranger..."

What’s up?
I’ve been working on a lot of projects. I coordinated and participated in a holiday book event for our Northwest Authors in November. It was a huge success and I consider it the first Christmas party of the season for me. There’s more info on my webpage:

2010 Oklahoma Book Awards- Even though the book I wrote this year isn’t based in Oklahoma, I entered the contest anyway so they won’t forget me! Bears in the Hibiscus is a humorous romance that should give the judges some giggles even if it isn’t chosen to be a finalist.

I’ve just completed a collaboration with other writers for a multi-cultural website:!/pages/Bicultural-and-Multicultural-People-Rule-A-Place-to-Discuss-Our-Uniquenes/103633399674730 , I’ll let you know when it is posted.

I did my Christmas card for 2010. I’ve posted it above.

Mentored several authors on how to get their books on Kindle.

Boogie, Boots, and Cherry Pie is back from the editor and is ready for final tweaking.

I hope you all have a Merry Christmas! A belated Happy Hanukah to my Jewish friends (time got away from me this year).

In the new year, I’ll be posting some sample chapters from other Northwest authors. Please check back!

Now, I’d better get out the catalogs and do some Christmas shopping. Where does the time go?

Quote du jour: "Knowledge is a rising tide that floats all boats." Courtesy of Mike Meraz (not a relation of mine...I say that to protect him!)

No time to edit! Send complaints to my email address:

October 29, 2010

Vote Patty Murray!

Vote for Patty Murray!
Photo courtesy of Sierra Club. Alright, I swiped it from them.
What are they going to do about it, feed me to the whales?

10-29-10- Patty has done a good job for the people of Washigton and our country. Whether or not you are in agreement with our political process, power in the U. S. Senate stems from seniority. In Patty, we have a 3-term senator who has proven her ability to function as a U. S. Senator and is a powerful voice for the State of Washington. In these economic times, replacing her with a junior senator with no voice and no position of power is not smart politics. Her opponent, Mr. Rossi, has run for governor twice. Now he is running for the U. S. Senate. The Washington electorate has twice made the correct decision and should, once again, reject Mr. Rossi's attempt to feed at the public trough he so vehemently opposes. Dino Rossi: Not ready for prime time!

Vote, Washington! Rock the vote!

September 01, 2010

Price break on Kindle Bears in the Hibiscus!

New Kindle price: $4.99 USD
paperback, $9.99 USD

Mary thinks the last person she wants to see on her Hawaiian vacation is her ex-brother-in-law, a Montana Park Ranger...

There's still some sun left...order this book and run for the beach!

Note: All of my books are formatted for Kindle and paperback. Not all of my guest authors have their books in a format for Kindle, and are only available in paperback.

August 22, 2010

Snakes, and lizards, and cherry pie, oh my!

Why did that hunky guy grin when Lily ordered a piece of cherry Pie?
A new, humorous romance by Janelle Meraz Hooper

July 10, 2010

Guest author, Elfi Hornby

Dancing to War © 1997 Elfi Hornby
non-fiction, 296 pages, $16.95
From time to time, I like to feature books by Northwest authors other than myself. My guest for July is Elfi Hornby. I hope you'll enjoy this excerpt:
In victory or defeat, war is about death, suffering and destruction.
It is the taker of youth, the taker of dreams.



