Blog Tour Ponderins

Author Ponderins by Michele Ward

My poetry began in the late 1980s. Some of my ideas came from my life as a nun for 7 years at the Monastery of St. Gertrude and my struggles of entering and leaving. Many of my ideas are born from books, from other people, from depression, from delight, from nature and from every opportunism I can think of.


“Every poem is the autobiography of the emotion.” Stanley Plumly

"Michele uses her talent of words to share her own inner-self through the words of her poems. Some will be heartbreaking truth of the trials she has gone through and others will display her love for life and how she sees the world through her own eyes and with her kind and most caring heart. Michele also touches her darker side in words about her struggle with depression.

I ask as you travel down the road of her story written in between these lines of poems that you will grow to love her work and her." Poet Jeniann Bowers.

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“I AM” 
By Michele Ward 

I AM . . . Woven Wind, clearing troubled, anxious minds. Let me fluff the tresses of your straw-strewn hair.

I AM . . . Sky, filled with hopes and dreams. Dream of my possibilities for you.

I AM . . . Earth, nurturing seeds and expressing life. Hold me in you hands and smell me. Squish me soft between your naked toes.

I AM . . . Sea, with many-voiced waves whispering peace and squalling surrender. Roll up your jeans and frolic in my beauty.

I AM . . . fire, guided light and energy for your journey here. Diffuse me only if you dare.

I AM . . . Smoke, warning you of eminent danger. Watch for me.

I AM . . . Creek, on a refreshing and quenching quest, accompanying you on the curls and coils of travel.

I AM . . . Garden, to behold and nourish. I need weeding, watering, watching, sunrays bright, with dazzling light and song.

I AM. . . Grass, to cool and soften your senses. Go ahead; take off your shoes, walk on me. Let me refresh your feet for frolic.

I AM . . Flower. They call me blossom. Enjoy my short-lived beauty, frail and fragrant. Caress me quiet and elegant.

I AM . . . Rain, to soothe and shower you with trickling memories. Come outside and keep me company in the marvel of my downpour. Play in me.

I AM . . . Thunder, to release you from your daily doldrums.

I AM . . . Lightening. They call me Neon Sky. Thunder speaks of me. Look for me when thunder shakes your world. I’ll be there to entertain you and spark adventure in you languid life.

I AM . . . Ocean Tide, the ebb and flow of life: In-flowing good, out-flowing bad. But you never know what the tide is going to bring in. Hold my hand so we both won’t be swept away with the out-going bad. It is not always good to be alone.

I AM . . .Sunbeam. I love to make your body warm all over. But I can be dangerous. Don’t get too close for too long or I’ll burn you. Allow me space to glow when and where you can. Don’t shut me out all day. A little dose of me can be good for your moody moments.

I AM . . .Air, the substance you breathe. Do not take me for granted. Help me to stay pure for you. Inhale me; take me in.

I AM . . . Tree. Birds rush to settle safe in my branched arms. Come dawdle in my shade. Climb up and behold the freedom I feel up here to stir the sky senseless.

I AM . . . Bird. I dance on wind-tides to the tempo of my wings, sprinkling nymph and gnome notes over fields of dreams dreamt.

I AM . . . Music. Dance with me please! I love to dance to the rhythm of nature. Listen . Do you hear it? Or is the silence too loud for you?

I AM . . . Silence. I bring you calm and intuition. To you I promise magic. Take time to soak in my essence. Let me soften you - within and without.

I AM . . . GOD, your friend. …………….come closer.


April 12, 2001

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Interview with Michele Ward

When did you start writing poetry?
I started writing poetry in the late 1980s.

Do you have a favorite poem in your book, ‘Ponderings’?
My favorite poem in my book is, "I AM."

Who are your favorite poets to read?
My favorite poets to read are Dylan Thomas, Jeniann Bowers and E.E. Cummings.

What inspires you to write?
Much of my inspiration to write comes from books, friends, depression, delight, nature and every opportunism I can think of.

What do you hope readers take away/learn from you poetry?

When someone reads my poetry, I hope it resonates with their own experiences in life, be it tears or just that warm feeling one gets when they think, "I've been there; I can relate."  Or the nature poetry, "I feel like I just took a walk in the woods." 

