18 January 2016

Annabella's Oblivion, Janes Surrender by author V.F.Mason Cover Unveil! With #giveaway


Title: Annabella's Oblivion
Series: Hard World Tour #1
By: V.F. Mason
Publication Date: February 3, 2016
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

Sometimes love is our only salvation...
Annabella
My brother and I shared the unbreakable bond that held us through thick and thin.
Nick helped me to achieve my dreams and meet my best friends.
Our shared talents with girls allowed us to create one of the best rock bands of our generation.
We had it all.
Fame, money, freedom.
The future held nothing but endless possibilities for us, and I couldn't be happier.
Until the person I loved most, my brother, was gone.
And nothing was ever the same.
The Oblivion consumed me, and I never wanted to come back.
But then Nate Jackson decided to save me, and I was powerless to stop him from bulldozing into my life and make me live again.
Annabella’s Oblivion
Copyright2016 V.F. Mason
All rights reserved
Prologue
Annabella When you lose someone you love, you want to scream as you fall to your knees, begging for anything to release the pain. People say, once you let it all out, you’re finally able to accept the fact that the person you love is gone and you can proceed with the funeral and the grieving. They say time heals everything and makes us remember those we lost only with smiles and good memories, and all the bad things fade away. Well, you know what? It’s all fucking bullshit. Time doesn’t heal shit; it just makes you deal with the painful reality that they’re never coming back. There is no scream. The minute you get the news, all you hear is a deep buzzing sound in your ears and everything around you is just quiet, as if you were in a vacuum. Funerals and seeing the body? Makes you loathe it even more and get angry at all those people who think they know better, who give you that pitiful stare and tell you someday everything will be all right. They promise to be there for you and always offer their support. That was a fucking lie, too. No one’s here with me right now. I lie in bed all alone and the pain doesn’t go away. That, I guess, is the whole point to being in rehab. “Bella, you are fucking using, and you want me to let you go on with it?” “Take her to a center. She is a fucking druggie.” “Have you thought for a second how Nick would react to this?” I hear all those voices in my head every time I try to relax. There is no getting away from them, or from those people who think they understand. They think they’re allowed to judge. Well, they fucking aren’t. They don’t know what it’s like to be me and deal with the pain when you have to smile for the press or perform on stage. No, they fucking don’t, and I hate them for judging me. Drugs, they were my friends. For just a moment, they allowed me to see him, to imagine and talk to him. I was able to laugh and experience a slight joy because he was here every time I took another dose. They took it away from me and thought I would deal with the grief. How can I ever deal with it? The person I loved most, the one who always believed in me, who was there for me when I wanted to explore my talent and go big, who saved me from the blows of our father, he’s gone. He is never coming back. He can never hug me and tell me it’s going to be okay, because nothing can be okay for me anymore. I want him here with me, but at the same time, I know he would have been disappointed in me. He would never take drugs or approve of me doing something so bad either. He hated them because they destroyed our parents, and he helped kids like us make a different choice. There is one vivid memory of him and me, when I was five and he was ten, and we walked around the park with just our sweaters and coats as protection against the biting wind, even though our coats were old and didn’t do much to keep us warm. I had wanted to see the park and he showed me. My teeth chattered from the cold, so he removed his coat with the intention of placing it on me. “No, Nick! It’s freezing!” He held me close as I tried to get away, because as cold as I was, I didn’t want him to suffer. And if he became sick, there was no medicine to heal him. Our parents spent what little money they had on the alcohol and didn’t give a thought to their kids. Nick ignored my arguments and placed his jacket on me. “It’s okay. I feel better knowing you are protected.” It made me cry, but he just smiled and hugged me. He was my hero. There wasn’t a time in my life when he didn’t put me and my needs first. He’d attended every one of my concerts and even arranged my music deal. He will always be my hero. But he’s gone. He is gone forever. How can I live in a world where he no longer exists? How is it possible to breathe in a world where my big brother, the only family I’ve ever had, doesn’t exist? He is gone, and sometimes, I wish like hell I could have gone with him, that it would have been me who’d died in that car accident all those months ago. It should have been me who laid on the table, my body cold and lifeless. They say atonement comes one way or another, or the guilt eventually vanishes. That’s fucking bullshit, too. I’m a coward; I don’t want to live with the guilt. I want to live in my small fantasy-reality, where he’s alive. I know I’m probably as good as done with the band. There is no way the girls and Jeremy will let me stay after all this; plus, how can they ever trust me? They shouldn’t, because as much as I love what I do—what we do—if I had the choice again between them and that life, and drugs and my brother, I would choose Nick in a heartbeat. My name is Annabella Katherine Hastings. I’m the lead singer of one of the most famous girl rock bands in the world, a fan favorite of many—supposedly with the voice of an angel—and I’ve recently become a druggie. Welcome to my world.