An eerie, dead darkness shrouded the city of Poznan, Poland on that early January morning in 1943. The unlit streets remained deserted. The blacked-out buildings gave no hint of life within. Only occasional gusts of wind, whooshing around corners, rattling a loose shutter or door, broke the dark, ghostly silence and momentarily cleared the air of soot and smoke. It seemed as if Poznan and all that dwelled within it had fallen into a coma or under some evil spell.
My colleagues and I sat shivering on our trunks and suitcases in the back of a canvas-topped truck, waiting for the driver to take us to the railway station. Cold and miserable inside and out, our usually animated group had slipped into brooding silence. Suddenly sucked into the eye of a vicious storm, a bloody, merciless war, we pondered our helpless, hopeless situation and our chances of survival.
There were eleven of us: eight girls, dancers, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one; Hannimusch, a matronly singer and our accompanist; Egon Molkow, our director, ballet-and-taskmaster; and his wife, Hilde, mother hen and go-between. I was sixteen, the youngest in the group.
Our small, traveling dance company had recently left Berlin to begin a new tour through eastern Germany. Relieved to escape the nightly bombing raids on the city, we grudgingly accepted the tedium of wartime travel, from late and overcrowded trains and broken-down buses, to unheated hotels and theaters. At least, we were no longer in the line of fire.
We had spent less than two weeks on the road when our troupe received a summons to appear and audition before the German Military High Command in Poznan, Poland. It superceded all prior commitments and put us on the next train to Poznan. We knew that the military on occasion drafted shows for the sole purpose of entertaining its troops, and speculated with some excitement that we might be sent to France, Belgium, or to some other safe zone.
In a whirlwind of events, within only three days after arriving in Poznan, we had auditioned, were approved and processed like draftees, were given a number and handed our orders—a six-month assignment to the Russian front.
The Russian front!!! Our first reaction was, “No! This can’t be happening! Not to us! They would not…they could not send us girls, adolescents to the front, into the bloodiest of all battle zones! To Russia…in the deep of winter? No! We aren’t soldiers, we are dancers.”
The Russian Front!!! Orders every soldier feared. Orders often given out as punishment. Too many of our men who had been sent there never returned. The lucky ones got wounded. It was like a death sentence.
Also, the timing could not have been worse. The German army had just suffered its biggest, bloodiest defeat of the entire war at Stalingrad, which left it crippled and its front lines virtually defenseless. Our soldiers complained bitterly about shortages, from winter clothing, to supplies, to ammunition and equipment. Now they faced a stronger-than-ever Russian army, preparing to launch a new major offensive and had nothing left to stop it. Morale among them had plummeted to its lowest point.
What could they want with girls at a time like this?
Our orders listed Smolensk as our immediate destination. On a map at headquarters, it showed Smolensk to be only twenty some miles behind the lines, protruding into enemy territory like a burr. A severe winter freeze had temporarily stalled the fighting there, but once the weather eased, we would be caught in the thick of it. We felt like sacrificial lambs sent to appease the God of war.
During the short, bumpy ride through the narrow, cobbled streets of Poznan to the railway station, my mind raced down a road of gloomy scenarios. Six months from now, where would I be? Dead? Wounded? Or even worse—captured by the Russians? We had heard stories about another troupe like ours that had been captured and was later found raped, tortured to death and mutilated. Would I live to see my seventeenth birthday? I thought of home and my parents. It would break their hearts when they found out. They have had no say, and would not even know about my fate until they received my letter. That could take from one to two weeks.
Dry, voiceless sobs shuddered up my throat.
The truck stopped. With flashlight in hand, the driver came around to the back and lifted us down. Laden down with bags and bundles, we trudged behind our director, Herr Molkow, through a tunnel made of rocks and sandbags to a massive door which opened onto the enormous, empty lobby of Poznan's railway station. Our entrance stirred up a drone of ghostly echoes. Molkow waited until everyone was accounted for, then ordered us to stay there while he oversaw the transfer of our baggage.
Left standing in the middle of this immense, empty space our group appeared lost and abandoned. Our voices drowned in the reverberations of Molkow’s footsteps that multiplied to sound like an army, marching. The echoes hung in the chilly air long after he had disappeared into the shadowy recesses of the depot.
I scanned the dimly lit space for a bench, a counter or shelf, anything where I could set down my load. Nothing. Grimy outlines on the inlaid, marble floor still indicated where such furnishings used to stand, but the place was gutted, plundered. Scrap lumber closed off broken ticket and concession windows. Holes in the stone walls with wires sticking out suggested an earlier presence of lighting fixtures. A low-wattage bulb on a long, thin wire dangled from high above a domed ceiling, casting a dim, shadowy light, the only light inside the station. It was also the only clue that the station was still in operation.
My eyes lingered on the still undamaged, ornately sculpted border that banded the cupola and two supporting marble pillars. It spoke of Poland’s better days, of a time described in dusty old romance novels I had read.
The straps and handles of my bags and bundles cut into my arms and hands. Reluctantly, I set them on the dirty floor to allow the blood to flow back into my freezing, tingling fingers. Inge and Erika did the same. The three of us usually hung out together. Inge was from Hamburg, a quiet, shy, wispy, frizzy-haired dreamer with eyes like a fawn's, only months older than myself. Erika, already seventeen, was my roommate and best friend. Square and solid in build and character, with a no-nonsense attitude, she was my bulwark; my source of stability and advice. In many ways, she and I were opposites. She was orderly; I was disorganized. She respected and obeyed rules; I questioned and challenged them. She was level headed; I was impulsive. I was her source of entertainment and adventure, and she made sure that I did not step off the deep end. She anchored me; I gave her flight. We were a good combination. We needed and depended on each other.
All three of us had signed on with the Molkow Ballet under a government required apprenticeship contract. As minors, we had to attend and graduate from a State-approved program for artists that included more than just dance training.
Other books by Elfi Hornby:
Shadow of Defeat
So, This is America!
Blogger's note:
This is one of my favorite books!
Janelle Meraz Hooper