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Blog Tour Randi's Steps

Blurb

If only her life were a story on paper, she could tear it into a million pieces and start over. Ten-year-old Francie McLean’s life hasn’t been the same since her best friend started battling cancer. Francie wants to be loyal and caring to Randi, but when put to the test, she fails. Will their friendship survive the disease that changes everything?

Author Bio

After graduating from the Fashion Institute of Technology, Frances worked for Bridal Guide Magazine as well as other companies as a freelance artist. When she began homeschool teaching, she turned her creative talents toward writing children’s books, writing every day as well as taking classes. Her work has been published in Clubhouse Jr. Magazine, anthologies, and Christian homeschooling newsletters. She has received two honorable mention awards in the 2010 and 2015 Writer’s Digest Annual Contest and has won nine first place Faithwriter’s Editor’s Choice awards. She has written close to two hundred short stories and poems. She also enjoys writing for her blog, francysnewmorning.com. Frances lives on Long Island with her husband, five children and a little Yorkie with a big bark.

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Excerpt/Spotlight

I swing higher and think about how Randi’s bouncy ponytail forms a long spiral. She always looks cute. My straight brown hair resembles a pilgrim boy’s. She has baby-smooth skin the color of rich cream. Freckles splash across my nose, like splattered paint. I’ve tried erasing them, but they’re stuck. White-out almost worked, until Mom made me wash the “white blobs” off my face.

I tilt my head back and close my eyes. A sports car zooms by, revving and blasting music. It sounds like Mr. Picconi’s Corvette convertible, a car he named “Jenny” and keeps hidden in the garage.

I stop swinging and daydream. On sunny days, Randi’s father would open the garage, remove his treasure, and take us for a ride with the top down. I imagined we were on the Thunderbolt Rollercoaster as he sped down the hill at the end of our street. We giggled as our stomachs felt butterfly tickles. I loved riding in the sparkly turquoise Corvette, a hundred times nicer than our squash colored station wagon. All of the boys on our block stared as we drove around in a car cooler than any of their Hot Wheels. Randi and I pretended we were the queens of Hartwell Drive.

“Hello, hello people,” we called out as we waved royal-looking waves. “We’re taking a drive through our kingdom. See you later at the castle.” I could taste the air, like a mouthful of cotton candy melting on my tongue.

The sweet tasting air suddenly turns to wet snowflakes. I leap off and trudge toward warmth, fighting the bitter wind and snow that press against me. The flakes melt on my face, blending with my tears.

I turn the front door knob like a thief trying not to trip the alarm. I want to sneak down the hall and crawl under my covers without being seen or heard. It works until my bed creaks.

“Are you okay, Francie?”

I don’t answer. I try to muffle my crying in the pillow, but those muffled cries are the alarm to Mom. A gentle knock, Mom’s knock, and the door creaks open.

Mom sits down next to me. “You can talk to me when you need to. I’m proud of you for being such a good friend.” Mom’s voice is soft and she rubs my back.

I sit up and wipe my eyes. “She’s gonna be gone a whole month in the hospital.” I picture counting the days on a calendar. A month is so long. All I want to do is sleep, wake up tomorrow, and drive away, even on the stupid school bus. Anything to get away from this mess.

Giveaway $10 Amazon Giftcard

Miss Crabtree's School for Unnaturals Blog Tour

About the Book

Deep in the woods sits an unassuming house, one not noticed by those who pass it by, but inside exists those the world has forgotten, the Unnaturals, children born with magic from an ancient source, who also possess supernatural powers that make them dangerous to the outside world. Outcasts and misunderstood, they are taken in by Miss Crabtree, the loving Headmistress of the School.

Here, at the School for Unnaturals, they learn to control their gifts and learn the art of Spellbinding under her care. When the war comes to England, their lives are placed in danger as the threat of the Nazis overtaking England, and a secret society called the Ahnenerbe, desire to use the Unnaturals to give them an advantage during World War II.

When an impassioned plea is made for her children to help save England, Miss Crabtree must rally her students to stand tall in the world of the Mundanes, the same world that made them outcasts. With time running out, they must fight to stay alive and out of the hands of the Nazi Regime as the War rages across Europe.

