Thursday, October 31, 2013
Embarrassment of Riches TBR Reading Challenge 2013
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
I intend to make a small dent in my TBR pile this year, beginning with challenging myself to read 24 (gasp!) this year. Yes, I originally said 12, but I’m trying to push myself, and it’s not as if it should be a chore. I acquired the darned things because I wanted to read them, right? Right!
So here we go. Since I’m so last-minute with this I will allow people to sign up through January 8, though the challenge begins January 1.
RULES: To be considered a TBR book, you must own it prior to Jan 1, 2013. The book can count toward other challenges, as well. It can be fiction or nonfiction, poetry or play, as long as it is a book. This is not a picky challenge–just about reading the riches we already own.
On the last day of each month I will post an entry where you can say how many TBRs you read that month, titles, and whether you liked them or not. Full-blown reviews not required. You can list them in comments or link back to your own blog or page where they are listed.
At the end of the year I will have pretty badges for all levels, and if I haven’t learned to create them by myself, hopefully somebody else will make them for me.
There are five levels of accomplishment (and a bonus challenge) in the Embarrassment of Riches TBR Reading Challenge.
Copper: Read 6 TBR books between Jan 1 and Dec 31 2013. - I'm working on this
Bronze: Read 12 TBR books between Jan 1 and Dec 31 2013.
Silver: Read 24 TBR books between Jan 1 and Dec 31 2013
Gold: Read 36 TBR books between Jan 1 and Dec 31 2013.
Platinum: Read 50 TBR books between Jan 1 and Dec 31 2013.
Bonus Challenge! The same levels are also available for digital samples. If you are like me, you also have a quizillion samples you’ve downloaded onto your e-reader. Culling through samples and deciding whether to keep reading or not is a separate challenge with all five levels and the same year-end prize–a special badge.
So, are you in? And have I left anything out? I’ve never done this before, so let me know if I need to adjust anything or add anything! Use Mister Linky to link to your blog or wherever you might announce your participation in this challenge, and leave a comment below to say which will be your goal for 2013. You will get the appropriate badge/prize for whatever you read, whether you come in under or over your goal.
For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M C Beaton
2 Key Lime Pie Murder by Joanne Fluke
3
4
5
6
2013 Mount TBR Reading Challenge
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
As I mentioned last year, I am a bookaholic. I can't let a bookstore (used or new, it doesn't matter) go by without stopping in ("just to look") and walking out with at least something--if not an armload. I wait all year for the Red Cross Book Sale in October so I can cart them out by the bagful. And, well, that means that I wind up with gigantic piles of TBR books stacked up around my backroom. I don't have a TBR shelf. Oh, no. I have "Mount TBR"...actually a whole mountain range. And it doesn't matter that I've just spent the last year working on my mountain range with the Mount TBR Reading Challenge. They just keep on sprouting up.
So, once again, I plan to concentrate on reading primarily from my own books this year. And you're invited to join me in knocking out some of those books that have been waiting in the wings for weeks....months...even years.
Challenge Levels (I've adjusted the levels just slightly this year):
Pike's Peak: Read 12 books from your TBR pile/s - I'm going to try this level
Mount Blanc: Read 24 books from your TBR pile/s
Mt. Vancouver: Read 36 books from your TBR pile/s
Mt. Ararat: Read 48 books from your TBR piles/s
Mt. Kilimanjaro: Read 60 books from your TBR pile/s
El Toro: Read 75 books from your TBR pile/s
Mt. Everest: Read 100 books from your TBR pile/s
Mount Olympus (Mars): Read 150+ books from your TBR pile/s
And the rules:
*Once you choose your challenge level, you are locked in for at least that many books. If you find that you're on a mountain-climbing roll and want to tackle a taller mountain, then you are certainly welcome to upgrade.
*Challenge runs from January 1 to December 31, 2013.
*You may sign up anytime from now until November 30th, 2013.
*Books must be owned by you prior to January 1, 2013. No ARCs (none), no library books. No rereads. [To clarify--based on a question raised last year--the intention is to reduce the stack of books that you have bought for yourself or received as presents {birthday, Christmas, "just because," etc.}. Audiobooks and E-books may count if they are yours and they are one of your primary sources of backlogged books.]
*You may count any "currently reading" book that you begin prior to January 1--provided that you had 50% or more of the book left to finish in 2013. I will trust you all on that.
*Books may be used to count for other challenges as well.
*Feel free to submit your list in advance (as incentive to really get those books taken care of) or to tally them as you climb.
*A blog and reviews are not necessary to participate. If you have a blog, then please post a challenge sign up and link THAT post (not your home page) into the linky [at the host’s site]. Non-bloggers, please leave a comment [at the host’s site] declaring your challenge level--OR, if you are a member of Goodreads, I will once again put together a group for the challenge there. Feel free to sign up HERE. And, finally, I am contemplating a review tracker for this year. I will post a link if that works out.
This reading challenge is hosted by My Reader's Block. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M C Beaton
2 Key Lime Pie Murder by Joanne Fluke
3
4
Book Promo : Ten Million Reasons by Heather Gray
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
Astraea Press (July 25, 2013)
***Special thanks to Opal Campbell for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Aside from her long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather’s greatest joys in life are her relationship with her Savior, her family, and writing. Years ago, she decided it would be better to laugh than yell. Heather carries that theme over into her writing where she strives to create characters that experience both the highs and lows of life and, through it all, find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.
Visit the author's website.
SHORT BOOK DESCRIPTION:
Money talks, and the way she spends hers tells him all he needs to know…
Richard needs to find a woman he can trust, and he needs to find her fast. He doesn’t have time to waste on getting to know people, which means dating and interviewing are out of the question. So how can he get past that initial mask of good behavior to learn what people are really like? Easy! Give them ten million dollars and watch to see what they do with it.
Genevieve is a free-lance journalist who talks to herself, constantly forgets to put appointments on her calendar and can’t go anywhere without being asked to take a survey. Why on earth is Richard interested in her? She doesn’t know it yet, but he has ten million reasons…
List Price: $1.99
Ebook: 123 pages
Publisher: Astraea Press (July 25, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: B00E5TLMV8
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
Chapter One
How do I always let myself get sucked into these things? Genevieve Mason sat at her own little private booth in a large room with at least a dozen other people. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding her this was not where she was supposed to be. For some reason she’d never understood, Genevieve had difficulty saying no to surveyors. She invariably felt sorry for the ones who had to stand out in the walkway of the mall trying to entice complete strangers into their offices to take the silly things. While she didn’t generally mind completing a survey, she simply didn't have the time today. Yet, here I am. Taking a survey. When will I ever get a backbone about these things?
A tall, model-thin woman, with straight blonde hair and professionally done eyebrows, clapped her hands twice. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming in today. I am going to explain what you need to do, and then I will answer any questions you have. The project should only take about an hour of your time, and you will each be compensated with a twenty-five dollar mall gift card. You can use your gift card at any retailer, including the food court.” The woman, who would doubtless look less severe if her eyebrows weren’t quite so brutally perfect, paused briefly before launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech by a drill sergeant.
I wonder what she pays to get her eyebrows done. Surveying must be more lucrative than I thought.
“Today you will receive a windfall.” People gasped in surprise, but Genevieve wasn’t biting. She’d been through too many of these to get pulled in with a line like that. “You will be given a hypothetical amount of ten million dollars,” the woman continued, speaking over the disappointed sighs of some of Genevieve’s comrades-in-arms, “to spend any way you wish.”
Tapping her foot loudly, the woman who Genevieve had begun to think of as Model-Talker stared around the room until everyone was quiet. Then, continuing her speech, she said, “There is a computer screen in front of you with two columns. In the left column, you will give a description of how you are spending your money. On the right of the screen, you will enter the amount you wish to spend. You will see a tally at the bottom. The tally is keeping track of how much you have spent. When you get to ten million dollars, stop and raise your hand. I, or one of my assistants, will submit your entry and see that you receive your gift card.”
Arms raised all around the room as people began to have questions. Model-Talker held up her hand to halt people’s inquiries and added, “Let me give you a couple of guidelines first. Then I will answer your questions. Your survey will be assigned a coded number. When you are done, you will complete a form with your name and contact information in case we have questions at a later date. Your name will never appear on your survey. The information you enter will not be shared with any other companies and will only be reviewed by one other individual in addition to myself.”
Genevieve wondered how efficiently their survey data could be processed if only two people would see it. Reining her wandering thoughts in, she listened to the rest of Model-Talker’s speech. Talk faster! Some of us need to get somewhere.
“The items you wish to spend your money on have to be items you can purchase in a single day. You cannot spend any of your pretend money on buying a house, for example, because the paperwork and closing for a house take several days. While you can invest money in the stock market or a CD, you cannot open a trust fund because the legalities of opening a trust generally take more than a single day.” Three quarters of the hands in the room went down.
“Any questions?” Model-Talker’s chilly, businesslike voice and expression shamed the remaining people into putting their hands down.
For crying out loud, lady! It’s not as if you’re going to get the plague by answering a question. Genevieve stifled her laughter. She didn’t want to cause Model-Talker’s gaze to zero in on her.
“Alright, everyone. You have one hour to complete the exercise. Begin.”
Genevieve began typing away on her keyboard, entering totals, as she thought about all the ways she could spend the money. Ten million dollars... She wasn't ever likely to have that kind of money, but it was sort of fun to think about.
Within five minutes, a short woman, muscular and dressed like a construction worker, raised her hand to indicate she was done. Genevieve wouldn’t have noticed except that Model-Talker tsked as the woman left the room. Once some of the other people saw how quickly it could be done, they began finishing hastily, too.
They're probably dumping it all into a savings account or the stock market. Why wasn't I born with that kind of cavalier attitude?
She, however, wanted to give careful thought to her expenditures. In order for the results to have any value, she needed to answer honestly. Although, at the rate the other people are leaving, I'd say the data compiled from today will be good and skewed.
Despite her best efforts to ignore it, the repeated ker-thunk of the door opening and closing demanded her attention. They obviously haven't heard the honesty-in-testing lecture enough times. As she watched the next couple of people leave the room, something struck her.
They’re all women. There’s not a single man in this room. Maybe it’s a study into the female psyche. She was sure she’d heard Model-Talker say “ladies and gentlemen.”
Thinking about the lunch date waiting for her, Genevieve swiftly typed in her remaining entries and watched the tally at the bottom of the screen climb. When she got to nine million five hundred thousand dollars she sighed. Who’d have thought I’d have so much trouble spending money? What can I lavish half a million dollars on? Finally struck with inspiration, she entered her final imaginary expenditure and raised her hand. She completed the paperwork and left the room, casting one last pitying glance at the three remaining women who continued to studiously peck at their keyboards.
****
Genevieve sprinted the last twenty yards or so to the food court hoping her date hadn’t left. She clipped a stranger in the side with her shoulder, yelled an, “I’m sorry!” over her shoulder, and continued on her path. Zipping around the corner, she found herself confronted with an overcrowded food court, people spilling over everywhere she looked. How am I supposed to find him?
“Aunt Gen, over here!” Genevieve turned her head this way and that until she saw her nephew waving his hands wildly over his head in a far back corner of the food court.
Relief coursed through her. Thank goodness! She'd been worried he would think she’d stood him up. Poor guy had enough trouble in his life. He didn’t need another reason to be disappointed in those he loved.