Title: Jane's Surrender
Series: Hard World Tour #2
By: V.F. Mason
Publication Date: February 3, 2016
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations

Sometimes love is our greatest fear...
Jane
I never really believed that love could heal until my parents adopted me. They showered me with love and attention, and through them I met my three best friends.
Our mutual talents allowed us to create a band that became one of the most popular rock bands in our generations.
We had everything, yet my heart longed for one thing.
Love.
I dreamed about the Knight in shining armor who would come and sweep me off my feet.
One day, I finally met him.
Only to be crushed when he fell in love with my best friend.
I gave up on love, deciding that happily ever after wasn't for everyone.
Until Drake came into my life and made my head spin.
Drake
I always knew that Id recognize the girl who is supposed to be mine from the first moment of meeting her.
Jane came into my life spontaneously, and we spend one amazing night filled with passion, laughter, and fun.
On the next day, she was gone.
My girl wanted nothing to do with me.
However, I was there to show her that no matter what a man never gives up on the woman he wants and some things are worth fighting for.
Jane’s Surrender
Copyright2016 V.F. Mason
All rights reserved
Chapter 1
The night that changed everything
Las Vegas, Nevada
March, 2013
Jane, 21 years old “Come on, Jane. Live a little!” Ariel shouted in my ear and gave me yet another shot of tequila, and I just rolled my eyes. The girl was crazy, but she probably didn't give a shit. That made me smile, especially when I thought about all the things she did in life. I shook my head and moved the shot to the side. I didn’t feeling like drinking, and maybe I just wasn’t in the mood. We were in a crowded Las Vegas nightclub, where the music was so loud you had to shout to be heard, and the booze was flowing. This club was one of the most exclusive places in the city. We paid a lot of money to get into the VIP lounge, and even I had to admit the design was fabulous. The lounge’s golds and reds were mesmerizing as they glittered vividly from the colorful club light. A big chandelier with crystals sparkled, emphasizing its beauty. On the huge dance floor with fog and lights, people danced and brushed against each other, drunk and out of control. The DJ above, wearing headphones, his eyes closed, moved his arms to the beat of the song. He appeared to be unaware he was in the crowded room. The bar was filled with eager, slightly tipsy people who wore designer clothes. Comfortable couches were scattered around the space. The friendly staff consisted of long-legged sexy waitresses in short black uniforms, black stockings, and high heels. The bartenders were seriously hot guys with cocky smiles and flirty winks. They wore leather pants and tight shirts, which gave the women customers a good look at their amazing chests, and probably contributed to very good tips from the horny ladies. The club had some of the best dancers in the world. A few cages hovering above the floor were filled with graceful, hot women who alluringly danced to the songs and did wonders with the ropes. I found it hard not to be jealous of their flexibility. The club, Resisting Me, opened a few months back, and quickly became a hit. No one knew much about the owners, but a rumor hinted at twin brothers who liked to get their kinks behind closed doors. We’d been dying to go for ages, so I had no clue why I felt out of sorts. Sam, Bella, and Megan danced wildly. Their arms waved above their heads while they shook their asses to the music. Several guys moved in closer, but my friends didn't pay any attention to them. They were too into girls’ night to mess with the guys, and besides, they promised Nick to behave. Nick was Bella’s brother, or rather the brother of the whole band, and long-time boyfriend of Megan. He was crazy about his girl, and it took us some time and bribes to convince him to let her go unwind a little with us. I was glad she was enjoying herself. However, that meant no sex for the girls. Well, at least not in the club. I knew the girls would find a way to sneak some guys into the hotel rooms. None of them wanted anything serious, but they loved to unwind sometimes, and who could blame them? I would have done it too, if only I could. Ariel sighed in frustration, pinned her hair in a knot on top of her head, and moved closer. She took a sip of her drink and then pointed a finger at me. “You aren’t having fun at all. This is our night out, and for the first time since we became famous, we don’t have to hide. It took us ages to convince everyone to let us go out, and here you are making me mad.” Her finger jabbed into my arm. Vicious creature. Nonetheless, her words were filled with truth. We became famous three years ago. The minute the world heard our group, Hard World, we became an overnight sensation. Millions of likes on YouTube, platinum albums, tours, multi-million dollar contracts, everything a successful rock band wanted, which also included wild wrap parties, exclusive hotels, and vacations. We enjoyed luxury life at its best. That, however, had two sides, because it meant we had to be extremely careful what we did and where we did it. We couldn't exactly go to regular places and have fun all the time. Especially because Jeremy, our manager, had a hissy fit about it. He hated all those parties. By the way, he was usually clenching his fists, drinking himself into oblivion, and giving the stink eye to all of Sam’s bed partners; you didn't have to be a genius to figure out why. “How am I making you mad?” I asked. Her beautiful emerald eyes held disbelief. She just shook her head and threw back another shot. Ariel was a thing of beauty, an hourglass body with curves that made men turn their heads, long, red curly hair, which shined like fire on a bright sunny day, and those eyes of hers. No wonder men all over the world went crazy for our little mermaid. “Because you’re grumpy and refuse to drink or dance,” she pouted. “I’m not. I’m just a bit tired; that’s all.” It was a flat out lie, and she probably knew it, but after a long hard stare, she let it go. It was for the best too. I wasn't about to share everything, because there was no point in doing it. Although the four of us were the closest friends possible, we sort of had two camps inside the group. Sam and Bella shared a special bond, while Ariel and I shared another. That’s why we were always attuned to each other’s mood swings and everything else. “Fine. Are you gonna go then?” “Yep. I need some good sleep.” I leaned closer and kissed her on her soft cheek. “I’ll buy your favorite cookies.” “Carbs for more curves? No, thanks,” she snorted, gulping one more shot and flashing me a picture of her in workout clothes on her Instagram page. “After all, I have a fitness blog going on for curvy women. I can’t eat them.” “Chocolate chip cookies, babe.” She narrowed her eyes, raised her chin slightly, and looked at me suspiciously. “How many?” Ah, I knew it would be easy to bribe her. I moved closer to her, and whispered in her ear, “Five.” She glanced around, nodded, and we shook hands. “It’s a deal. But keep it quiet. The walls have ears.” I swear if people heard what my friends and I talked about, they would think we needed to be locked up. “Pinky swear.” She rolled her eyes, and said, “Just go.” Then she blew me a kiss. “Yeah, just don’t be mad,” I replied. Her attention was already on the hot-looking guy on the dance floor, who was making his way toward her. She flashed him a cocky smile and licked her red, lipstick-covered lips. Looked like she had found her prey for the night. I made my way through sweaty bodies, people who were kissing, and several drunks who wanted to play grab ass, but were quickly shut down by the security guys who removed them. Near the exit, the wall was made of several small mirrors, which created some kind of weird art composition. It was hard not to notice myself in the reflection, not that there was much to look at. There wasn't a lot to admire about me. I was skinny, but my firm ass was often noticed. My dull brown eyes were framed by black hair cut in a bob. I wore biker-chick clothes, because I loved bikes. My body sported several tattoos. I was plain, just like my name implied. Every damn magazine in the world made it their mission to point out how funny and out of place I was among all the beauties in my band. It hurt the first time, and—who was I kidding?