 Author Hargrove Perth

Hargrove spends a great deal of time researching the larger than life characters of history to formulate characters unforgettable, despised, and strangely adored. She writes horror, dark romance, and paranormal in the Adult, New Adult, and YA categories. She recently paired with her long time friend, author Dorothy Dawson, (who is the author of the acclaimed Banesville Series) to write House at Whispering Oaks, their first dual novel together that is a Paranormal Clean Read. 2014 Author of the Year by Double Decker Books in Historical/Horror.

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Blog Tour School of Deaths #Giveaways

School of Deaths 

by Christopher Mannino

Thrust into a world of men, can a timid girl find bravery as the first female Death?

Thirteen-year-old Suzie Sarnio always believed the Grim Reaper was a fairy tale image of a skeleton with a scythe. Now, forced to enter the College of Deaths, she finds herself training to bring souls from the Living World to the Hereafter. The task is demanding enough, but as the only female in the all-male College, she quickly becomes a target. Attacked by both classmates and strangers, Suzie is alone in a world where even her teachers want her to fail. 

Scythes hungry for souls, Deaths who subjugate a race of mysterious magicians, and echoes of an ancient war with Dragons.

As her year progresses, Suzie suspects her presence isn't an accident. She uncovers a plot to overthrow the World of Deaths. Now she must also discover the reason she's been brought there: the first female Death in a million years.

AUTHOR BIO

Christopher Mannino’s life is best described as an unending creative outlet. He teaches high school theatre in Greenbelt, Maryland. In addition to his daily drama classes, he runs several after-school performance and production drama groups. He spends his summers writing and singing. Mannino holds a Master of Arts in Theatre Education from Catholic University, and has studied mythology and literature both in America and at Oxford University. His work with young people helped inspire him to write young adult fantasy, although it was his love of reading that truly brought his writing to life. 

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EXCERPT

Reds, yellows, hots, colds. Sensations blended and faded. Suzie’s head spun in a whirlwind of sensation. Two suns appeared for an instant, and she watched the building where she’d signed the contract. Athanasius, the first ’Mental she’d met, seemed to smile at her, and then was gone.

Stars burned her.

Oceans drowned her.

Clouds suffocated her.

Noise deafened her.

The tether slackened. She opened her eyes.

Billy still held the scythe; the blade dripped with tiny beads of white light.

“You okay?” asked Frank, turning.

“Yeah,” she said. “Are we there?”

“Yes,” said Frank. “We’re in the Mortal World. The scythe will never bring you anywhere near anyone you ever met here. That’s one of the rules, but we’re here. This is the closest to home most of us will ever get.” His voice trailed off, and he looked away. Suzie patted his shoulder. She could imagine his pain.

“We’re not here to talk,” said Billy. “The target will be here in a minute.”

“The scythe tells you the target as you cross the portal,” explained Frank.

“They explained in Theory class,” she said. “But it’s still weird to be here.”

She looked around. They stood in an alley, with gleams of starlight visible above them. Flies buzzed over a trash can, overflowing with pizza boxes. A cool breeze blew candy wrappers across the pavement, to graffiti-covered walls. Behind her, a cement building rose, with barred windows. In front of them, a larger street met the alley, with part of a neon sign glowing around the corner. It smelled like urine.

She heard shouts in Spanish from a dilapidated cement building with iron bars. More shouts and someone pleading. Then a gunshot and the shouts moved away from them.

A young girl staggered into the alley. Suzie was about to speak, but Frank shook his head.

The girl fell onto her face, a pool of blood leaking out from under her. In the distance, Suzie heard another gunshot.

“We have to help her,” said Suzie.

“It’s too late,” said Frank.

The girl lay motionless. Time seemed to stop. Suzie had never witnessed someone’s death. Who was this girl? Who had shot her?

Even as the questions started to form in her mind, the girl sat up and stared at them. Suzie started to move, but Frank grabbed her arm, holding her.

“Where am I?” said the girl.

She was sitting up, but she was also laying face first on the ground. The sitting girl looked at Billy with terrified eyes and struggled to her feet. Suzie realized they were each wearing black robes; even with their training badges, they must look frightening. Billy still held the scythe.