“I’m late, aren’t I?” she asked, the sound of her words shaped by her winded voice.
Max laughed at her. “Aunt Gen, you’re always late.”
“Will you ever forgive me?”
“Buy me lunch, and I’ll think about it,” her fifteen-year-old nephew said with a twinkle in his golden brown eyes.
Sliding two twenties across the table to her nephew, Genevieve said, “You know what I like. Get whatever you want. You deserve it for braving the masses to order.” As her nephew jumped over the handrail behind their table and began maneuvering his way in and out of the different lines, Genevieve sat back and closed her eyes.
Thank you for keeping Max here until I arrived. It was a small but heartfelt prayer.
She opened her eyes, looked around at the crowd and caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror along the back wall of the food court. Why do they insist on using mirrors to make it look like there's more seating – and more people – than there actually is? She didn't care to spy on other people while they ate and instead studied her own reflection. Genevieve scrutinized her large green eyes and fair complexion. She had curly hair that her family insisted on calling red even though she always wrote auburn whenever she had to enter the color on a form. It was shoulder-length but tended to stand out away from her head rather than lying down gracefully. I certainly don't need any of that shampoo advertised to add body! In a family of Irish-Italian descent, she was the only one that actually looked Irish. Everyone else had been born with the requisite bronzed skin and black hair of their Italian heritage.
She sought out Max in the mirror. He stood in line waiting for the slow progression of customers to move him forward so he could place his order. Max looked more like her father, his grandfather, with each passing year. He's too handsome for his own good. It won't be long before he realizes how much the girls notice him. Max spent much of his time seeking approval from his family; enough in fact, that he hadn't yet detected the way the fairer sex was always trying to get his attention. If he has seen it, he certainly hasn't let on about it.
Genevieve’s sister had divorced three years ago. Max had been twelve at the time, his sister Jenny fourteen. Jenny had fared better in the divorce. She saw her dad a couple times each month, and he doted on her, buying her all the pretty things she wanted. That was his way of making up for his absence, and she was okay with that. Sadly, Max had been much more wounded. He hadn’t wanted the latest toys and gadgets. Instead, he had wanted time, and his dad hadn't been willing — or perhaps able – to supply it. At an age when he was growing from boy to man, he'd essentially lost the one person who was supposed to be most qualified to help him understand what it meant to be a man.
Maureen, Genevieve’s sister, had done her best, but the divorce had forced her to change jobs in order to support her kids. Instead of working part-time and being home in the afternoons, she now worked fifty or more hours each week and hardly saw her kids at all. Genevieve had always been close to her nieces and nephews, but after the divorce, she went out of her way to try to spend time with Jenny and Max. She and Max did lunch at the mall every other week. She and Jenny got mani-pedis together. It seemed like the least she could do. It sure beats spending good money to get my eyebrows tortured when I can do that at home free of charge!
“You know, Aunt Gen, you’ve never once been on time to lunch.” Max was still laughing at her as he set the food down.
Snagging one of his egg rolls and putting it on her own plate, she said, “What makes you say such a mean thing to your dear old auntie?”
“You were worried I’d think you’d blown me off. I could see it on your face when you came round the corner.”
Genevieve shrugged. “Okay, so I was worried. Sue me.”
“You’ve never stood me up. Until you do, I’ll always believe you’re coming.”
Warmth moved through her middle, but it had an icy edge to it. Genevieve was both touched by Max’s words and saddened that he’d had enough experience with his parents in the past few years to know what it felt like to be stood up. His dad wasn’t the only one who hadn’t always been there for his son. There had been more than one sporting event in recent years where she'd been Max’s entire cheering squad. She always saved a seat for her sister, but the seat was rarely ever filled. Max deserved better, but as Maureen often pointed out to her, Genevieve didn’t know how hard it was to be a single mom working to support two teenagers.
Max and Genevieve ate lunch, swapped funny stories from their week, and discussed schedules for the upcoming month. He had decided to try out for the cross-country team.
“I don’t stand a chance, but I want to try.”
“Why? Running is so boring.”
“You run.”
“Yeah, but only because it’s slightly less monotonous than sitting at the computer when I have writer’s block.”
“The practices are long, and they’re in the afternoons when Mom’s usually working, so this will give me something to do. I get bored killing time at home so much. It’s dull there now that Jenny got a job and is gone all the time.”
“How does she like her job?” Genevieve asked, with interest.
“I don’t know about the job, but she sure does like the money,” Max answered, waggling his eyebrows comically.
Ah, to be a teenager with the simple worries of acne medication and a pretty dress. Then Genevieve corrected herself. And divorce. Don’t forget that simple worry.
“So why were you late today?” Max asked.
“You’d never believe me if I told you,” she answered.
“Try me.”
Rolling her eyes, Genevieve answered, “I got sucked into another survey.”
Max almost spit chow mein at her as he laughed. “You have got to be kidding me! Can you even walk through the mall without taking a survey?”
Trying not to laugh, Genevieve crumbled a napkin to throw at her nephew. “I got a gift card out of this one.” Then, slapping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she said, “I should have used it to pay for lunch! What was I thinking?”
“You can use it next time.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to remember that?” Her voice was filled with dry humor.
“No worries,” he said. “I’ll remind you.”
“What would I do without you, Max?”
“You’d be lost without me, Aunt Gen, and you know it.”
The two cleared their table, and then Genevieve linked her arm through Max’s as they began weaving their way through the crowd to head toward the front of the mall. “You know, Max, I think you might be right. I would be lost. Who else would know to buy himself an extra eggroll just so I could snag it?”
When they got to her car, Genevieve entered Max’s cross-country tryout into her phone’s calendar and told him, “I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best to be there.”
“It’s okay if you can’t make it.” His voice was rock solid. “I know it’s in the middle of the day.” Max, whose every emotion generally came out in the way he spoke, only sounded this steady when he was trying to mask something.
He doesn't want me to know he's disappointed.
“No, it’s not that,” Genevieve said. “You know how bad I am with dates. I need to double-check my desk calendar at home and make sure I don’t have something written down there that I forgot to put in my phone.” Staring at the device in her hand as if the calendar in it would magically give her an answer, she finally shook her head and said to Max. “I’ll text you the morning of to let you know for sure one way or the other, okay?”
Max nodded and said again, “No worries,” as he climbed into her car.
It was a beautiful day in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. They drove with their windows down and, since Max was in control of the radio, their music blaring.
Genevieve dropped him off at home. Jenny was still at work, so she didn’t pop in to say “hi”. Instead, she headed back to her own home to try and get some work done.
She was bumping up against deadlines for articles with three different magazines. That’ll teach me to stay up all night reading a book! Releasing a deep sigh, Genevieve admitted to herself that she’d been putting off the articles because they’d all sounded so boring. I have got to start getting pickier about the assignments I accept. What’s the point of freelancing if I can’t stand any of the work I do? I'm not sure this even counts as freelancing anymore.
How do I always let myself get sucked into these things? Genevieve Mason sat at her own little private booth in a large room with at least a dozen other people. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, reminding her this was not where she was supposed to be. For some reason she’d never understood, Genevieve had difficulty saying no to surveyors. She invariably felt sorry for the ones who had to stand out in the walkway of the mall trying to entice complete strangers into their offices to take the silly things. While she didn’t generally mind completing a survey, she simply didn't have the time today. Yet, here I am. Taking a survey. When will I ever get a backbone about these things?
A tall, model-thin woman, with straight blonde hair and professionally done eyebrows, clapped her hands twice. “Alright ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming in today. I am going to explain what you need to do, and then I will answer any questions you have. The project should only take about an hour of your time, and you will each be compensated with a twenty-five dollar mall gift card. You can use your gift card at any retailer, including the food court.” The woman, who would doubtless look less severe if her eyebrows weren’t quite so brutally perfect, paused briefly before launching into what sounded like a well-rehearsed speech by a drill sergeant.
I wonder what she pays to get her eyebrows done. Surveying must be more lucrative than I thought.
“Today you will receive a windfall.” People gasped in surprise, but Genevieve wasn’t biting. She’d been through too many of these to get pulled in with a line like that. “You will be given a hypothetical amount of ten million dollars,” the woman continued, speaking over the disappointed sighs of some of Genevieve’s comrades-in-arms, “to spend any way you wish.”
Tapping her foot loudly, the woman who Genevieve had begun to think of as Model-Talker stared around the room until everyone was quiet. Then, continuing her speech, she said, “There is a computer screen in front of you with two columns. In the left column, you will give a description of how you are spending your money. On the right of the screen, you will enter the amount you wish to spend. You will see a tally at the bottom. The tally is keeping track of how much you have spent. When you get to ten million dollars, stop and raise your hand. I, or one of my assistants, will submit your entry and see that you receive your gift card.”
Arms raised all around the room as people began to have questions. Model-Talker held up her hand to halt people’s inquiries and added, “Let me give you a couple of guidelines first. Then I will answer your questions. Your survey will be assigned a coded number. When you are done, you will complete a form with your name and contact information in case we have questions at a later date. Your name will never appear on your survey. The information you enter will not be shared with any other companies and will only be reviewed by one other individual in addition to myself.”
Genevieve wondered how efficiently their survey data could be processed if only two people would see it. Reining her wandering thoughts in, she listened to the rest of Model-Talker’s speech. Talk faster! Some of us need to get somewhere.
“The items you wish to spend your money on have to be items you can purchase in a single day. You cannot spend any of your pretend money on buying a house, for example, because the paperwork and closing for a house take several days. While you can invest money in the stock market or a CD, you cannot open a trust fund because the legalities of opening a trust generally take more than a single day.” Three quarters of the hands in the room went down.
“Any questions?” Model-Talker’s chilly, businesslike voice and expression shamed the remaining people into putting their hands down.
For crying out loud, lady! It’s not as if you’re going to get the plague by answering a question. Genevieve stifled her laughter. She didn’t want to cause Model-Talker’s gaze to zero in on her.
“Alright, everyone. You have one hour to complete the exercise. Begin.”
Genevieve began typing away on her keyboard, entering totals, as she thought about all the ways she could spend the money. Ten million dollars... She wasn't ever likely to have that kind of money, but it was sort of fun to think about.
Within five minutes, a short woman, muscular and dressed like a construction worker, raised her hand to indicate she was done. Genevieve wouldn’t have noticed except that Model-Talker tsked as the woman left the room. Once some of the other people saw how quickly it could be done, they began finishing hastily, too.
They're probably dumping it all into a savings account or the stock market. Why wasn't I born with that kind of cavalier attitude?
She, however, wanted to give careful thought to her expenditures. In order for the results to have any value, she needed to answer honestly. Although, at the rate the other people are leaving, I'd say the data compiled from today will be good and skewed.
Despite her best efforts to ignore it, the repeated ker-thunk of the door opening and closing demanded her attention. They obviously haven't heard the honesty-in-testing lecture enough times. As she watched the next couple of people leave the room, something struck her.
They’re all women. There’s not a single man in this room. Maybe it’s a study into the female psyche. She was sure she’d heard Model-Talker say “ladies and gentlemen.”
Thinking about the lunch date waiting for her, Genevieve swiftly typed in her remaining entries and watched the tally at the bottom of the screen climb. When she got to nine million five hundred thousand dollars she sighed. Who’d have thought I’d have so much trouble spending money? What can I lavish half a million dollars on? Finally struck with inspiration, she entered her final imaginary expenditure and raised her hand. She completed the paperwork and left the room, casting one last pitying glance at the three remaining women who continued to studiously peck at their keyboards.