July 04, 2010

A very different Fourth of July picnic

Custer and His Naked Ladies, Janelle Meraz Hooper

Chapter 15- SOAP ON A BOX
Excerpt: (formatting problems, sorry!)
...Vera and Maxine set up the picnic for the first meal. They’d all be there until the fireworks were over later that night, so food would be shuffled in and out of the ice chests all day. Grace had invited Kiowa and Marshall to eat with them;naturally, Maxine was glad they were going to stay near their table to protect Soap. No one around them seemed to notice the company that Grace and her table had were wearing uniforms. The men had been around town for so many years that everyone just accepted them as a natural part of the crowd at any community event.
They did notice the mobsters. Glory wasn’t surprised that everyone gave them a wide berth, even with Kiowa and Marshall there. The mobsters just sneered when they saw Soap, as if the fact that they’d failed to kill him was unsurprising and inconsequential. Glory’s hope of seeing them squirm was not to be fulfilled. At least, they weren’t two-faced enough to smile at Soap and the women as they set up their picnic table. Glory gave them credit for that. They would look at the women and Soap and shift their gun holsters under their suits with their arms. Their demeanor said that they had everything under control, and that Soap’s presence made no difference to them. Had they planned for Soap to be rescued before he drowned? No one would ever know, but Glory didn’t think so.Right next to them, sat Frieda in a lawn chair. By her purse was a disposable ice chest and a grocery sack that looked like it was full of hastily purchased snacks.
“Oh, dear, it looks like she’s brought enough food for the mobsters too,” Grace said, “how did she ever meet them?”
“I don’t know, but her being close to them is no accident,” Vera observed,“One of the mob’s cowboy hats is under her chair.”
“Mom, I’ve told you for years that woman is nuts. She’s going to fool around and get herself hurt,” Glory said. “I can’t believe she was greedy enough to hook up with the mob. If something bad happens, she has it coming.”
The speeches wouldn’t start until nightfall when it cooled off, but groups for and against the casino were already forming around tubs of iced beer. Although it was hot, the adult men wore shirts; only the young boys were shirtless. Glory smiled at the sight of the men in their pressed, short sleeved cotton shirts. There was something respectful about their not sitting shirtless at the tables, as if they’d been raised by a Southern nanny.
By contrast, the mafia formed an uncomfortable,over-dressed third group in striped suits and western shirts, and stood cockily around the soapbox. They’d mumble at each other, then sneer.
Mumble, sneer.
Mumble, sneer.
Vera casually observed the tribe from New York, “They look awfully smug,
don’t they? I wonder what they’re up to?”
“I think they’re trying to intimidate us. And, you know, this is the first time they’ve seen us up close. Maybe they’re sizing us up,” Maxine said.
The women all put their purses on top of the table and raised their eyebrows at the men. The men looked at the flowered purses, then at each other. Puzzled,they shrugged their shoulders. Lordy, Glory thought, this could get ugly. These women had no idea what they would be getting into if a fight started. Glory did. She’d seen the fights between the students and policemen during the peace rallies when she was in college. Many times, she feared the police force might lose it and start firing at the students. It had happened before, at other colleges. If she could have thrown all the women into the car and headed back to Pete’s, she would have. As if they’d go and leave Soap. Well, then, she thought, if she could get Soap to leave, the women would follow.
“Soap, this doesn’t look good. Help me get the girls back to the resort, okay?”
“I can’t leave now, Glory. I could get Kiowa to run you girls home, but I think that we’re safer here, out in the open.”
“Fine. Let’s have a good old-fashioned gunfight and kill everybody.” Glory ignored Soap’s hurt look and turned to join the women. and other Internet book sites