“Is this a joke?” said the girl. “I’m not dead—”

“You are,” said Billy.

The standing girl had no gunshot wound in her chest. Her dress seemed to shine as she moved a step away. She never looked down at her own body, or the blood continuing to run.

“Who are you three?” asked the girl.

“We’re in training,” said Billy. Suzie admired how calm his voice was. He was cool and collected, while she wanted to yell.

The girl took another step back and tripped on something. She tried to get up again but Billy held up a hand.

“Please,” he said. “Allow me.”

He raised the scythe and let it fall. The girl screamed, and Suzie screamed as well.

CHARACTER INTERVIEW

An interview between author Christopher Mannino (CM) and Billy Black.


CM: Billy, I understand you're entering your second year as a Death. What is it like Reaping souls for a living?
BILLY: Honestly, it's just a job. We're in transportation, but the cargo happens to be souls. On a day to day basis, I don't think about death too often. Especially since this is only my second year. I went on three Reapings so far, and only held the scythe myself in one of them. Most of my time's spent at school studying.


CM: What do you think of your new housemate, Susan?
BILLY: I'm really conflicted. There's never been a girl here. A lot of the other Deaths, particularly the older ones, are complaining, saying she'll mess everything up. If she hadn't been housed with Jason and me, I'm not sure how her arrival would affect me, but living with her, even though it's only been a couple weeks so far, I think she's pretty nice. I was kind of annoyed at first, particularly since they had to choose my house to stick a girl in, but it's not that bad. She's a kid, just like all of us.

CM: Speaking of kids, how did you become a Death?
BILLY: Back in the Mortal World I started losing a lot of weight. Suddenly a Death showed up, swung his scythe, and offered me a contract. Live as a Death for a year, and then take a test. If I failed the test, I'd be a Death forever. If I didn't sign the contract, I'd die. Wasn't much of a choice. All Deaths are living kids, snatched in a similar manner. At first, you're really resentful, but once you get used to the World of Deaths, you find it's not so bad.

CM: So you failed your test, and were forced to remain a Death?
BILLY: Not exactly. In the end, I decided I liked being a Death. After Dad left us, life was... rough for my mother and me, to say the least. At the College of Deaths, I made friends. I'm on a boskery team, I do well in classes, and I even work a part-time job for money. I didn't feel compelled to go back.

CM: What's the one thing you miss most about the Mortal World?
BILLY: TV and computers. There are times when life feels a little slower in the World of Deaths On the other hand, that's not always a bad thing.

CM: So what do you do for fun?
BILLY: As I mentioned, I play boskery. I was one of only a few kids my age to make a team. It's meant as a way to see how well we use scythes. Deaths are monitored, and their positions in the Senior College are determined by skill with the blade, since scythe skills allow you to Reap more souls in a shorter time. But it feels more like a game, with four teams competing at once. We use double-blade scythes, which paralyze you if you get nicked. It's a really tough sport. When I'm not playing, I like to read, hang out with friends, or even head up to Mors, which is a city nearby. They have some rides there, like an amusement park.

CM: Is there anything else you'd like to tell us?
BILLY: I think everyone should give Susan a chance. She seems nice to me. I know the last time there was a female Death, she was a witch who betrayed the Deaths to Dragons, but Susan's different. Don't judge her before you get to know her.






Author Christopher Mannino $20 Amazon Giftcard

Book Blast for Playing For Keeps

Synopsis for Her Confessional #3: 

Playing for Keeps After months of hiding their engagement to promote a farcical PR relationship tied to Cameron's new movie, Sarah is struggling to remind herself of the benefits of the plan – if only she can make it that long. Having just about reached their breaking point, Cameron proposes a romantic weekend away to re-connect with one another but their boss has a better idea: a two-week trip away from the prying eyes of Hollywood and the PR team’s aggressive gossip machine.

Once out of the Hollywood spotlight, Cameron reverts back to the loving, attentive man Sarah first fell in love with and idyllic days spent hiking, biking, and surfing lead to sensual nights wrapped in each other’s arms. But when a gossip columnist viciously pegs Sarah as “the other woman,” they’re forced to acknowledge the reality of their situation. Vowing to beat the studio at its own game, Sarah and Cameron openly flaunt their relationship, knowing their actions may mean giving up the careers they both love.