—it still did, but I had to accept it. I wasn't about to show weakness to anyone, especially the paparazzi. Finally, outside, I breathed the fresh spring air and loved the way the breeze calmed and cooled my body. Las Vegas was beautiful in its own way: all those lights, casinos, and interesting buildings. Everywhere, people had fun, and it was a good change from our busy New York life. People smiled, waved, and took pictures. Some of them were seriously drunk, but still laughed their asses off. The tourists were dressed in colorful Hawaiian shirts, and the locals in suits or jeans. What made the majority of the people in this city different was the excitement that shone in their eyes and the aura of adventure around them. My attention was on my surroundings, so the push from behind that made me fall forward came out of nowhere. My heart racing, I was just about to land on the hard concrete when strong, masculine hands caught me from the front and held me tight, saving me from a painful fall. “Sorry, hun, didn’t see you there.” I looked back at a young guy who wasn’t older than mid-twenties as he gave me an apologetic smile. The bump was an accident, not anything to get angry about. It could have been a lot worse had it not been for the guy who caught me. I gave him a reassuring smile and opened my mouth to speak, but I wasn't given the chance as the chest under my palms vibrated from the stranger’s raspy voice. “Maybe next time, you’ll pay better attention to where you’re going.” His voice was deep, husky, and masculine, and surprisingly, it sent shivers down my spine all the way to my toes. The guy who accidently pushed me paled, mumbled something under his breath, and quickly took off running. Curious, my eyes moved up, and my breathing stopped for a second. He was tall; his wide shoulders blocked my view behind him, almost as though I was standing in front of a wall. He was rather bulky, his arms muscled, evident by the way his black shirt stretched over them. My hands moved of their own accord over his brick-hard chest. Instantly, my palms tingled; I moved them away quickly and stepped back. Somehow, the move was like losing my anchor. What the hell was that? I finally looked at his face. He had the deepest, most beautiful sapphire eyes I’d ever seen. Those glorious eyes were surrounded by long lashes and set into his perfect, handsome face. His shaggy blond hair fell to just below his ears but didn't reach his shoulders. His kind smile brought attention to his full lips. He gazed down at me with an expression in his eyes I didn’t understand, because no one had ever looked at me that way. I’d never met a man like him, and I didn't understand my body’s reaction to him. I had visions of his naked skin against mine, two bodies entwined in bed, making love for hours. I found it hard to breathe. “Thank you,” I whispered. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He gave me a half smile and moved forward. I fought the need to step back, because it seemed like he was a predator and I was his prey. His whole attention was focused on me, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t move back from me, sweetheart,” he growled. “I don’t know you. Don’t call me that.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me back on his chest, resurrecting that electrifying feeling of his presence. His body was as hot as summer in Texas, and his tanned skin made me want to run my fingers over it. “What do you want me to call you then?” he whispered against my lips, which were a hair’s breadth away. “I...I don’t know,” I gasped. What was this? What was I doing? He was a stranger on the street, and I was in his arms feeling like he was the only one who could give me oxygen. Before any of this could make sense to me, he lowered his head and covered my lips with his. It was like the world stopped. And I was left alone with him in it. He slowly nipped my lips then licked and sucked on the lower one, which made me moan, a perfect opening for him to deepen the kiss. This was our first kiss. All I knew about kisses was that they were gentle and tender. The few guys I let kiss me were shy, and they didn’t really make my toes curl, but their kisses were nice. They weren't passionate, because I simply didn't inspire those feelings in men. Those kisses seemed dull and uninteresting compared to the one from the stranger. His kiss was deep, passionate, hard, and painful. It seemed as though he wanted to devour my mouth and leave his imprint on me, like he was marking me for everyone to see and punishing me at the same time, but for what, I didn’t know. He guided his tongue into my mouth, making me shiver and shyly answer his kiss, which earned me another growl. Following his lead allowed me to learn those kind of kisses, and I never wanted them to stop. My whole body was on fire, and for the first time in my life, I felt heat between my thighs, and my nipples got hard from the contact with another person. When my lungs burned from lack of air, he released my lips. We were both breathing heavily, and our eyes were still locked on each other. “Beautiful.” The word was like cold water washing over me, and I was suddenly aware of everything happening around me. His compliment wasn't the truth, and it broke the spell. I hated that he had kissed me, but it was hard not to want more. For one damn minute, I believed in magic again. But the real world and memories forced me back from my fantasy world to land on my ass. Hard. “I need to go.” I had to get out of there, from him and a situation I didn't understand, which confused me. Everything was blurry, and I just wanted to run away. That wasn't right. That wasn't me. I’d never reacted to men like I did him; I just never liked guys, period. Except Jeremy, but thinking about him made my heart ache, so I didn’t. I’d already met the man of my dreams and knew he loved someone else, so I had to live with that. I wasn’t looking for love. I was done.
V.F.Mason always loved reading books and had quite a few fights with her momma over the genre she liked (romance, duh!) She studied filmmaking and thought that would feed her desire for stories, but that didn't happen. Finally, when she was tired of all those voices in her head, she sat down and wrote a book. It was a huge decision to make and she thanks her friends and family for supporting her in it. When she is not writing, she can be found with her friends doing all sorts of crazy things or reading recent romance books that were written by her favorite authors.