June 24, 2010

Judy Comer Franklin, guest author

Sanctuary Stones, JMC Publishing, paperback, 183 pages, $16.00 USD.

My guest author is Judy Comer Franklin. Judy has just released Sanctuary Stones, the second book in her May Scott Mystery series. Her first book in the series is Cold Passion. Judy was born and raised in North Carolina. She now lives in Tacoma, Washington.

Chapter One

December 1964

Autumn didn’t want to let go of the Wiltshire plain. There had been several days with wind and rain but the leaves, in their colorful splendor, wouldn’t release their hold on the tree branches and fall to the ground. The crispness in the air and sunny days belied the calendar, which indicated harsh winter should have arrived. Lazy smoke rose from the cottage chimneys and left a lingering smell in the air of comfort and home.
Roses spilled over the fences. Apples, some on the ground but more on the trees, were alternately used as weapons for children to throw at each other or to eat, with the sweet juice dripping down their chins.
Birds scratched around in the fields that had been turned under by the farmers’ tractor blades. By now, the birds would have started their migration south to the warmer climes of Southern Europe. This year, though, the geese and smaller birds waited for their inbred knowledge to tell them when to take flight. Their calendars were surer than the farmers, who shook their heads and wondered what was happening to the weather. It was the primary topic of conversation in the pubs and no one had an answer but everyone had an opinion.
The young girl leaned out of her opened bedroom window and took in deep lungfuls of air. She loved the smell of autumn and was happy that it had lasted much longer this year. Her bottle-blonde hair, the same shade as her mother’s, shone in the sunny afternoon. She turned toward the mirror that hung over her small dresser and pinched her cheeks, which were already rosy. Her blue eyes looked back and she smiled in anticipation of her afternoon. After rummaging around her closet, she pulled out a sweater, although she wasn’t sure she’d need it for the ride she was about to take.
Now, all she had to do was sneak out of the house, get her bicycle from the shed in back and make sure her mum saw none of it. She looked at the clock and knew it was time to leave.
She tiptoed out of her room and moved as quietly as possible toward the rear of the little stone house. When she opened the backdoor it made the familiar squeak that usually didn’t sound so loud.
“Sarah, where are you going at this time of afternoon?” her mum asked as she rounded the corner and saw her sixteen-year-old daughter halfway out the door. “It’s almost time to start our tea. Your dad will be home within the hour.”
“I need to go to the library and pick up a book for my school project,” Sarah answered, hoping her mum believed the lie. She could feel the slow flush that was creeping up her neck onto her face. “I’ll be home before dad gets here, I promise,” she said, knowing it was another lie.
Her mother looked at her daughter, saw the flush and asked, “Are you going to the stones? How many times have I told you to stay away from there? The Boat of the Dead’ll take you away to Avalon if you don’t stop it. You aren’t going there, are you, Sarah?”
“No, Mum, I told you. I’m going to the library. I’ll see you later, in time to help with dad’s tea.”
Sarah closed the door and ran for the shed and her bike. Her mother always seemed to know exactly where she was going, but Sarah didn’t believe that nonsense about the stones. She had always felt safe there, as if she was in the sanctuary of a church. It wasn’t scary at all, no matter all the legends that surrounded the stones.
The busy A303 that skirted the village went out to the area, but Sarah knew another way, across the fields and along a path that, for a little while, followed the River Avon. She didn’t like lying to her mum, but she just had to meet him. He had crept into her mind and heart and nothing could keep her from him, even the love she had for her mum and dad.
Her bike rattled over the rough path. The sky was a beautiful robin’s egg blue and the journey seemed shorter than it was because she enjoyed being outside on such a wonderful early winter day.
When Sarah reached a small rise, she got off her bicycle and stood for a few moments and took in the splendid view that lay before her. The massive stones that formed Stonehenge stood sentinel, as they had for thousands of years.
She hesitated and wondered at the small voice that she seemed to hear, coming from deep inside of her. “Don’t go,” it pleaded. “Go home to your mum and dad.”
Sarah got on her bike and considered turning around and peddling as fast as she could toward home. She took another look toward the stones just as he came out from behind one of the sarsens and waved to her. She waved and smiled but the voice was still within her, telling her not to go, to turn back now, before it was too late.