 With help from some new friends along the way, Cameron and Sarah re-discover what matters most as they work to find their happily ever after. 

Author Bio for Rebecca Norinne

Caudill Rebecca read her first novel when she was just four years old and has been hooked on books ever since. When she wasn't writing her own stories, she was sneaking copies of her mom's paperbacks to read late into the night. Fast forward a few years later, and she graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in Journalism. After a stint working in radio, she embarked on a career in technology public relations in Silicon Valley, representing some of the country's hottest start-ups and publicly traded companies. After more than a decade in the business, she began writing full time. In addition to the Her Confessional contemporary romance serial, Rebecca is also the author of a paranormal romance that begins with A Time Apart: Book One of the Macauley Vampire Series about a woman whose destiny is with a centuries old vampire. The sequel, Blood of My Blood, will be released this fall. When not creating fictional worlds inhabited by strong women and dashing heroes, she is reading about them, planning her next vacation, trying out new recipes, or drinking a dram of Islay whisky. Rebecca lives with her husband in Oakland, California, but is currently planning a move to Dublin, Ireland.

Her Confessional #3 Excerpt

I wanted to be happy again. I wanted him to be happy again. Not for the first time I feared we’d never find that happiness together. Not true happiness, at least.

I couldn’t say how long we stared at one another, and who knew what was going through Cameron’s mind since he’d been using that blank mask more and more in my presence – the one that allowed him to go through life with no one knowing what he was feeling – but I knew what I was feeling and I was tired as hell of keeping it locked up inside, where I feared my love for him would wither and die if something didn’t change, and soon.

I reached up and laid my hand on his forearm, bared to my touch, long sleeves haphazardly pushed up to his elbows. “I’ve missed you.”

There, I’d said it. No more polite utterances in in the morning, no more cordial but cold hellos and goodbyes as we passed one another in the hallway en route to our next meeting – or increasingly often, off to spend time with Jillian. I was willing to lay all of my cards on the table, make him talk about the distance that had grown between us, make him confront his feelings. If it turned out the aloofness that had cropped up between us had made him question his love for me, his commitment to us – if it meant that I was going to lose him – then I’d have to face that truth sooner or later.

With these thoughts rattling through my brain I came to the realization I’d been fearing the worst for awhile, that I had lost faith in our love for one another. It broke my heart, a physical pain taking root in my chest. I dragged my hand from Cameron’s arm to rub at the sore spot in the middle of my sternum where that tight hard knot had made itself known more and more frequently. I recognized that the pain was only the physical manifestation of my stress, but I couldn’t help but think that lately I’d only had them when I looked too closely at our relationship.

“I’ve missed you too baby,” he uttered as he suddenly smiled down at me. When he dropped that mask of indifference he’d taken to wearing and showed me this small bit of emotion, it was like the sun had parted the clouds after several days of rain and gloom and I felt the grip on my chest lessen just a little bit. “So, I was thinking I’ve got a few days off coming up and if you can swing it, we should get away. We don’t see nearly enough of each other since production got under way and it feels wrong.”

His words were a soothing balm. The chance to spend some uninterrupted time together was exactly what we needed.

“I can definitely swing it,” I replied without stopping to consider my schedule or the ramifications of taking time off even if it turned out not to be a convenient time.

I stood up from my chair and wrapped my arms around him, something I hadn’t been able to do in many days. I felt his arms flex against my body and soon he had wrapped his arms around me as well. I leaned my head against his chest and just savored the feel of being in his arms again after what had felt like such a long absence.

“I was thinking we could drive up the coast next weekend, get a room somewhere, and just spend a few days reading, relaxing … doing other things.” I heard the smile in his voice when he spoke that last part and I had to smile right along with him.

“Having you all to myself for more than a couple of hours at a time is going to be such a luxury that I have no intention of spending that time reading or relaxing. I was thinking of a much more physical sort of getaway, one with lots of … hmm … riding,” I said into the center of his chest, a secret naughty smile shaping my lips. When he took in my meaning I felt his laugh rumble underneath my cheek and he squeezed me just a little bit tighter.