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  Giveaway dates: Jan. 18 1:00 am CST - Feb. 1, 2016 11:59 pm CST Open to residents of the Continental US 18+ only. One set of entries per person. Only one prize per household, per 90 day period. Prize: One winner will receive their own box of Two Rivers Flavored Sampler Pack Single-Cup Coffee for Keurig K-Cup Brewers, 40 Count ($29.94 RV)  Please enter the giveaway through the Giveaway Tool listed below. Giveaway Tool will randomly select a winner. Winning entry will be verified. All entries are optional, and the chance of winning depends on the number of entries. No purchase necessary, void where prohibited. By entering this giveaway, you are agreeing to have your name listed as the winner on the giveaway widget and winner's list of participating blogs. The winners name will be posted on the widget and also here. In the case of any malfunction of the Giveaway Tool, the giveaway will be cancelled and no prize awarded. Winner is responsible for any applicable taxes.  

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  Giveaway dates: Jan. 18 1:00 am CST - Feb. 1, 2016 11:59 pm CST Open to residents of the US, 18+ only. One set of entries per person. Prize: One winner will receive a 3-month Premium Subscription to Grammarly ($59.95 RV) Please enter the giveaway through the Giveaway Tool listed below. Giveaway Tool will randomly select a winner. Winning entry will be verified. All entries are optional, and the chance of winning depends on the number of entries. No purchase necessary, void where prohibited. By entering this giveaway you are agreeing to have your name listed as the winner on the giveaway widget and winner's list of participating blogs. The winners name will be posted on the widget and also here. In the case of any malfunction of the Giveaway Tool the giveaway will be cancelled and no prize awarded. Winner is responsible for any applicable taxes.

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Keurig 2.0 Reusable Filter Bundle Gift Set Valued at $20 #Giveaway!

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17 January 2016

Rice Pudding Using Blue Diamond Unsweetened Original Almond Milk! #ad @almondbreeze

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups Rice
1/3 cup of sugar
2 cups of Blue Diamond Almond Breeze Unsweetened 
               Original Almond Milk
Cinnamon
pinch of salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

Put all ingredients in your rice cooker, set according to rice cooker directions, stir once in awhile and thats it!

You can also cook this on the stove, put all ingredients in a good sized pan, cook on low until rice is done and liquid has been absorbed, stirring frequently to prevent scorching.

You can add whatever toppings you want, fruit preserves etc.

Enjoy this healthier version of a great dish!


I received a 32 oz carton of Blue Diamond Unsweetened Original Almond Milk for the purpose of this review.

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Angels Burning by Tawni O'Dell Book Review!

Angels Burning 

Author: 
Publisher: Gallery Books (Simon & Schuster)
Publication Year: 2016
ISBN: 9781476755953

Overview

On the surface, Chief Dove Carnahan is a true trailblazer who would do anything to protect the rural Pennsylvanian countryside where she has lived all fifty of her years. Traditional and proud of her blue-collar sensibilities, Dove is loved by her community. But beneath her badge lies a dark and self-destructive streak, fed by a secret she has kept since she was sixteen…
When a girl’s body is beaten to death and tossed down a fiery sinkhole in an abandoned coal town, Dove is faced with solving the worst crime of her law enforcement career. She identifies the girl as a daughter of the Truly family, a notorious dynasty of redneck irascibility and petty criminals.
During her investigation, the man convicted of killing Dove’s mother years earlier is released from prison. Still proclaiming his innocence, he approaches Dove with a startling accusation and a chilling threat that forces her to face the parallels between her own family’s trauma and that of the Trulys.
With countless accolades to her credit, author Tawni O’Dell writes with the “fearless insights” (The New York Times Book Review) she brought to the page in Back Roads and One of Us. In this new, masterfully told psychological thriller, the past and present collide to reveal the extent some will go to escape their fate, and in turn, the crimes committed to push them back to where they began.
“In Angels Burning, Tawni O’Dell ratchets up the suspense with stunning twists and turns that send the unsuspecting reader careening toward a shocking ending. Angels Burning is a no-holds-barred, page-turning, perfectly crafted thriller that kept me reading long into the night. I can only hope that this is not the last we hear of O’Dell’s feisty and complicated protagonist Dove Carnahan.” — Heather Gudenkauf, author of THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE
“With a writer as insightful as Tawni O’Dell, and a protagonist as fascinating as Dove Carnahan, from the first page you brace yourself for the hard truths of the town of Campbell’s Run. Angels Burning lives up to every bit of its promise. This is a terrific book.” — Jamie Mason, author of THREE GRAVES FULL and MONDAY’S LIE
“O’Dell returns with a captivating mystery… Filled with surprising twists and turns, this whodunit in a sullen town is a page-turner.” –Kirkus Reviews

Tawni O’Dell is the New York Times bestselling author of six novels including Back Roads, which was an Oprah’s Book Club pick and a Book-of-the-Month Club Main Selection. Back Roads is currently in development to be made into a film by Michael Ohoven, the producer of the Academy-Award-winning, Capote. She is also a contributor to several anthologies including Becoming Myself: Reflections on Growing Up Female. Her works have been published in over 40 countries.
Tawni was born and raised in the coal-mining region of western Pennsylvania, the territory she writes about with such striking authenticity. She graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in journalism and spent many years living in the Chicago area before moving back to Pennsylvania with her two children.
 My Thoughts
Chief Dove Carnahan is the main character of this story. She is a police chief in a small community in Pennsylvania. There is an abandoned mine just out of town where the body of a teenage girl is found, partly buried and partly burned. It is up to her and her team to figure out what happened to her and why. She is identified as Camio Truly, a member of the Truly family, notorious for being rednecks and petty criminals. Suspects abound, Camio's family and her boyfriend are among them.
Dove has issues of her own and her story is told along with the ongoing investigation of the girl's murder. Dove's mother was murdered when Dove was a teenager. Dove also has a sister Neely and a brother Champ. Their stories are also mingled in. Neely is a dog trainer with issues of her own, Champ left the family shortly after their mother was murdered and has not returned in 20 years, then suddenly turns up with a son. The man who was tried and convicted for the murder is out and he is not happy that he had to be imprisoned for a crime he did not commit.
All of these stories combine to tell tale of dysfunctional families at their best, and worst. A suspenseful story that gets even more suspenseful as the story goes on. Definitely twists that I never saw coming. I love a good mystery/thriller type story and Angel's Burning is one of the better ones that I have read. All of Tawni O'Dell's books take place in Pennsylvania coal mining communities and she writes of the locality very well. This is the first book I have read by this author but I certainly will be reading more. I give this book 5 stars.
I received a copy of this book for review and my honest thoughts.

Tender by Belinda McKeon Spotlight! @belindamckeon #Tender


A searing novel about longing, intimacy and obsession from the award-winning author of Solace.

When they meet in Dublin in the late nineties, Catherine and James become close as two friends can be. She is a sheltered college student, he an adventurous, charismatic young artist. In a city brimming with possibilities, he spurs her to take life on with gusto. But as Catherine opens herself to new experiences, James's life becomes a prison; as changed as the new Ireland may be, it is still not a place in which he feels able to truly be himself. Catherine, grateful to James and worried for him, desperately wants to help--but as time moves on, and as life begins to take the friends in different directions, she discovers that there is a perilously fine line between helping someone and hurting them further. When crisis hits, Catherine , walled off by a truth he feels unable to share. When crisis hits, Catherine finds herself at the mercy of feelings she cannot control, leading her to jeopardize all she holds dear.

By turns exhilarating and devastating, Tender is a dazzling exploration of human relationships, of the lies we tell ourselves and the lies we are taught to tell. It is the story of first love and lost innocence, of discovery and betrayal. A tense high-wire act with keen psychological insights, this daring novel confirms McKeon as a major voice in contemporary fiction, belonging alongside the masterful Edna O'Brien and Anne Enright.




Belinda McKeon’s debut novel Solace won the 2011 Faber Prize and was voted Irish Book of the Year, as well as being shortlisted for the James Tait Black Memorial Prize. Her second novel, Tender, will be published in the US by Lee Boudreaux Books in February 2016. Her essays and journalism have appeared in the New York Times, the Paris Review, the Guardian, A Public Space and elsewhere. As a playwright, she has had work produced in Dublin and New York, and is currently under commission to the Abbey Theatre. She lives in Brooklyn and teaches at Rutgers University.

http://belindamckeon.com/
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16 January 2016

The Hundred Year Walk; An Armenian Odyssey by Dawn Anahid MacKeen Spotlight and Giveaway!


ABOUT THE BOOK
Dawn Anahid MacKeen’s grandfather, Stepan Miskjian, kept meticulous journals of his entire story, a “road map to his life,” which MacKeen felt compelled to follow by traveling to Turkey and Syria to walk in his steps—a dangerous venture since it was illegal there to even mention this part of history. But she had to “taste his thirst, touch the land where he walked. See the green hills surrounding his Adabazar, where his dreams of becoming the town’s first courier had taken root, before they withered and died in the desert.” And so the book jumps from Stepan’s journey to hers, from history to present, in a page-turning narrative aflame with raw emotion.
There are several other publications by Armenian authors in this centenary year, but none personalize these events the way MacKeen does in THE HUNDRED-YEAR WALK. She takes tremendous risk to make sure her grandfather’s legacy is remembered, and expands on his account by drawing on newspapers from the period, other survivor memoirs, official telegrams, and even tracking down the relatives of the survivors from her grandfather's caravans.
MacKeen is an award-winning investigative journalist who has written for places like the New York Times MagazineSalon, Elle, and Newsday. But several factors almost kept her from writing this astounding piece of history. To name just a few:
  • Her grandfather barely survived the Armenian genocide. He escaped countless times, and all that he witnessed almost died with him.
  • In 2006, MacKeen discovered four more notebooks just as she was about to quit the book for lack of additional information. These included Stepan’s life before WWI.
  • In Raqqa, Syria, she met a Bedouin sheikh who helped her find the family of the Arab sheikh who saved her grandfather’s life. By the time she had returned to Syria in 2009, the Bedouin sheikh had died.
  • The war in Syria now makes travel to the country impossible. A century later, history is repeating itself along the Euphrates, where MacKeen traveled; the area has once again become a cemetery.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dawn Anahid MacKeen is an award-winning investigative journalist who spent nearly a decade on her grandfather’s story. Previously she was a staff writer at SalonNewsday, and Smart Money. Her work has appeared in the New York Times MagazineElle, the Los Angeles Times, and elsewhere. She lives in Southern California.

Q&A WITH THE AUTHOR
Why did you feel compelled to write this book?
Ever since I can remember, my mother has been telling me about what happened to her father. Still, the story was relayed in fragments, and I couldn’t grasp how extraordinary it was until I could finally read it for myself as an adult. (This was thanks to a relative who translated his account, which was published in the sixties by a small press, from Armenian into English.) After reading it, I couldn’t believe that he survived, and the ripple effect that my entire family was alive. My grandfather Stepan believed he lived in order to tell the world what happened, and shared his ordeal with my mother throughout her childhood. She then passed it onto me. This is our family’s heirloom. Other people inherit fine china. I inherited this story, along with it the responsibility of retelling it.

Would you have survived this?
I ask myself this all the time. At each turn, what would I have done when faced with the same near-impossible odds?Would I have made the same decisions as my grandfather? Or would I have given up? My grandfather did everything to reunite with his family again, transforming himself constantly, and pushing his own physical and emotional limits. He was level-headed, and always tried to plot his next step, escaping from one of the worst killing fields of the genocide. He donned the uniform of a Turkish soldier, dressed like Lawrence of Arabia, and became part of a clan to escape the Turkish gendarmes who were trying to kill him. He learned Arabic. Later in the war, he became a translator to a German officer later, using his basic French. This was a man who only had a third grade education, but the survival skills he picked up as a child after his father died helped him to persevere. He was also a kind man, which ingratiated strangers to assist him. And, of course, there’s the luck factor; he was extremely fortunate, too, to have been able to escape so many times when others didn’t have that opportunity.
But if I am honest with myself, I know I’m not as clever or as strong as him. I have long ago decided that I wouldn’t have lived.

How did you discover more of his journals?
I had just moved back to Los Angeles from New York and was quickly finding out how difficult it was to report on this subject. I had the journals from the small press, but they only told part of the story. Of course, this is a genocide and most people didn’t survive, and even if they did, it’s a century later. Almost everyone involved was long gone. Suddenly, I was living at home at age 35, and feeling like a complete loser. My mother and I had a huge fight about me quitting. She didn’t want me to stop. Just to be flippant and to state the impossible, I blurted out: “I cannot help you unless you raise your father from the dead, and have him tell me what happened to him.” Two days later, my mother found two of his notebooks. After that, my uncle searched his garage and unearthed two more. After finding those, I felt almost as if I had a mandate to complete this project.

How did you fill in the blanks from your grandfather’s journals?
The book is really a tapestry of many experiences. While my grandfather’s story is the main arc, I reconstructed the world around him through thousands of pages of research documents. Luckily, my grandfather was extremely detail-oriented and had an elephant-like memory, and wrote down the names of the villages he was pushed through on his death march, and the full names of people he encountered. Most of the people were from his town of Adabazar (now called Adapazari), which is not surprising. Many of the deportees grouped together by hometown in the camps. The caravans were also often emptied—slaughtered— by calling out the names of the towns.
I felt like an amateur detective, looking for any information about these people. I went through oral histories, and every single memoir that I could find written by his fellow villagers. I searched newspaper articles from the time period, almanacs, immigration records, and compatriot books that survivors wrote. I advertised in Armenian newspapers– much like Armenians did after the genocide, as they tried to locate lost family members. The same search is happening today, with the refugee crisis, as families are being separated from one another due to the war and mass exodus.
I scoured libraries in five countries, and Googled a lot! I found one family in Canada, one in Virginia and another in the Seattle area. But one of my biggest finds was the writings of one man who survived the same massacre as my grandfather. After years of research, I finally found his account in Armenia and Romania, where he’d moved following the war. The articles were published in 1924 and 1940. When I found this, I cried. I just knew that if I looked long enough, I’d find it. He described the same massacre as as my grandfather, and dated it within a day of my grandfather’s account. It’s moments like this that I am dumbfounded that these atrocities are still denied. The eyewitnesses may be gone, but they left a paper trail.

Why did you write about your experience in the book?
I didn’t set out to do this. I just wanted to see the land that my grandfather walked, which is now modern-day Turkey and Syria. The harsh terrain was also a prison for my grandfather and the other Armenians, and I believed I needed to see it in order to write accurately about it. But then, unexpectedly, I found the descendants of the Arab sheikh who saved my grandfather’s life in Syria. I wanted to find this man’s family but didn’t think I would. When I did, I realized that I became part of the story. The sheikh was Muslim and accepted my Christian grandfather for who he was, regardless of his ethnicity or religion, and treated him like a son. The sheikh’s descendants welcomed me in the same manner, like a long lost daughter, with some three hundred people greeting me at my arrival to the village. They were as beautiful as the sheikh. Finding them was one of the transcendental moments of my life. There I was, half way around the world, and I found the clan that was my grandfather’s extended family.
I think in this pitched climate of religious enmity, of Muslims versus Christians, the message of the sheikh is a powerful one. Just one person’s act of kindness can transform a family for generations.

What were the dangers in writing this book?
I visited President Bashar al-Assad’s Syria before the civil war. He ruled with a firm hand, as we all know. The secret police followed me and harassed me. They would do that for every foreigner and part of the challenge was to figure out whether it was routine or not. Mine was not routine, and the questioning continued until I left the country. I had heard they thought I was a spy for Israel. And it just so happened that I left just before Israel bombed Syria in September 2007, not far from where I had been traveling, reportedly to take out a secret nuclear reactor site. After I left, intelligence agents really harassed everyone that I spent time with. I was originally supposed to fly out after the date of the bombing, but had become so spooked by the police tail that I changed my flight and left earlier. I’m very grateful that I changed my itinerary, and don’t know what would have happened had I stayed.

The town of Raqqa is written about in your book. Is this the same Raqqa that's now headquarters for the Islamic State?
Yes. Ironically, Raqqa was an incredible place for me. I visited twice before the war, first during the retracing of my grandfather’s steps, and then two years later. I was welcomed unequivocally. I even stayed overnight at a local tribal leader’s house, who hosted a dinner party for me on the Euphrates River, with musicians serenading our table under the stars, the long table laden with food, with conversation with people of different faiths. Clearly the town has changed: Now it’s the international symbol of hate and intolerance.
During the genocide, Raqqa was one of the few safe havens for Armenians, and after the genocide, many settled there, building churches and schools, and growing close with the local population. While it was a poor town, the people were extremely friendly and proud of what they had and were unified, regardless of religion. Later, I read that ISIS turned the Armenian church into a recruitment center for jihadists. And in nearby Deir Zor, fighters blew up the memorial to the Armenian genocide victims, which I visited twice, and wrote about in the book.
Many of the people I spoke with in this area knew about the tragic history of the Armenians. Not ever imagining that in just a few short years many would be facing their own survival as the area descended into war.

Is it true certain factors made it almost impossible to publish this book?
My grandfather barely lived to tell his story. I always felt that I didn’t have the credentials to write about survival. What did I know being brought up as a middle class American in the Hollywood area? Then while writing the book I found myself unexpectedly facing my own survival, when I became critically ill. I had many complications and had to fight my way back to health again. But I was driven: I had to complete this book, and understood on a different level what my grandfather faced, when one’s body is taxed to its limit.

How did the genocide affect your family?
It affected them in every way. My family is scattered around the globe in France, Turkey and the United States. They left Turkey, just like the refugees are fleeing the Middle East today. I used to think this was a little bit fancy to have cousins in France, but after learning more about my family history I find it heartbreaking, of separating from those you love, losing your life’s possessions and livelihood, and starting out in a new country without the language. My grandfather could never get over that he survived, while so many others did not. He spoke about it every day to my mother, who in turned spoke to me. There’s something called transgenerational trauma and I definitely believe it was passed down to my mother’s generation. My grandfather would repeatedly tell my mother, “I’m going to die next year.” He’d say that all the time to her, not ever believing that he’d escaped his death sentence. How can that not affect a person? She grew up worried all the time that she was going to lose her father.

What was being in Turkey like?
I was very nervous going there, after growing up with stories of knife-wielding Turks. In 2007, just before I visited, a prominent Turkish-Armenian journalist was assassinated for speaking out about the genocide, and the government was prosecuting those who took up the issue. But I experienced real kindness from many people. And while I was infuriated by conversations with people who denied it happened, I had to remind myself that there are many good people who have been been taught a warped history. This is a state-sponsored denial. Children learn in their history books that the Armenians were the agitators, that they had sided with the enemy during a time of war, and their deaths were a consequence of that. It doesn’t mean that these individuals are bad people, which I think is a frequent assumption. The Turks today aren’t the ones who perpetrated the genocide. For many of the people, it’s about education. We need to educate the future generations of Turks about what happened in a way that acknowledges the atrocities and allows the healing to begin. Of course, individuals also bear responsibility in this information age to educate themselves and question the history that they’ve been spoon-fed.

Why does it matter that Turkey still denies this?
History keeps repeating itself. We are seeing nearly identical images of persecution coming from the area where my grandfather suffered a century earlier. We are seeing the death convoys, the violation of women, the mass executions. It’s important to learn more about the forces that cause a genocide, and how to prevent it from happening again. After it happens, accountability is crucial. Perpetrators need to be adjudicated in criminal courts. For the Armenians, this has never really happened. On top of that, the modern state of Turkey campaigns against recognition. The Armenians can’t heal until their suffering has been acknowledged. Every time someone says it didn’t happen, the trauma is reopened. I think Pope Francis described it best when he said recently on the 100th anniversary of the killings, “Concealing or denying evil is like allowing a wound to keep bleeding without bandaging it."

Any funny experiences during your research?
One time I thought I’d found the long lost daughter of an individual named in my grandfather’s journals. I had become obsessed with finding this man, and had already been searching for several years. This man had escaped from the same massacre as my grandfather, and later died in the Soviet Gulags in Siberia. I just believed deep down that he would have written about his experience. I received word about this “daughter” and raced to the Armenian old folks home where she lived, and the woman was wheeled in. “This is it,” I thought. I was feverishly writing down everything she said, but as I probed, I discovered that though she shared the same last name, and was from Romania, where this particular man fled after the war, the sweet lady had no relation to the man I was looking for, but was very interested in chatting for the rest of the afternoon! It was a nice encounter, just not the one I was anticipating.

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Welcome to the I Love You To The Moon and Back Necklace Giveaway! @las930

I Love You To The Moon and Back Necklace Giveaway

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I Love You To The Moon and Back Necklace Giveaway!

This is part of The Ultimate Valentine’s Day Gift Guide! Stop by and check it out for great gift ideas for the whole family.

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Each giveaway will be slightly different as to cut down on entries for each one.
The Grand Prize has a lot of entries but, over $1,000 worth of prizes to 4 winners, so you will not want to miss that! Do some entries each day, plus there are lots of daily entries for more chances. 

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The sponsor entries are a variety so you get lots of entries for those, and don't forget the daily entries. The sponsor entries will be worth the most.
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