March 1965

“Mrs. Waters, you’ve got to help me,” Sarah said between sobs as she knocked on the door of the whitewashed limestone cottage at the edge of the village.
“Go away! I don’t want anything to do with any of you from around here,” the old voice said.
“I’m desperate, Mrs. Waters. You’re my only hope.” Tears and terror made Sarah difficult to understand.
A gnarled claw of a hand reached outside the door and creaked it open. “All right, child, come in.”
Sarah had never been inside this house but she’d spent plenty of time outside it, especially on All Saint’s Eve. It was a well-known fact that Mrs. Waters practiced the ancient arts of the goddess.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m pregnant, Mrs. Waters, and I don’t know what to do.”
“Marry the boy.” A large tabby cat strolled into the room and sat next to the fire, which burned cheerfully in the grate.
Tears ran down Sarah’s face and her tragic eyes told the story.
“So, he won’t marry you, will he?” Mrs. Waters had heard this tale told a thousand times. She moved toward a large, soft chair and sat down.
“When I told him we were going to have a baby I thought he’d be happy, like I was. I told him I loved him and he said, ‘Well, there’s nothing I can do about that. And anyway, how do I know it’s mine?’ Then he walked off and I haven’t seen him since.”
Mrs. Waters looked at the young girl and heaved herself up from the comfortable chair. She walked over to a cabinet that covered the better part of a wall and opened one of the doors. Inside, bottles and boxes were stored in tidy rows. “Here’s what can help you, if that’s how you want to solve the problem.” She walked over to Sarah and handed her a small bottle with an undecipherable label on it. “Take this every night for a week and by the eighth day, he’ll be gone.”
“He?” Sarah asked as she looked at the bottle. It glistened in the firelight.
“Your baby boy,” Mrs. Waters said as she carefully watched Sarah’s
“My mum and dad would kill me if they knew. I’m their perfect daughter. I’ve always done everything they wanted. I can’t tell them. My mum couldn’t show her face in the village anymore. Dad would be the worst, though. He’d disown me. I’d never see them again. I don’t want to kill my little baby, but I don’t have anywhere else to turn.” Sarah put her hands over her eyes and rubbed them, as if she could rub the horror away. “How much do I owe you, Mrs. Waters? I have some money with me.”
“Naught. Just think hard about what you’re about to do, Sarah. Go to the sanctuary stones and listen to what they tell you.”
“I don’t know where they are. Tell me and I’ll go. Where are the sanctuary stones, Mrs. Waters?”
“You know, child. You’ve always known.”

contact Judy:

purchase her books:

June 23, 2010

Kindle Books! Summer reading!