****
Genevieve sprinted the last twenty yards or so to the food court hoping her date hadn’t left. She clipped a stranger in the side with her shoulder, yelled an, “I’m sorry!” over her shoulder, and continued on her path. Zipping around the corner, she found herself confronted with an overcrowded food court, people spilling over everywhere she looked. How am I supposed to find him?
“Aunt Gen, over here!” Genevieve turned her head this way and that until she saw her nephew waving his hands wildly over his head in a far back corner of the food court.
Relief coursed through her. Thank goodness! She'd been worried he would think she’d stood him up. Poor guy had enough trouble in his life. He didn’t need another reason to be disappointed in those he loved.
“I’m late, aren’t I?” she asked, the sound of her words shaped by her winded voice.
Max laughed at her. “Aunt Gen, you’re always late.”
“Will you ever forgive me?”
“Buy me lunch, and I’ll think about it,” her fifteen-year-old nephew said with a twinkle in his golden brown eyes.
Sliding two twenties across the table to her nephew, Genevieve said, “You know what I like. Get whatever you want. You deserve it for braving the masses to order.” As her nephew jumped over the handrail behind their table and began maneuvering his way in and out of the different lines, Genevieve sat back and closed her eyes.
Thank you for keeping Max here until I arrived. It was a small but heartfelt prayer.
She opened her eyes, looked around at the crowd and caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror along the back wall of the food court. Why do they insist on using mirrors to make it look like there's more seating – and more people – than there actually is? She didn't care to spy on other people while they ate and instead studied her own reflection. Genevieve scrutinized her large green eyes and fair complexion. She had curly hair that her family insisted on calling red even though she always wrote auburn whenever she had to enter the color on a form. It was shoulder-length but tended to stand out away from her head rather than lying down gracefully. I certainly don't need any of that shampoo advertised to add body! In a family of Irish-Italian descent, she was the only one that actually looked Irish. Everyone else had been born with the requisite bronzed skin and black hair of their Italian heritage.
She sought out Max in the mirror. He stood in line waiting for the slow progression of customers to move him forward so he could place his order. Max looked more like her father, his grandfather, with each passing year. He's too handsome for his own good. It won't be long before he realizes how much the girls notice him. Max spent much of his time seeking approval from his family; enough in fact, that he hadn't yet detected the way the fairer sex was always trying to get his attention. If he has seen it, he certainly hasn't let on about it.
Genevieve’s sister had divorced three years ago. Max had been twelve at the time, his sister Jenny fourteen. Jenny had fared better in the divorce. She saw her dad a couple times each month, and he doted on her, buying her all the pretty things she wanted. That was his way of making up for his absence, and she was okay with that. Sadly, Max had been much more wounded. He hadn’t wanted the latest toys and gadgets. Instead, he had wanted time, and his dad hadn't been willing — or perhaps able – to supply it. At an age when he was growing from boy to man, he'd essentially lost the one person who was supposed to be most qualified to help him understand what it meant to be a man.
Maureen, Genevieve’s sister, had done her best, but the divorce had forced her to change jobs in order to support her kids. Instead of working part-time and being home in the afternoons, she now worked fifty or more hours each week and hardly saw her kids at all. Genevieve had always been close to her nieces and nephews, but after the divorce, she went out of her way to try to spend time with Jenny and Max. She and Max did lunch at the mall every other week. She and Jenny got mani-pedis together. It seemed like the least she could do. It sure beats spending good money to get my eyebrows tortured when I can do that at home free of charge!
“You know, Aunt Gen, you’ve never once been on time to lunch.” Max was still laughing at her as he set the food down.
Snagging one of his egg rolls and putting it on her own plate, she said, “What makes you say such a mean thing to your dear old auntie?”
“You were worried I’d think you’d blown me off. I could see it on your face when you came round the corner.”
Genevieve shrugged. “Okay, so I was worried. Sue me.”
“You’ve never stood me up. Until you do, I’ll always believe you’re coming.”
Warmth moved through her middle, but it had an icy edge to it. Genevieve was both touched by Max’s words and saddened that he’d had enough experience with his parents in the past few years to know what it felt like to be stood up. His dad wasn’t the only one who hadn’t always been there for his son. There had been more than one sporting event in recent years where she'd been Max’s entire cheering squad. She always saved a seat for her sister, but the seat was rarely ever filled. Max deserved better, but as Maureen often pointed out to her, Genevieve didn’t know how hard it was to be a single mom working to support two teenagers.
Max and Genevieve ate lunch, swapped funny stories from their week, and discussed schedules for the upcoming month. He had decided to try out for the cross-country team.
“I don’t stand a chance, but I want to try.”
“Why? Running is so boring.”
“You run.”
“Yeah, but only because it’s slightly less monotonous than sitting at the computer when I have writer’s block.”
“The practices are long, and they’re in the afternoons when Mom’s usually working, so this will give me something to do. I get bored killing time at home so much. It’s dull there now that Jenny got a job and is gone all the time.”
“How does she like her job?” Genevieve asked, with interest.
“I don’t know about the job, but she sure does like the money,” Max answered, waggling his eyebrows comically.
Ah, to be a teenager with the simple worries of acne medication and a pretty dress. Then Genevieve corrected herself. And divorce. Don’t forget that simple worry.
“So why were you late today?” Max asked.
“You’d never believe me if I told you,” she answered.
“Try me.”
Rolling her eyes, Genevieve answered, “I got sucked into another survey.”
Max almost spit chow mein at her as he laughed. “You have got to be kidding me! Can you even walk through the mall without taking a survey?”
Trying not to laugh, Genevieve crumbled a napkin to throw at her nephew. “I got a gift card out of this one.” Then, slapping the palm of her hand against her forehead, she said, “I should have used it to pay for lunch! What was I thinking?”
“You can use it next time.”
“Do you honestly think I’m going to remember that?” Her voice was filled with dry humor.
“No worries,” he said. “I’ll remind you.”
“What would I do without you, Max?”
“You’d be lost without me, Aunt Gen, and you know it.”
The two cleared their table, and then Genevieve linked her arm through Max’s as they began weaving their way through the crowd to head toward the front of the mall. “You know, Max, I think you might be right. I would be lost. Who else would know to buy himself an extra eggroll just so I could snag it?”
When they got to her car, Genevieve entered Max’s cross-country tryout into her phone’s calendar and told him, “I can’t promise, but I’ll do my best to be there.”
“It’s okay if you can’t make it.” His voice was rock solid. “I know it’s in the middle of the day.” Max, whose every emotion generally came out in the way he spoke, only sounded this steady when he was trying to mask something.
He doesn't want me to know he's disappointed.
“No, it’s not that,” Genevieve said. “You know how bad I am with dates. I need to double-check my desk calendar at home and make sure I don’t have something written down there that I forgot to put in my phone.” Staring at the device in her hand as if the calendar in it would magically give her an answer, she finally shook her head and said to Max. “I’ll text you the morning of to let you know for sure one way or the other, okay?”
Max nodded and said again, “No worries,” as he climbed into her car.
It was a beautiful day in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains. They drove with their windows down and, since Max was in control of the radio, their music blaring.
Genevieve dropped him off at home. Jenny was still at work, so she didn’t pop in to say “hi”. Instead, she headed back to her own home to try and get some work done.
She was bumping up against deadlines for articles with three different magazines. That’ll teach me to stay up all night reading a book! Releasing a deep sigh, Genevieve admitted to herself that she’d been putting off the articles because they’d all sounded so boring. I have got to start getting pickier about the assignments I accept. What’s the point of freelancing if I can’t stand any of the work I do? I'm not sure this even counts as freelancing anymore.
Release Day Blitz : Portents by Shanyn Hosier
Excerpt:
"Run!" Grady shouted as he moved to intercept their followers.
Jeanine shoved Amanda through the door, then sprinted off, dragging her toward one of
the three white Cherokees parked in a row in the dirt lot.
A gunshot rang out, and Amanda shrieked in terror. Kevin's firing range scolding came
back to her now—here was a target shooting back at her, and it absolutely made all the
difference in the world.
Jeanine yanked her down behind a car. Crouching, she peeked around the bumper while
Amanda ducked her head down, peering through the gap below the undercarriage. The man and
the woman walked toward them, guns drawn.
"Shit," Jeanine muttered.
In the next moment, Grady and Lorelei burst through the door of the pool hall, guns
leveled at the pursuers.
"We don't want any more trouble," Grady announced calmly.
"Like hell we don't," Lorelei snarled.
Amanda pressed her back against the car she and Jeanine crouched behind, her patchwork
heart pounding fit to burst. Jeanine pointed at the nearest Academy Cherokee several yards away,
and the two women began creeping toward it. They'd made it past two cars when more shots
rang out, and the armed man skidded behind a blue Ford F150 parked between them and the
Cherokee.
Lurching to a halt, the two women looked about, searching for an escape. Miraculously,
he didn't seem to notice them. Yet.
Not far from them loomed a collection of large drums overflowing with garbage. Amanda
grabbed Jeanine's forearm, then nodded toward the mess. Jeanine's brow wrinkled with a lack of
confidence, and she shook her head slightly.
Maybe Jeanine misunderstood her intent. Or perhaps object levitation wasn't her strong
point. Amanda, on the other hand, had plenty of practice.
Amanda gave Jeanine's arm a reassuring squeeze, then extended her hand toward the
drums. She half-closed her eyes to better focus her attention; imagining an ethereal connection
between her and the inanimate object solidified her will. Then she swung her arm like an
underarm pitch. Fly!
A garbage can obeyed her command, rushing through the air. The gunman spun around
just as the drum crashed into him, pinning him against the truck. As he went down, aiming
wildly, he pulled the trigger.
Amanda sucked in a breath, clutching at the fiery pain blossoming in her shoulder.
They rushed around the front of the truck toward the downed attacker. Amanda
summoned the gun from his limp hand, then Jeanine grabbed his leg and gave him a zap for good
measure. The man's body jerked, then lay still once more.
"One down," Jeanine called out.
"That makes you outnumbered, bitch," Lorelei shouted at the still-at-large attacker.
Jeanine turned back to face Amanda, then gasped. "He hit you?!"
Already the pain was subsiding into a burning sensation. Amanda gingerly lifted her
fingers to examine her shoulder—her shirt sleeve was ripped and a little bloody, but not
punctured. "Nicked me, I think," she replied with a shake of her head.
Another shot rang out, followed by glass exploding, then a shriek. Heavy footsteps
pounded toward them, then slid through gravel. Grady skidded around the truck, rolling back up
into a defensive crouch. Amanda was damn impressed by the move and made a mental note to
ask him to teach it to her.
He clamped his hand over Amanda's mouth, pressing her against the truck with his body.
"Don't scream. And don't move," he rasped in her ear, his breath laboring from exertion.
She nodded. Despite this odd, rough treatment, she instantly felt safer with him around.
He would get them all out of this.
"I'll cover you," Grady added in a hoarse whisper as Jeanine nodded and fished her keys
out of her pocket. Amanda tried to hand her the gun but Jeanine refused it, mouthing, There's one
in the car.
Grady spared a glance at the unconscious man. "Keep an eye on him," he ordered.
Amanda trained the revolver—her least favorite firearm—onto the still motionless attacker with
her good arm.
When Jeanine had the keys in her hand, Grady bid her good luck with a silent wink and a
nod. He shouted, "Get her out of here," as Jeanine dashed off, his gun held steady and aimed at
the building.
As Grady watched her go, still pinning Amanda against the car, she finally realized the
plan: Jeanine's a decoy? Fearing the armed woman would open fire on any vehicle leaving the
lot, Amanda hissed against Grady's palm, "Wait!"
Her protest was ignored. Silently opening the door, Jeanine slipped into the Cherokee,
slipping into the driver's seat while keeping as low as possible. The door shut behind her with a
quiet click.
"Now, Jeanie," Grady roared. He released Amanda and edged forward past the car they'd
hidden behind, firing off several shots.
An answering hail of bullets rang out as Jeanine peeled out of the parking lot in a shower
of gravel and dust. As far as Amanda could see, nothing hit the Cherokee as it skidded onto the
road and barreled away. Her skepticism forgotten in the frantic moment, she offered up a prayer
to a heaven she wasn't sure existed for protection of her friend. Please, God, keep her safe
About the Author:
Born and raised in small-town, rural Indiana, I now live in metropolitan Phoenix, Arizona with an intimidatingly smart and devastatingly handsome husband and two hyperactively cute and talented sons who will one day be Earth's Overlords (never underestimate the power of Legos). I enjoy cooking, traveling, gardening, sewing, quilting, and embroidery but only when I'm in the right mood and seldom concurrently (I'm kind of streaky when it comes to hobbies). I adore reading and writing in the same way that I love breathing and eating, gaining a similar nourishment from each.
Web http://www.shanynhosier.com
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/pages/Shanyn-Hosier/117508078349472
Twitter @Taboo_Mistress
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5415139.Shanyn_Hosier
Amazon Author Page http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B006HGAZL0
a Rafflecopter giveaway
GoodReads Challenge- National Football League Challenge
NATIONAL FOOTBALL LEAGUE CHALLENGE
START DATE: September 1, 2013
DURATION: depends on the level chosen
To American sports fans, fall means the return of the National Football League. While college football is my #1 (sports) love, the NFL is probably #2 on my list :) I know many of you aren’t sports fans at all, but I hope you’ll join us for this NFL themed reading challenge!
When you sign up, let us know which level you plan to attempt, and which option in that level. For example: Level 2, Option B
LEVEL ONE (24 books): Begins September 1, 2013; ends February 28, 2014 (six months to complete)
Option A – every task for every team in one division (i.e. AFC North)
Option B – every task for four teams of your choice, but must be from the same conference
Option C – every task for ONE team FOUR TIMES
Detroit Lions
* Read a book whose cover is more than 50% Honolulu blue, silver and/or white. Post the cover!
* Read a book by an author whose first AND last initials can be found in DETROIT
* Read a book in which the first letter of the first word of the title (do NOT count A, An, The) is in LIONS
* The team’s head coach is Jim Schwartz. Read a book with a main character whose FIRST initial is either J or S. Tell us the character’s name!
* The team was founded in 1930. Read a book with a 1, 3, 9 or 0 in the total number of pages. Tell us how many pages!
* Read a book set in a location (city, state, country) beginning with a letter in MICHIGAN. Tell us the location!
Green Bay Packers
* Read a book whose cover is more than 50% dark green, gold and/or white. Post the cover!
* Read a book by an author whose first AND last initials can be found in GREENBAY
* Read a book in which the first letter of the first word of the title (do NOT count A, An, The) is in PACKERS
* The team’s head coach is Mike McCarthy. Read a book with a main character whose FIRST initial is either M or P. Tell us the character’s name!
* The team was founded in 1921. Read a book with a 1, 2 or 9 in the total number of pages. Tell us how many pages!
* Read a book set in a location (city, state, country) beginning with a letter in WISCONSIN. Tell us the location!
San Francisco 49ers
* Read a book whose cover is more than 50% 49ers red, metallic gold and/or white. Post the cover!
* Read a book by an author whose first AND last initials can be found in SANFRANCISCO
* Read a book in which the first letter of the first word of the title (do NOT count A, An, The) is in FORTYNINE
* The team’s head coach is Jim Harbaugh. Read a book with a main character whose FIRST initial is either J or H. Tell us the character’s name!
* The team was founded in 1946. Read a book with a 1, 4, 6 or 9 in the total number of pages. Tell us how many pages!
* Read a book set in a location (city, state, country) beginning with a letter in CALIFORNIA. Tell us the location!
Seattle Seahawks
* Read a book whose cover is more than 50% navy, grey, action green and/or white. Post the cover!
* Read a book by an author whose first AND last initials can be found in SEATTLE
* Read a book in which the first letter of the first word of the title (do NOT count A, An, The) is in SEAHAWKS
* The team’s head coach is Pete Carroll. Read a book with a main character whose FIRST initial is either P or C. Tell us the character’s name!
* The team was founded in 1976. Read a book with a 1, 6, 7 or 9 in the total number of pages. Tell us how many pages!
* Read a book set in a location (city, state, country) beginning with a letter in WASHINGTON. Tell us the location!
GoodReads Challenge - Travel the United States
START 10/1/13
END 10/1/14
Alabama (AL)
Alaska (AK)
Arizona (AZ)
Arkansas (AR) -
California (CA)
Colorado (CO) -
Connecticut (CT)
Delaware (DE)
Florida (FL) -
Georgia (GA)
Hawaii (HI)
Idaho (ID)
Illinois (IL)
Indiana (IN)
Iowa (IA)
Kansas (KS) -
Kentucky (KY)
Louisiana (LA)
Maine (ME)
Maryland (MD)
Massachusetts (MA) -
Michigan (MI)
Minnesota (MN) - Key Lime Pie Murder by Joanne Fluke
Mississippi (MS) -
Missouri (MO)
Montana (MT)
Nebraska (NE)
Nevada (NV)
New Hampshire (NH)
New Jersey (NJ)
New Mexico (NM)
New York (NY) -
North Carolina (NC) -
North Dakota (ND)
Ohio (OH)
Oklahoma (OK)
Oregon (OR)
Pennsylvania (PA)
Rhode Island (RI)
South Carolina (SC)
South Dakota (SD)
Tennessee (TN) -
Texas (TX) -
Utah (UT)
Vermont (VT)
Virginia (VA) -
Washington (WA)
West Virginia (WV)
Wisconsin (WI) -
Wyoming (WY)
Washington, D.C. -
Romance Reading Challenge 2013
Without further ado, here are the rules:
1. The challenge runs from January 1st, 2013 through December 31st, 2013.
2. "Romance" isn't limited to steamy Harlequin novels. There is a huge selection of books in this category such as contemporary romance, historical romance, romantic suspense and paranormal romance to name a few. As long as the story has romantic love between the two main characters your selection will fit this challenge. The novels do not need to have a happy ending either, there can also be unrequited love.
3. Choose at least 5 novels to read. You can change your choices at any time. Crossovers between other challenges are fine.
All kinds of books count, ebooks and audiobooks too.
If you are looking for suggested reading see Best Romance Novels Today or Romance Novels on Wiki or check out Amazon and Barnes and Noble.
In my opinion, you can't go wrong with Jane Austen, Nicholas Sparks and Nora Roberts, to name a few.
4. Read your book selections at your own pace in 2012 then post the link to your review(s). You don't need to have a blog, posting your reviews on Goodreads and LibraryThing counts as well. If you do have a blog and are joining us, please consider linking back to this post either with text or with one of the buttons provided below to help spread the word.
I hope you will join us! Happy reading :)
Sign up here
This year, I am hosting two giveaways for those who participate. One winner will be announced on February 14th, Valentines Day. The other winner will be announced on June 1st.
The giveaway prize is:
A $15.00 U.S. Amazon Gift E-Card or a $15.00 U.S. Barnes & Noble Gift E-Card.
To enter to win:
1. Sign up for the Romance Reading Challenge 2013.
2. You have to have a minimum of one book read and reviewed for the challenge. Everyone who joins the RRC this year and has at least one book read and reviewed for the challenge will be eligible to win a gift card. Each book read and reviewed for the RRC gives you one entry. So the more books you read and review, the more times your name will go in the draw. I'll use Mr. Linky to keep track of books reviewed so make sure to link your reviews there.
3. Leave me a comment on this post with your valid email addy. Let me know which gift e-card you prefer.
4. I will announce the winning name at my blog on the two dates I mentioned. I will also notify the winner via email. If I don't hear back from you within 48 hours, the first runner up will be chosen.
Good luck and happy reading! Contest is open worldwide.
1 Angels at the Table by Debbie Macomber (Audio)
2013 What An Animal Reading Challenge VI
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
The What an Animal Reading Challenge V ends on February 28, 2013. I'm starting the new challenge a bit earlier because I want the begin and end dates to be the same as my other challenges (it's easier for me to remember). So, the What An Animal Reading Challenge V will still end in February, so if you haven't completed it, you still have time. However, for anyone who wants to start the next animal reading challenge, What An Animal Reading Challenge VI will begin on January 1st. Read on for more details...
The rules are really simple...
1. Read at least 6 books that have any of the following requirements:
a. there is an animal in the title of the book
b. there is an animal on the cover of the book
c. an animal plays a major role in the book
d. a main character is (or turns into) an animal (define that however you'd like).
2. The animal can be any type of animal (real or fictitious)--dog, cat, monkey, wolf, snake, insect, hedgehog, aardvark...dragon, mermaid, centaur, vampire, werewolf...you get the idea...
3. Challenge runs from January 1, 2013 to December 31, 2013. That’s a full year to read at least 6 books (you can read more if you’d like).
4. Books can be fiction or nonfiction.
5. You may make a list of books at the beginning of the challenge or you can just list them as you find them.
6. Book titles may be swapped out at anytime (assuming you made a list to begin with).
7. Crossovers with other challenges are permitted and encouraged.
8. You don't have to have a blog or write a review, but you can if you want to. If you don't have a blog, just post in the comment section that you'd like to join. You can post your books in there.
9. Books can be in any format of your choice (print, audio, ebooks)
If you'd like to sign up, please use Mr. Linky [at the host’s site]. I'm going to keep this challenge sign up here instead of using the What an Animal Reading Challenge blog I started last year. It's easier for me to keep them all here.
There will be one linky to sign up, one linky for completed reviews and one linky for completed challenge wrap up posts.
This reading challenge is hosted by Socrates' Book Review Blog. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Freddie the Frog Was Hungry by Kari Brimhall (ebook)
2 Chipmunks: Picture Book by Planet Collection (ebook)
3 Giraffes: Picture Book by Planet Collection (ebook)
4 Backyard Critters by Planet Collection (ebook)
5 BullSnakes by Becky Wolff (ebook)
6 Dogs! By Becky Wolff (ebook)
COMPLETED
7 Baboons! By Becky Wolff (Ebook)
8 Camels! By Becky Wolff (ebook)
9 Rhinoceros! By Becky Wolff (ebook)
10 Insects ! By Mark Farley
11 Red Panda by Deutsche Don Juan (ebook)
12 Bats by Becky Wolff (ebook)
13 Barracudas by Becky Wolff (ebook)
14 Bears by Becky Wolff (ebook)
15
BA’s 2013 Free Reads Reading Challenge
About: The Free Reads Challenge is about all those books you’ve received for free, but haven’t been able to get to. Read books you’ve gotten via presents, review requests, prizes, or just found in the street. Does not include library books or other lending services. They must be books that have become part of your personal collection.
The Finer Deets
The Main Rule: Read books you’ve received without purchasing and you haven’t read yet. Books include gifts, ARCs, prizes, rescue books, but does not include library or other loaned books, and yes you can read new releases.
Running dates for all 2013 challenges: 1st of January – 31st of December 2013
Sign-Ups are accepted until the 16th of December 2013.
Formats: All BA Challenges are eBook, audio, short story, and graphic novel friendly.
Crossovers: You’re welcome to crossover with BA’s challenges. Include as many books across all the challenges as you can, I always say.
How To Sign-Up and Join In
Choose Your Level: Choose a challenge level listed below.
Sign Up Post: Create a post on your blog, in a group, or on a forum (where possible) to let others see what you’re aiming for (a predefined list of books is optional).
Grab The Badge: Download or grab the badge and place it in your sign up post. Then link back to Bookish Ardour.
Link Up: Grab the direct URL to your sign up post, not your blog, click the Mr Linky graphic and enter your link.
Blogless? Don’t worry, you can sign up with your social network profile (YouTube, Twitter, GoodReads, Shelfari included), just make sure you link to your review list, shelf, tweet, or category. If you don’t have any of those feel free to comment.
Your Reviews: Reviewing is optional! But if you do review it would be great for you to share them by submitting them on the review page.
Finished: When you’re done it’s completion post time and you can share these on the completion/wrap-up page.
Challenge Levels
For Me? – Choose 5 books to read
On The Cheap – Choose 15 books to read I'll be doing this one
Bargain – Choose 30 books to read
Presents – Choose 50 books to read
So Free – Choose 75 books to read
Gift Addict – Choose between 76-135 books to read
Speechless – Choose between 136-200 books to read
Extra Challenges
If you feel like that extra kick to your reading challenges here’s a couple you can choose from.
World: Choose a country as your theme, reading only books from that country or where it’s the setting. For how high you go you can choose more than one country;
Level For Me? and On The Cheap: Choose one country
Level Bargain and Presents: Choose two countries
Level So Free to end of Gift Addict: Choose three countries
Level Speechless: Choose four countries.
Gender Battle: Read books only by female or male authors. Another alternative is to read equal amounts of both.
1 The Charity Event Planning Guide by David Mirisch and Godfrey Harris
2 Dawn's Big Move (The Baby-Sitters Club, #67) by Ann M Martin
3 Miracle on Grass by David Fanucchi
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
2013 Contemporary Romance Reading Challenge
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
The Contemporary Romance Reading Challenge was originally created and hosted by Pearl’s World of Romance, then was passed on to Romance Book Maven. Due to time constraints, Fatin asked if I would host the reading challenge and I’m honored to do so. I’m keeping the details pretty much the same as to when Pearl and Fatin hosted the challenge, though I did make a requirement that the book be at least 100 pages in length or longer to qualify.
I enjoy reading this genre and I’m always looking for new authors and books to read. And here’s your chance to join me.
Reading Challenge Details:
Runs January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013 (books read prior to 1/1/2013 do not count towards the challenge). You can join at anytime. Sign up on The Book Vixen’s blog.
The goal is to read at least 10 contemporary romance novels. As per Pearl’s original post:
“by contemporary romance I mean straight contemporary, so without paranormal, fantasy or time-travel elements. Sexy, steamy contemporaries are eligible and so are category romances. (i.e. Harlequin Blaze, Harlequin Presents, Harlequin Super Romances, Silhouette Desires, etc.).”
I’m going to elaborate on this a bit just for the sake of clarification: Books read for this challenge can be young adult, new adult, or adult. Romances with the following elements do not qualify for this reading challenge: paranormal, historical, time-travel, fantasy, science fiction, or mystery/suspense/thriller.
Books can be any format (bound, ebook, audio).
Novellas that are at least 100 pages in length, as well as full-length novels, will count for this reading challenge.
Re-reads and crossovers from other reading challenges are allowed.
Grab the reading challenge button and post this reading challenge on your blog to track your progress. Please include a link back to this sign-up post so others can join the reading challenge too. You do not have to be a book blogger to participate; you can track your progress on Goodreads or LibraryThing.
This reading challenge is hosted by The Book Vixen. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Angels at the Table by Debbie Macomber (Audio)
Foodie's Read 2013 Challenge
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
Margot @ Joyfully Retired has decided that she no longer wants to continue with the Foodie's Read challenge. She offered me the chance to start hosting the challenge, which I am thrilled to do.
Many of us who love to eat also love to read. But we go beyond that. We love to read about food. If that is you, then you are invite to join us in the Foodies Read Challenge for 2013. This is the second year in which we’ll indulge ourselves with good food writing.
If you are new to a food/reading challenge, you may be wondering – what is a “food book”? A food book is a book which is centered around food and/or drinks. That could be a cookbook, a food biography or memoir, a non-fiction book focused around a specific food, wine, chef or restaurant. Also allowed is a fictional story in which food plays a major role.
Here’s how the challenge works:
1. Decide how many food books you want to read in 2013. Pick one of the reading levels below. Remember, this is a challenge, so try pushing yourself.
Levels:
Short-Order Cook: 1 to 3 books - this is what I'm shooting for
Pastry Chef: 4 to 8 books
Sous-Chef: 9 to 13 books
Chef de Cuisine: 14 to 18
Cordon-Bleu Chef: More than 19
2. Grab the challenge button and write a post on your blog so we can spread the word. No blog? That’s okay. Sign up in the comments section.
3. After you read each book for the challenge, come back here and tell us about it. Click on the correct category for your book (on the menu bar) and post the link to your review. We’ll use the same categories as last year: Cookbooks, Memoirs/Biographies, Fiction, and Nonfiction. I’ll also include a page where you link up your Challenge Wrap-Up post.
Guidelines:
The challenge runs from January 1 through December 31, 2013.
You don’t need a pre-selected list of books.
It’s okay to cross over with other challenges.
Any book format is allowed (print, audio, ebook)
This reading challenge is hosted by Foodie’s Read 2013. For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Angels at the Table by Debbie Macomber (audio)
2 Plum Pudding Murder by Joanne Fluke (Audio)
3 Cream Puff Murder by Joanne Fluke (Audio)
COMPLETED – July 2013
4 Key Lime Pie Murder by Joanne Fluke
5
Book Blitz/Giveaway : When Stars Die by Amber Skye Forbes
When Stars Die
by Amber Forbes
Release Date: 10/22/13
Summary from Goodreads:
Amelia Gareth's brother is a witch and
the only way to save her family from the taint in his blood is to become a
professed nun at Cathedral Reims. However, in order to become professed, she
must endure trials that all nuns must face.
Surviving these trials is not easy, especially for Amelia, who is being stalked
by shadowy beings only she can see. They're searching for people they can
physically touch, because only those they can touch can see them. Amelia soon
learns why she is being stalked when she accidentally harms her best friend
with fire during the third trial. Fire is a witch's signature. The shadows are
after witches.
Now Amelia must decide what to do: should she continue on her path to profession
knowing there is no redemption, or should she give up on her dream and turn
away from Cathedral Reims in order to stop the shadows who plan to destroy
everything she loves?
by Amber Forbes
Release Date: 10/22/13
Summary from Goodreads:
Amelia Gareth's brother is a witch and
the only way to save her family from the taint in his blood is to become a
professed nun at Cathedral Reims. However, in order to become professed, she
must endure trials that all nuns must face.
Surviving these trials is not easy, especially for Amelia, who is being stalked
by shadowy beings only she can see. They're searching for people they can
physically touch, because only those they can touch can see them. Amelia soon
learns why she is being stalked when she accidentally harms her best friend
with fire during the third trial. Fire is a witch's signature. The shadows are
after witches.
Now Amelia must decide what to do: should she continue on her path to profession
knowing there is no redemption, or should she give up on her dream and turn
away from Cathedral Reims in order to stop the shadows who plan to destroy
everything she loves?
Available from:
About the Author
Amber Skye Forbes is a dancing writer who prefers pointe
shoes over street shoes, leotards over skirts, and ballet buns over hairstyles.
She loves striped tights and bows and will edit your face with a Sharpie if she
doesn't like your attitude. She lives in Augusta, Georgia where she writes dark
fiction that will one day put her in a psychiatric ward...again. But she
doesn't care because her cat is a super hero who will break her out.
shoes over street shoes, leotards over skirts, and ballet buns over hairstyles.
She loves striped tights and bows and will edit your face with a Sharpie if she
doesn't like your attitude. She lives in Augusta, Georgia where she writes dark
fiction that will one day put her in a psychiatric ward...again. But she
doesn't care because her cat is a super hero who will break her out.
Book Blitz Organized by:
One Million Pages Read Perpetual Challenge
2008
January - 861 pages
February - 741 pages
March - 905 pages
April - 1390 pages
May - 1570 pages
June - 677 pages
July - 1099 pages
August - 1971 pages
September - 1124 pages
October - 2495 pages
November - 474 pages
December - 701 pages
YTD Total - 13,965 pages
Overall Total 13,965 pages
2009
January - 3442 pages
February - 2245 pages
March - 1698 pages
April - 1906 pages
May - 881 pages
June - 1745 pages
July - 1625 pages
August - 1901 pages
September - 1372 pages
October - 483 pages
November - 0
December - 0
YTD Total - 17,298 pages
Overall Total - 31,263 pages
2010
January - 1764 pages
February - 432 pages
March - 1166 pages
April - 1230 pages
May - 834 pages
June - 1657 pages
July - 768 pages
August - 1651 pages
September - 1365 pages
October - 1194 pages
November - 0
December - 0
YTD Total - 12,061 pages
Overall Total - 43,324 pages
2011
January - 1857 pages
February - 1033 pages
March - 473 pages
April - 717 pages
May - 644 pages
June - 1490 pages
July - 720 pages
August - 511 pages
September - 290 pages
October - 1151 pages
November - 912 pages
December - 859 pages
YTD Total - 10,657 pages
Overall Total - 53,981 pages
2012
January - 1130 pages
February - 1106 pages
March - 1173 pages
April - 450 pages
May - 886 pages
June - 1227 pages
July - 299 pages
August - 1117 pages
September - 711 pages
October - 89 pages
November - 324 pages
December - 597 pages
YTD Total - 9123 pages
Overall Total - 63,104 pages
2013
January - 391 pages
February - 342 pages
March - 444 pages
April - 348 pages
May - 66 pages
June - 288 pages
July - 1448 pages
August - 1632 pages
September - 660 pages
October - 607 pages
November -
December -
YTD Total - 6249 pages
Overall Total - 74,995 pages
2013 Mystery/Crime Reading Challenge
January 1, 2013 – December 31, 2013
I love a good mystery, my favorite authors include Agatha Christie, James Patterson, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; so I thought that having a reading challenge for 2013 that includes reading mystery/crime novels and short stories would be fun, even if I turn out to be the only one participating! So here are the rules should you want to join in the fun:
1.) The challenge starts January 1, 2013 and ends December 31, 2013.
2.) You can read any novel, short story or author just so that the genre is mystery/crime.
3.) 1 novel counts as 1 novel( 1 novel is anything over 100 pages) of course but you will have to read 5 short stories to count as 1 novel.
4.) There will be a monthly post for you to add a link or links to your post showing the progress that you have made so far.
5.) Each month there will be a drawing for those that linked up their participation in the challenge for that month the prize is a $25 gift card to Barnes and Noble or Amazon. These gift cards are delivered via email so you can only use it at Barnes and Noble.com not the store and of course Amazon is all online anyway.
If you don't have a blog you can also link up through GoodReads or Flickr (for Flickr just keep track by having a picture of the novel and then numbering them in the description so I know where you are at in the challenge).
If you read a certain number of novels you receive a rank at the end I will award a secret prize to the person who reads the most books:
5 books= Detective
10 books = Sergeant
15 books = Lieutenant
20 books = Captain
25 books = Chief
30+ books = Sherlock Holmes
For more information and to sign-up, please see this post.
1 Kissing Christmas Goodbye by M C Beaton
2 Plum Pudding Murder by Joanne Fluke (Audio)
3 Cream Puff Murder by Joanne Fluke (Audio)
4 Love, Lies and Liquor by M C Beaton(Agatha Raisin #17 ) (audio)
5 A Spoonful of Poison (Agatha Raisin, #19) by M C Beaton (Audio)
COMPLETED
6 Disney in the Shadow (Kingdom Keepers #3)by Ridley Pearson (Audio)
7 Key Lime Pie Murder by Joanne Fluke
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Book Promo : Sun Shine Down: A Memoir by Gillian Marchenko
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Today's Wild Card author is:
and the book:
T S Poetry Press (August 18, 2013)
***Special thanks to Gillian Marchenko for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Gillian Marchenko lives in Chicago with her husband Sergei and four daughters. Her writing has appeared in Literary Mama, MomSense Magazine, Chicago Parent, Thriving Family, Today’s Christian Woman, and Gifted for Leadership. A speaker, and active on Facebook, Twitter, and her website, Gillian says the world is full of people who seem to have it all together. She speaks for the rest of us.
Visit the author's website.
What if?
What if you dreamed of having a beautiful child, and in your mind you saw the life you'd share with that child. First steps, little league (or ballet). Maybe the child would play piano or make you proud on the Honor Roll. There'd be eventual graduations, college, even marriage and grandchildren. You might dream it out that far. Or not. Every parent has hopes. No parents wish for pain—their own, or a child's.
Then you had a premature delivery in a foreign country. And the words swirling around you said a different kind of "what if." What if something was wrong? The dream was at risk—or so it seemed. Would you be ready for that? Could you make peace? Or would it take you down?
These are the questions author Gillian Marchenko faced as she woke up after an emergency C-section in Ukraine. Only her newborn child could answer them, in time. But first she had to find a way to hear more than the words "Down syndrome."
List Price: $15.00
Paperback: 136 pages
Publisher: T S Poetry Press (August 18, 2013)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0989854205
ISBN-13: 978-0989854207
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
~ 1 ~
I woke up just before seven the morning of April 5, 2006, in a surgical recovery room in a hospital in Kiev, Ukraine. Sluggish, I scanned the room, unable to take in my surroundings. A thin white sheet covered my body. I shivered. A metal table housed a tiny television in the corner of the room. The bare walls were a pale shade of blue gray.
Did Sergei leave? Lifting my hand, I placed it on my breastbone and slid it toward my navel. My mid-section felt numb. Pushing down, it was as if I tapped another person’s toneless stomach. White gauze held my empty abdomen tight. I had been eight months pregnant.
Five hours earlier, I stood naked in a warm shower, my blond hair tucked into a flimsy paper cap. A delivery nurse crouched in front of my middle. “Krasata,” she hummed in Russian, smiling, telling me I was beautiful, while methodically shaving me.
I couldn’t see the nurse’s face over the bulge of my stomach. Her brown hair bobbed in and out of sight as she talked. I imagined her gold tooth sparkling as her mouth moved. In Russian, “krasata” means beautiful as in, “you are a beauty.” My skin was now translucent, stretched to its limit. I looked like ET’s pregnant cousin, wide-eyed from fear, hair thinned.
“Tebye nada peesat?” the nurse asked as she cleaned off the razor. I nodded – yes, I have to pee, and then I squatted, awkward, as my bladder emptied. I hadn’t peed in front of someone since kindergarten, when I used to make my best friend, Carol Peruski, go to the bathroom with me. The yellow stream swirled around and around the shower floor before sliding down the drain. I wanted to be back home in Michigan, tucked away in an American hospital. I wanted to understand everything being said to me.
*
I had hugged my daughters goodbye that morning, expecting to return in a few hours. Elaina, five and a half years old, had a habit of patting my tummy hello and goodbye. Zoya, eighteen months younger, stood on her tiptoes and aligned her lips with my belly button for a kiss. They hurried our goodbye. They had big plans to make a fort underneath the dining room table with their beloved Ukrainian nanny, Lena.
Our “stalinka”—the historical apartment in Kiev where we’d been living for the last three years, since we’d moved from Chicago to Sergei’s native Ukraine to help start and grow churches—showed few signs of a baby coming. A pack of diapers and some second-hand clothes were piled in the corner. A stroller stood in the hallway by the front door next to a line of shoes. We needed more supplies: ointment and shampoo and bottles. Infant clothes needed laundering. There wasn’t a place for the baby to sleep.
After saying goodbye to the kids, I’d inhaled in an attempt to flatten my protruding belly, needing at least two buttons of my coat to fasten. Giving up, I grabbed a scarf hanging on a hook near the front door and looped it around my neck to keep the Ukrainian winter air at bay. There were three weeks left until my due date. A simple pregnancy check-up coaxed me out the door with a promise of some much-needed time with my husband.
We'd sat in the car a few minutes, waiting for the engine to warm and for the frost to break up on the windshield. I could see my breath. “Let’s swing by that American restaurant on the river after your appointment,” Sergei suggested.
“You’re on!” I said. “And I know what I am going to order: Eggs Benedict. I am going to eat it all, too. It’s not like I can get any bigger than this, right?”
“You look beautiful,” Sergei said.
At the appointment, I lay on a long brown bed and watched the obstetrician measure my stomach with the kind of measuring tape my mother used to make our clothes when we were kids. The doctor measured once.
“Hmm.”
“Shto shto?” I asked in Russian. What? What do you see? Is something wrong?
Upon hearing my question, Sergei, who sat on the other side of the room, stood up and walked over to us.
“Shto takoye?” Is there a problem? Sergei asked.
“What? Oh no. Not a problem. I want to measure Gillian’s belly one more time.” The doctor positioned her right hand on the examination table next to my side and extended the tape across my abdomen. She hunched to ensure the right start and stop point on the tape and then held it out in front of her, stretching it wide.
“Your stomach hasn’t grown in two weeks.”
A sound like that of a police siren erupted inside my head, sending icy adrenaline shooting through me. Our baby wasn’t growing? Our baby wasn’t growing.
Sergei stood to the right of the doctor. He took hold of my hand and looked at me with that same steady gaze I'd noticed when we first met. When Sergei looked at a person, his eyes were unwavering, showing his confidence. At first that intimidated me but in our years together, it had become a great comfort. He heard what the doctor said and knew her words would worry me. He was with me and present, just as he had been for the last seven years.
The baby had measured small at checkups earlier in my pregnancy but the doctor had never been concerned about it. At one point the baby measured three weeks behind her due date in size and development. At that time, the doctor reassured me that I had nothing to worry about. “She is growing which is the main thing,” she'd said, winking. The doctor, jolly and round, acted like a female version of Kris Cringle. “There’s no problem. Either we miscalculated the due date or you have a petite little girl in there," she'd explained as she turned her attention to Elaina and Zoya who happened to be with us at that appointment. “Now, girls, are you excited about the baby? And how do you like living in Ukraine?”
“Sergei, please tell her we are concerned.” I'd wanted reassurance. To calm me, the doctor had ordered several ultrasounds and non-stress tests. Each time, the tests had shown the baby staying still. “Ona speet.” She’s sleeping, was all she’d say.
Today she said, “Here’s what we are going to do, Gillian. We’re going to admit you to the hospital overnight. I suspect the baby needs extra vitamins and nutrients. That should get her back on track."
“Should we worry? Is it something else?” I glared at Sergei the way wives do when they want their husbands to telepathically understand they should jump in with questions and concerns of their own.
“No! Don’t worry!” the jolly doctor smiled at us.
Instead of heading off to breakfast as planned, we went directly to the hospital. By noon I sat gowned in a room on the fourth floor. A nurse hooked a monitor to my belly to follow the baby’s heartbeats. I watched the squiggly green lines on the black screen dip low as my stomach tightened with each Braxton Hick's contraction. Something is wrong. I know it.
We were assigned a new doctor, tall and tan with a wide smile. His fuzzy, brown hair was gone in the back of his head. He wore glasses. He looked the part of the new Ukrainian, the guy who achieved success somehow during economic instability. The first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were open revealing a heavy chain that shimmered around his neck. Two huge, gold rings covered his knuckles. He was excited to have an American patient because he was learning English.
He introduced himself to Sergei first, in Russian, and shook hands with him. Then he peeked at me. “Hello, there. I see you having a baby? That’s great. I…um…ugh… I am happy to be of assisting of you today here in Ukraine. I am fond of America. And, um…, I am tried to work on my English.”
The new doctor continued to sputter and pause as he talked to me, searching for the right words to say in English. I would answer him in Russian, to let him know I could, and then wait for him to find his next English word.
I had studied Russian with a private tutor three times a week, two to three hours a session, for three and a half years. The day I met Tatiana Nikolayevna, my Russian teacher, I was nervous. She was a mountain of a woman with bleached blond hair. Her high cheekbones and pointed nose gave her a diplomatic air. She walked with a limp, suggesting she'd suffered a hip dislocation at some point in her life. One moment she’d give me an icy glare, then seconds later an approving smile would spread across her face.
For years I'd trudged along, immersing myself in basic conversation, memorization and grammar study. I cried at some point in every session. Tatiana was firm, but kind. In the beginning, I likened Russian to a blurry photograph. I knew something was there, but I could not make out the picture. It was humiliating and exhausting to try to speak a foreign language. Then one day the picture started to come into focus. I heard actual words, sentences, and eventually full conversations. I became an avid eavesdropper. My time deaf and mute in Ukraine came to an end. I had survived basic Russian language acquisition.
*
Outwardly I kept my cool at the hospital. But inside, I yelled at everyone who walked through the door. Check me and go away! Let me lie here and worry in peace. I’m not in the mood to teach English as a second language.
After meeting the new doctor and helping me settle into the room, Sergei left the hospital to go home and check on Elaina and Zoya, and arrange the rest of the day's schedule. About an hour after he left, I realized I would need a few things to stay overnight. I called him on the cell but got voicemail. “Hi, it’s me. Hope the kids are okay. Listen, since I’m going to be here for the night, can you grab a few things for me while you’re home? I need a change of clothes, my contact case, and maybe a book to read. Thanks. Love you.” After I hung up, I lay back on the hospital bed and focused on the clock on the opposite wall. There was nothing to do but wait. My hands were shaking.
Sergei got back to the hospital around four o’clock. Occasionally, the English-learning doctor came in, checked the monitor, and listened to my stomach with a stethoscope. Sergei asked questions. “How’s the baby doing? Do we know if the glucose and extra vitamins are helping yet?” We discovered that one phrase the doctor knew well in both English and Russian was “wait and see.” He would not outright answer our questions. “Wait and see,” he’d say, already turning to leave.
By nine o’clock, our American colleagues started to call. Julie, the mother hen of our ex-pat group, called first. Her husband James was our team leader, and they had been living in Ukraine for over ten years.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I called Lydia to tell her about you and the baby.” Lydia was another American working with us. Before moving to Ukraine, she was a postnatal nurse at Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago.
“That’s fine, Julie,” I muttered, my frustration breaking through. I wasn’t mad at Julie. I was mad that I was stuck in the hospital. I was mad that we were told over and over again to wait and see.
Julie continued, “And we are coming to the hospital. Once our sitter gets here, James and I will pick up Lydia and we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. Lydia’s voice, strong but soft, filled my ear with questions and greetings.
The threat of tears tightened my throat and I could only manage a whisper, “The baby hasn’t grown at all since the last visit to the doctor two weeks ago. I have an IV in right now, and I’m receiving glucose and other vitamins. The doctor says this will help bulk the baby up and get her back on track.” Sergei sat in the corner of the hospital room, pretending to be interested in a newspaper he'd picked up in the hospital lobby.
“Whenever I feel a contraction, the green squiggly line on the monitor drops low,” I said. I expected a response from Lydia. Instead, silence. For a second, I wondered if the phone lost its connection.
“Gillian, I will be there in a half hour. The next time your doctor comes in the room, you need to demand an emergency c-section. I don’t want to scare you, but in the States your baby would have already been delivered. She is not doing well. She’s in trouble. Listen to me; you have to talk to your doctor.” I tightened my grip on the phone. Sergei stood up, came over and sat down on my bed. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed. I shook my head and turned to the window.
“Okay, Lydia. We’ll tell him.” I hung up the phone and started to cry. Sergei leaned in and took me in his arms.
“Lydia said it sounds like the baby is in extreme distress. She said we need to demand a c-section.”
Always pragmatic, Sergei wondered out loud, “How can we know she is right? She isn’t even here. The doctor said the baby needs some extra help.” I moved out of Sergei’s arms so I could look him in the eye.
“Lydia said if we were in the States, the baby would have already been delivered.” I felt a sob rise and my body began shaking. “Sergei, please find the doctor.”
My husband agreed and went to get the doctor. I was alone. I knew it. I’d known for weeks that something was wrong. I should have spoken up more. Oh God, please let the baby live. I want to go home. I did not trust the doctors in this hospital. I wanted my mother. A few minutes later, Sergei came back to the room with the English-learning doctor who had his usual broad smile.
“Umm, your husband said that you are worried that the baby be born?”
“Yes. I have an American friend who is a nurse. I talked to her on the phone and she said that with the baby’s heart beat dropping so low, I would have already had a caesarean section if we were in the States. I’m worried. We need to talk about delivering the baby.”
I stared at this man who was dressed in white pants and a white, button-down shirt with a lazy stethoscope draped around his neck. He was a doctor. I wasn't sure of the schooling process in Ukraine, but in America he would have completed close to a decade of education in order to qualify for this job. Shouldn’t he know? Didn’t he know?
“The baby is stabilizing with the IV. It hasn’t been enough time. I think we should wait and see. She needs more time.” The doctor glanced from my face and Sergei’s to see if his words registered. Sergei spouted back in Russian.
They talked a few more minutes and then the doctor smiled at both of us and left. The clock next to my hospital bed read eleven o’clock at night. The baby had been receiving fluids since noon. I studied the monitor next to my head. The baby’s heart rate still dropped once in a while.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing!” I snapped at Sergei.
“I know this is hard, but he’s a doctor. He’s your doctor. We should listen to him. And I’m not saying this lightly. That’s my baby too in there. I’m worried. But Lydia isn’t here and the doctor is, and I think we should listen to him.”
Julie, James and Lydia arrived within the hour. They were upbeat, commenting on the nice hospital room, cracking jokes and squinting at me through the room’s bright lights. All three tried to act like it was the most natural thing in the world to hang out in a Ukrainian hospital room at midnight. I loved them for it.
A nurse located the English-learning doctor. When he came into the room, Lydia stepped forward and introduced herself. She went on to tell him what she told me on the phone. As she spoke, she kept taking steps closer to him. Soon, she stood right in front of his face. The doctor no longer smiled. “Doctor, this baby needs a cesarean section right away!” James and Julie hung back on the other side of the room. Sergei got up from the bed and stood next to Lydia.
“We are going to wait and see if the IV helps,” the doctor declared. Lydia persisted, eyeing my husband for language assistance and nodding incessantly as her words poured in a mixture of English and Russian. Her stern face and tone of voice pleaded with the doctor to take action.
I could tell by the projection of her voice that Lydia meant business. Here was one of my people, not only a colleague and a friend, but an American medical professional weighing in on the fate of my child.
After hearing more from Lydia, Sergei took her side. “We need to see if anything else is going on with the baby. My wife is frightened. We don’t want to wait and see anymore.” Sergei squared his deep blue eyes on the doctor.
“All right. I guess we can take a closer look at the baby through an ultrasound.”
“Spaseebo,” Sergei said. Thank you. “Spaseebo,” Julie, James, and Lydia all chimed in.
“Nyezashto,” the doctor replied. Don’t mention it. His expression was blank when he left the room.
*
Twenty minutes later I concentrated on Sergei’s face, as a coiled cord smeared icy liquid over my midsection. Doctors and nurses huddled around the ultrasound screen, whispering to one another in Russian. The technician tapped on my stretched skin, seeking the baby's beating heart beneath it. As my abdomen tightened again, the small huddle of Ukrainian professionals all gasped at the monitor.
“Sergei, ask them what they see.”
Sergei cleared his throat. “Izveneete pozshalusta. Shto takoye?” Excuse me, please. What is wrong? Our doctor turned around from the group and faced us. Oh no, here we go. Sergei took my hand in his.
“The baby’s heart beat goes too low with the contractions. We need to do a caesarean section right away.”
*
Back in my room, shaved and ready for surgery, I perched on the end of the high hospital bed and studied the imperfections on the tan walls. Sergei had gone downstairs to sign papers to allow the surgery. James, Julie and Lydia had gone to search for the nearest waiting room. All of a sudden I felt the need to take everything in. I wanted to remember every detail. A well-polished wooden desk with a matching chair stood against the wall in front of me. Cream-colored curtains with deep pleats framed the window. My stocking feet dangled above the alabaster tile floor. They seemed disconnected from my body.
I thought about Elaina and Zoya sleeping in their Estonian-made bunk beds back at the apartment. Sergei and I searched all over Kiev before purchasing the pale, hardwood beds. Thick cotton blankets were probably tucked up under the girls’ chins. I imagined their Babushka, Sergei’s mother, asleep in the next room, ready to provide a drink of water or a trip to the toilet. I wished I had kissed them goodnight.
I heard footsteps in the hall. The doctor stuck his head through the doorway. “Gotova?” No time for English now.
I nodded—ready.
I woke up just before seven the morning of April 5, 2006, in a surgical recovery room in a hospital in Kiev, Ukraine. Sluggish, I scanned the room, unable to take in my surroundings. A thin white sheet covered my body. I shivered. A metal table housed a tiny television in the corner of the room. The bare walls were a pale shade of blue gray.
Did Sergei leave? Lifting my hand, I placed it on my breastbone and slid it toward my navel. My mid-section felt numb. Pushing down, it was as if I tapped another person’s toneless stomach. White gauze held my empty abdomen tight. I had been eight months pregnant.
Five hours earlier, I stood naked in a warm shower, my blond hair tucked into a flimsy paper cap. A delivery nurse crouched in front of my middle. “Krasata,” she hummed in Russian, smiling, telling me I was beautiful, while methodically shaving me.
I couldn’t see the nurse’s face over the bulge of my stomach. Her brown hair bobbed in and out of sight as she talked. I imagined her gold tooth sparkling as her mouth moved. In Russian, “krasata” means beautiful as in, “you are a beauty.” My skin was now translucent, stretched to its limit. I looked like ET’s pregnant cousin, wide-eyed from fear, hair thinned.
“Tebye nada peesat?” the nurse asked as she cleaned off the razor. I nodded – yes, I have to pee, and then I squatted, awkward, as my bladder emptied. I hadn’t peed in front of someone since kindergarten, when I used to make my best friend, Carol Peruski, go to the bathroom with me. The yellow stream swirled around and around the shower floor before sliding down the drain. I wanted to be back home in Michigan, tucked away in an American hospital. I wanted to understand everything being said to me.
*
I had hugged my daughters goodbye that morning, expecting to return in a few hours. Elaina, five and a half years old, had a habit of patting my tummy hello and goodbye. Zoya, eighteen months younger, stood on her tiptoes and aligned her lips with my belly button for a kiss. They hurried our goodbye. They had big plans to make a fort underneath the dining room table with their beloved Ukrainian nanny, Lena.
Our “stalinka”—the historical apartment in Kiev where we’d been living for the last three years, since we’d moved from Chicago to Sergei’s native Ukraine to help start and grow churches—showed few signs of a baby coming. A pack of diapers and some second-hand clothes were piled in the corner. A stroller stood in the hallway by the front door next to a line of shoes. We needed more supplies: ointment and shampoo and bottles. Infant clothes needed laundering. There wasn’t a place for the baby to sleep.
After saying goodbye to the kids, I’d inhaled in an attempt to flatten my protruding belly, needing at least two buttons of my coat to fasten. Giving up, I grabbed a scarf hanging on a hook near the front door and looped it around my neck to keep the Ukrainian winter air at bay. There were three weeks left until my due date. A simple pregnancy check-up coaxed me out the door with a promise of some much-needed time with my husband.
We'd sat in the car a few minutes, waiting for the engine to warm and for the frost to break up on the windshield. I could see my breath. “Let’s swing by that American restaurant on the river after your appointment,” Sergei suggested.
“You’re on!” I said. “And I know what I am going to order: Eggs Benedict. I am going to eat it all, too. It’s not like I can get any bigger than this, right?”
“You look beautiful,” Sergei said.
At the appointment, I lay on a long brown bed and watched the obstetrician measure my stomach with the kind of measuring tape my mother used to make our clothes when we were kids. The doctor measured once.
“Hmm.”
“Shto shto?” I asked in Russian. What? What do you see? Is something wrong?
Upon hearing my question, Sergei, who sat on the other side of the room, stood up and walked over to us.
“Shto takoye?” Is there a problem? Sergei asked.
“What? Oh no. Not a problem. I want to measure Gillian’s belly one more time.” The doctor positioned her right hand on the examination table next to my side and extended the tape across my abdomen. She hunched to ensure the right start and stop point on the tape and then held it out in front of her, stretching it wide.
“Your stomach hasn’t grown in two weeks.”
A sound like that of a police siren erupted inside my head, sending icy adrenaline shooting through me. Our baby wasn’t growing? Our baby wasn’t growing.
Sergei stood to the right of the doctor. He took hold of my hand and looked at me with that same steady gaze I'd noticed when we first met. When Sergei looked at a person, his eyes were unwavering, showing his confidence. At first that intimidated me but in our years together, it had become a great comfort. He heard what the doctor said and knew her words would worry me. He was with me and present, just as he had been for the last seven years.
The baby had measured small at checkups earlier in my pregnancy but the doctor had never been concerned about it. At one point the baby measured three weeks behind her due date in size and development. At that time, the doctor reassured me that I had nothing to worry about. “She is growing which is the main thing,” she'd said, winking. The doctor, jolly and round, acted like a female version of Kris Cringle. “There’s no problem. Either we miscalculated the due date or you have a petite little girl in there," she'd explained as she turned her attention to Elaina and Zoya who happened to be with us at that appointment. “Now, girls, are you excited about the baby? And how do you like living in Ukraine?”
“Sergei, please tell her we are concerned.” I'd wanted reassurance. To calm me, the doctor had ordered several ultrasounds and non-stress tests. Each time, the tests had shown the baby staying still. “Ona speet.” She’s sleeping, was all she’d say.
Today she said, “Here’s what we are going to do, Gillian. We’re going to admit you to the hospital overnight. I suspect the baby needs extra vitamins and nutrients. That should get her back on track."
“Should we worry? Is it something else?” I glared at Sergei the way wives do when they want their husbands to telepathically understand they should jump in with questions and concerns of their own.
“No! Don’t worry!” the jolly doctor smiled at us.
Instead of heading off to breakfast as planned, we went directly to the hospital. By noon I sat gowned in a room on the fourth floor. A nurse hooked a monitor to my belly to follow the baby’s heartbeats. I watched the squiggly green lines on the black screen dip low as my stomach tightened with each Braxton Hick's contraction. Something is wrong. I know it.
We were assigned a new doctor, tall and tan with a wide smile. His fuzzy, brown hair was gone in the back of his head. He wore glasses. He looked the part of the new Ukrainian, the guy who achieved success somehow during economic instability. The first two buttons of his crisp white shirt were open revealing a heavy chain that shimmered around his neck. Two huge, gold rings covered his knuckles. He was excited to have an American patient because he was learning English.
He introduced himself to Sergei first, in Russian, and shook hands with him. Then he peeked at me. “Hello, there. I see you having a baby? That’s great. I…um…ugh… I am happy to be of assisting of you today here in Ukraine. I am fond of America. And, um…, I am tried to work on my English.”
The new doctor continued to sputter and pause as he talked to me, searching for the right words to say in English. I would answer him in Russian, to let him know I could, and then wait for him to find his next English word.
I had studied Russian with a private tutor three times a week, two to three hours a session, for three and a half years. The day I met Tatiana Nikolayevna, my Russian teacher, I was nervous. She was a mountain of a woman with bleached blond hair. Her high cheekbones and pointed nose gave her a diplomatic air. She walked with a limp, suggesting she'd suffered a hip dislocation at some point in her life. One moment she’d give me an icy glare, then seconds later an approving smile would spread across her face.
For years I'd trudged along, immersing myself in basic conversation, memorization and grammar study. I cried at some point in every session. Tatiana was firm, but kind. In the beginning, I likened Russian to a blurry photograph. I knew something was there, but I could not make out the picture. It was humiliating and exhausting to try to speak a foreign language. Then one day the picture started to come into focus. I heard actual words, sentences, and eventually full conversations. I became an avid eavesdropper. My time deaf and mute in Ukraine came to an end. I had survived basic Russian language acquisition.
*
Outwardly I kept my cool at the hospital. But inside, I yelled at everyone who walked through the door. Check me and go away! Let me lie here and worry in peace. I’m not in the mood to teach English as a second language.
After meeting the new doctor and helping me settle into the room, Sergei left the hospital to go home and check on Elaina and Zoya, and arrange the rest of the day's schedule. About an hour after he left, I realized I would need a few things to stay overnight. I called him on the cell but got voicemail. “Hi, it’s me. Hope the kids are okay. Listen, since I’m going to be here for the night, can you grab a few things for me while you’re home? I need a change of clothes, my contact case, and maybe a book to read. Thanks. Love you.” After I hung up, I lay back on the hospital bed and focused on the clock on the opposite wall. There was nothing to do but wait. My hands were shaking.
Sergei got back to the hospital around four o’clock. Occasionally, the English-learning doctor came in, checked the monitor, and listened to my stomach with a stethoscope. Sergei asked questions. “How’s the baby doing? Do we know if the glucose and extra vitamins are helping yet?” We discovered that one phrase the doctor knew well in both English and Russian was “wait and see.” He would not outright answer our questions. “Wait and see,” he’d say, already turning to leave.
By nine o’clock, our American colleagues started to call. Julie, the mother hen of our ex-pat group, called first. Her husband James was our team leader, and they had been living in Ukraine for over ten years.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I called Lydia to tell her about you and the baby.” Lydia was another American working with us. Before moving to Ukraine, she was a postnatal nurse at Children’s Memorial Hospital in Chicago.
“That’s fine, Julie,” I muttered, my frustration breaking through. I wasn’t mad at Julie. I was mad that I was stuck in the hospital. I was mad that we were told over and over again to wait and see.
Julie continued, “And we are coming to the hospital. Once our sitter gets here, James and I will pick up Lydia and we’ll be on our way.”
As soon as I hung up, the phone rang again. Lydia’s voice, strong but soft, filled my ear with questions and greetings.
The threat of tears tightened my throat and I could only manage a whisper, “The baby hasn’t grown at all since the last visit to the doctor two weeks ago. I have an IV in right now, and I’m receiving glucose and other vitamins. The doctor says this will help bulk the baby up and get her back on track.” Sergei sat in the corner of the hospital room, pretending to be interested in a newspaper he'd picked up in the hospital lobby.
“Whenever I feel a contraction, the green squiggly line on the monitor drops low,” I said. I expected a response from Lydia. Instead, silence. For a second, I wondered if the phone lost its connection.
“Gillian, I will be there in a half hour. The next time your doctor comes in the room, you need to demand an emergency c-section. I don’t want to scare you, but in the States your baby would have already been delivered. She is not doing well. She’s in trouble. Listen to me; you have to talk to your doctor.” I tightened my grip on the phone. Sergei stood up, came over and sat down on my bed. “What’s wrong?” he mouthed. I shook my head and turned to the window.
“Okay, Lydia. We’ll tell him.” I hung up the phone and started to cry. Sergei leaned in and took me in his arms.
“Lydia said it sounds like the baby is in extreme distress. She said we need to demand a c-section.”
Always pragmatic, Sergei wondered out loud, “How can we know she is right? She isn’t even here. The doctor said the baby needs some extra help.” I moved out of Sergei’s arms so I could look him in the eye.
“Lydia said if we were in the States, the baby would have already been delivered.” I felt a sob rise and my body began shaking. “Sergei, please find the doctor.”
My husband agreed and went to get the doctor. I was alone. I knew it. I’d known for weeks that something was wrong. I should have spoken up more. Oh God, please let the baby live. I want to go home. I did not trust the doctors in this hospital. I wanted my mother. A few minutes later, Sergei came back to the room with the English-learning doctor who had his usual broad smile.
“Umm, your husband said that you are worried that the baby be born?”
“Yes. I have an American friend who is a nurse. I talked to her on the phone and she said that with the baby’s heart beat dropping so low, I would have already had a caesarean section if we were in the States. I’m worried. We need to talk about delivering the baby.”
I stared at this man who was dressed in white pants and a white, button-down shirt with a lazy stethoscope draped around his neck. He was a doctor. I wasn't sure of the schooling process in Ukraine, but in America he would have completed close to a decade of education in order to qualify for this job. Shouldn’t he know? Didn’t he know?
“The baby is stabilizing with the IV. It hasn’t been enough time. I think we should wait and see. She needs more time.” The doctor glanced from my face and Sergei’s to see if his words registered. Sergei spouted back in Russian.
They talked a few more minutes and then the doctor smiled at both of us and left. The clock next to my hospital bed read eleven o’clock at night. The baby had been receiving fluids since noon. I studied the monitor next to my head. The baby’s heart rate still dropped once in a while.
“He doesn’t know what he’s doing!” I snapped at Sergei.
“I know this is hard, but he’s a doctor. He’s your doctor. We should listen to him. And I’m not saying this lightly. That’s my baby too in there. I’m worried. But Lydia isn’t here and the doctor is, and I think we should listen to him.”
Julie, James and Lydia arrived within the hour. They were upbeat, commenting on the nice hospital room, cracking jokes and squinting at me through the room’s bright lights. All three tried to act like it was the most natural thing in the world to hang out in a Ukrainian hospital room at midnight. I loved them for it.
A nurse located the English-learning doctor. When he came into the room, Lydia stepped forward and introduced herself. She went on to tell him what she told me on the phone. As she spoke, she kept taking steps closer to him. Soon, she stood right in front of his face. The doctor no longer smiled. “Doctor, this baby needs a cesarean section right away!” James and Julie hung back on the other side of the room. Sergei got up from the bed and stood next to Lydia.
“We are going to wait and see if the IV helps,” the doctor declared. Lydia persisted, eyeing my husband for language assistance and nodding incessantly as her words poured in a mixture of English and Russian. Her stern face and tone of voice pleaded with the doctor to take action.
I could tell by the projection of her voice that Lydia meant business. Here was one of my people, not only a colleague and a friend, but an American medical professional weighing in on the fate of my child.
After hearing more from Lydia, Sergei took her side. “We need to see if anything else is going on with the baby. My wife is frightened. We don’t want to wait and see anymore.” Sergei squared his deep blue eyes on the doctor.
“All right. I guess we can take a closer look at the baby through an ultrasound.”
“Spaseebo,” Sergei said. Thank you. “Spaseebo,” Julie, James, and Lydia all chimed in.
“Nyezashto,” the doctor replied. Don’t mention it. His expression was blank when he left the room.
*
Twenty minutes later I concentrated on Sergei’s face, as a coiled cord smeared icy liquid over my midsection. Doctors and nurses huddled around the ultrasound screen, whispering to one another in Russian. The technician tapped on my stretched skin, seeking the baby's beating heart beneath it. As my abdomen tightened again, the small huddle of Ukrainian professionals all gasped at the monitor.
“Sergei, ask them what they see.”
Sergei cleared his throat. “Izveneete pozshalusta. Shto takoye?” Excuse me, please. What is wrong? Our doctor turned around from the group and faced us. Oh no, here we go. Sergei took my hand in his.
“The baby’s heart beat goes too low with the contractions. We need to do a caesarean section right away.”
*
Back in my room, shaved and ready for surgery, I perched on the end of the high hospital bed and studied the imperfections on the tan walls. Sergei had gone downstairs to sign papers to allow the surgery. James, Julie and Lydia had gone to search for the nearest waiting room. All of a sudden I felt the need to take everything in. I wanted to remember every detail. A well-polished wooden desk with a matching chair stood against the wall in front of me. Cream-colored curtains with deep pleats framed the window. My stocking feet dangled above the alabaster tile floor. They seemed disconnected from my body.
I thought about Elaina and Zoya sleeping in their Estonian-made bunk beds back at the apartment. Sergei and I searched all over Kiev before purchasing the pale, hardwood beds. Thick cotton blankets were probably tucked up under the girls’ chins. I imagined their Babushka, Sergei’s mother, asleep in the next room, ready to provide a drink of water or a trip to the toilet. I wished I had kissed them goodnight.
I heard footsteps in the hall. The doctor stuck his head through the doorway. “Gotova?” No time for English now.
I nodded—ready.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)