Kindle books by Janelle Meraz Hooper
A Three-Turtle Summer- Fictional autobiography, 2002 Bold Media Fiction Winner. Paperback, iUniverse, $17.95 USD. Kindle $7.96 USD.
It's A Three-Turtle Summer--hot--and Grace has to dump a man who's meaner than a rattlesnake and dumber than adobe...
As Brown As I Want: The Indianhead Diaries-Fictional autobiography, 2004 Oklahoma Book Awards finalist.Paperback, iUniverse, $13.95 USD. Kindle, $7.96 USD.
Eight-year-old Glory's father has taken out a $50,000 accidental-death policy on her. Now, he's spending the summer trying to collect. A young adult favorite.
Custer and His Naked Ladies- Women's fiction. New. Paperback, iUniverse, $15.95 USD. Kindle, $7.96 USD.
Newly divorced, Glory's biological clock is pounding like a powwow drum. She heads back home to Oklahoma, where she meets Soap, a sexy Comanche lawyer who wants to do something about that powwow drum pounding in her head.
Bears in the Hibiscus- A humorous romance. New. Paperback, CreateSpace, $9.99 USD, Kindle $5.96 USD.
Mary thinks the last person she wants to see on her Hawaiian vacation is her ex-brother-in-law, a Montana Park Ranger...
Free Pecan Pie and Other Chick Stories- Mixed genre. Paperback, iUniverse, $12.95 USD. Kindle, $7.96 USD.
What's a chick story? It's a story with no drugs, bombs or spies who have numbers instead of names. And clean. It has to be clean. Teacher favorite.

June 06, 2010

It's good weather to read!

Hanauma Bay-More research for Bears in the Hibiscus
(Mary thinks the last person she wants to see on her Hawaiian vacation
is her ex-brother-in-law, a Montana Park Ranger...)
Available in Paperback and Kindle, on & other online book sites
What's up? Rain, rain, rain! Two of my friends have grabbed their copy of Bears in the Hibiscus and fled for Hawaii. We had a good day yesterday, but the rain moved in again during the night. In my old age, I have become a realist. We opted to put plastic furniture on our new deck. It was a good decision. Those gorgeous deck sets in the catalog won't float, I'm sure.
What are you reading?- email me ( ) and let me know!
On my TV- Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow with film of the oil-covered birds on the gulf. It's too sad to watch; I have to turn away.
On my Kindle- The Jade Owl, by Edward E. Patterson. This book is pushing all of my buttons. First, it's character-driven, and has the most delicious characters. Second, the subject is about China and Chinese artifacts. As a part-Hispanic, I was always in trouble with my mother because I was drawn to Asian design. She took it very hard. I'm particularly partial to Asian porcelains and fabrics. The writing style could use a little tightening up, but that's a minor issue. I can barely tear myself away to do my own writing! It is pure enjoyment.
The Angel's Game-by Carlos Ruiz Zafron- This well known Spanish author has more books than a restaurant has tortillas. I didn't enjoy this book as much as I expected. I'm blaming that not on the writer but on my American reading taste. I don't like to read dark and gloomy stories. Also, I was puzzled because it didn't draw me into the story until I was at the halfway point. It felt as if, at that point, a different translator took over. I have no idea if that is true or not, but it felt that way. But try it; you'll probably like it. It's a very good book.
On my bed table- cough drops. Just kidding. I've just finished Helli Jondoe by Randall Platt. This young adult novel is a real winner. Briefly, it's the story of a young, orphaned street waif who is sent West on a train and indentured to work on a farm for three years. Based on historical facts, it is a novel with real teeth in it. Hellie has it all: good story, good writing, humor, and drama. If you have a young adult in the family, get it. If not, all the better--you won't have to share it.
Quote du jour:
"I'm so busy I don't know if I found a rope or lost a horse." Unknown, courtesy of Joyce Stevens
Read about my novels:
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May 30, 2010

Off-shore drilling must stop!

Waikiki Beach- Now, this is what I call research...

My dad didn't ever say much that I could carry into later life, but he did say one thing I remember: "Girl, sometimes you have to use good old common horse sense."
This is one of those times. We most likely have destroyed the gulf area by the oil spill. Now, don't get all governmental-elitist on me and give me a bunch of crap about how people who know more than I do are in charge. THEY ARE NOT. And don't tell me BP needs and deserves understanding and patience. THEY DO NOT. And don't even bother trying to debate with me about whether or not BP was greedy, negligent, and untruthful. THEY WERE.
Now for the government. They were lazy, incompetent, weak, and possibly guilty of criminal negilgence. THEY WERE.
This gulf area, as other bodies of water, is an important food source for the world. Let's not even go into the economics of the fishing industry. I'm sorry for their lose, but let's stay focused on the main crisis. We cannot allow BP and other oil companies to continue to drill offshore even if they promise not to ever screw up again. THEY WILL.
Stop off-shore oiling. Stop it now. It doesn't take a genius to see what's at risk. All it takes is a little horse sense.

May 28, 2010

I'm back!

Promotional pins, copyright Lithium Love, 2010

I'm back!- When I began converting all of my paperbacks into a format for the electronic readers, I felt like I got sucked into my computer. Now it's all done and my readers can read my books in almost any format they choose.
I am particularly happy about the font-size options in the new devices. Until recently, I was really sight-impaired. So much so that I increased the font size of every blog and website I have. Now that my sight crisis seems to be over, I'm leaving the sites' font sizes as they are. I hope it helps anyone having sight problems.
What are you reading?- Email me and let me know!
Politics- The gulf oil spill situation has made me very sad. And angry. Is greed the biggest cause of all of our problems? Seems so. If we keep it up, we'll not have an oceanic food supply and this planet will be well on its way to extinction. Well, maybe we are already. I think I heard that there are at least five other oil spills in the Earth's oceans. Now is the time for world leadership. Instead of killing each other, why don't our leaders do something to help us live?
On my TV- I've really enjoyed watching Selling New York on HGTV. Architecture has always been one of my interests and the glimpses of high rise real properties in the middle of Manhattan has fascinated me. The giggle bonus is the people in the show--they are so full of themselves! Sometimes it hurts to watch them. I have to shut my eyes...
On my Kindle- Due to the low prices of books on Kindle, I've finished few books this month. I keep buying more. Who could resist Anna Karenina for under two bucks?! But yesterday, I did manage to finish The Angel's Game (literary) by Carlos Ruiz Zaffron. Also, in May, I read Free Prize Inside (marketing), Last Resort: Marriage (romance), Where the Heart Is ( romance), and Whirlpool (romance). I love my romance books. Years ago, there used to be a commercial whose tag line was: Calgon, take me away...That's the way I feel about romance books. If the situation in the gulf and Wall Street doesn't improve, I'm going to be reading a lot more of them!
Bernie Madoff- I haven't forgotten you, Bernie. What's for lunch over in the big house today?
Health care- Now that we have a health care bill I'm hoping to relax some. I had to withdraw from participation in the discussion because it literally made me sick. I know the bill we got isn't perfect, but we had to start somewhere. Yesterday, in the doctor's office, I read in a magazine that an acress had lung scans for years to keep tabs on a possible cancerous growth. It finally did become cancerous and she had an immediate operation to remove it. That's nice. I'm happy for her. But what about all of the people who don't have the luxury of such expensive, preventative care? Hopefully, we're on the road to making good health care assessable to everyone.
Quote du jour:
"The quality of our expectations determines the quality of our actions." Andre Goden
Bears in the Hibiscus, a humorous romance, now available in paperback on online bookstores like Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Read about my books: