Review of "Rogue" Has My Hair Standing on End

They say that war is hell and perhaps its demons thrive there more than any other place. The thriving of demons in “Rogue” by P. A. Minyard certainly brings that idea to the front as Major Daniel Parker struggles with the demon who has overtaken him. Having died by the hand of the demon Benedict in the battle at Antietam, Daniel is called upon by “the Father” to be one of the beloved who fight in a different realm between heaven and hell. As his guardian, Bernard, begins to guide him through his new task as a “Beloved,” Daniel is unwittingly possessed by the very same demon who killed him. Daniel’s struggle suddenly goes beyond the battlefield between heaven and hell to a battle that rages inside his own mind and his own spirit. His only deliverance is to be found in the courage and strength of his brother Jonathan. As Jonathan pursues his rogue brother in order to turn him back toward his noble task, Jonathan must resist the same temptations as Daniel, but does he have the strength to resist the viciousness of the enemy? As the battles of the Civil War rage on in reality, the battle between heaven and hell rages on behind the scenes; a battle which has raged on between demons and the Beloved since the beginning of time.



What goes on behind the scenes of reality has always been a fascinating concept. “Rogue” by P. A. Minyard brings that fascination to life in such a way that the reader won’t be able to keep from turning pages to discover which force will ultimately victorious. The depth of development of both character and plot make this a thrilling and suspenseful read. Intriguing, suspenseful and captivating; “Rogue” will put you on the threshold between heaven and hell where the action will take you by the throat and make you uncertain whether the hero will prevail.

Review of "Hello Again" Has Left a Lump In My Throat

When Shannon finally admitted that she was in love with the graduate teaching assistant of her favorite professor’s archaeology class, Nate, it was forever. There were plenty of heartbreaking years attached to their love, as well as a son. “Hello Again” by Karen Truesdell Riehl is the story of a true deep love, which was simply never given a moment to breathe. Having made a promise to his dying benefactor, Walter, to take care of his mentally ill, alcohol and drug addicted daughter, Nate had every intention of honoring his commitment to the woman he loved, but also to the man who had given him and his mother so much. As Nate tries to break his engagement with Tally, Walter’s daughter, she threatens to kill herself and nearly succeeds. As he continues to take care of her, Shannon gives birth to their son Daniel and commits to raising him alone, telling him that his father is dead. Fate brings Nate and Shannon back to each other more than twenty years later, but there is still a great deal of pain to be endured as the truth is revealed. Will their deep love ever be able to overcome all of the pain and allow them to be happy together?

Mixing love with tragedy is not new, but the gentle way which Karen Truesdell Riehl does it in “Hello Again” will make your heart ache in a new way which is almost a little bit too real. The deep emotions that Karen leads you through in this novel will grasp hold of you and hold you with a deathlike grip. Real, profound and tragic; “Hello Again” is one of the most quietly intense love stories ever written.

Synergy Spanish is the Very Best Method for Learning Spanish

Have you struggled to learn a language because you are caught up in the grammar? Do you need a quick and easy method to train not only your tongue, but also your ear for Spanish conversation?
I had the exact same problem and see the exact same problem on a daily basis as I work with students who are trying to learn English. We learn our own language from practical application first as babies and our language grows with our experience and growth. The problem that most Language programs have is that they focus entirely too much on grammar and the student doesn't actually learn to listen and speak properly.
Synergy Spanish is different. After having two years of Spanish in High School and two more semesters in college, I still wasn't speaking Spanish. When it came time for my first visit to Colombia, I found Synergy Spanish and used it on my MP3 player. It worked wonders for getting me on track to actually speak Spanish.
For Synergy Spanish, Click Here!

"Once I discovered what's really important for communication, (you'll be amazed at how much of what is normally taught actually gets in the way of communication) and how to best use the mind for rapid learning, I became fluent in Spanish and very successful at teaching, too! I am now a very successful language teacher - one of the most respected and highest paid in Latin America. But the main reason I have a lot to offer you as a Spanish teacher is simply this: I have been where you are now. If you have ever had a tough time learning a language, Synergy Spanish can help - and I'm here for you, too!(Marcus Santamaria, founder of Synergy Spanish)"
Marcus and I had a similar problem, not only for learning Spanish, but when teaching English. The most important part is to hit the ground running. In the world of learning languages, that means "hit the ground speaking". Check out some of the other testimonials and the free offer that Marcus has available to get you started today. For Synergy Spanish, Click Here!

Christian Novel "The Key" is a Page-turner

Having spilled coffee on her trainer on her first day as a Texas DPS Trooper, CJ David hadn’t started things off very well with her new partner David Harper in “The Key (Peacemakers Series Book 1)” by Bruce Hammack. The brown haired Christian, CJ had wanted to be a Trooper since she was a child on the farm in East Texas. David had been a decorated soldier in Afghanistan. As they come together as working partners, CJ not only reveals a special set of God given skills, but she reveals a joyful faith full of singing and prayer. David portrays a rough, thick exterior that isn’t open to anything that has to do with Christianity. When CJ makes some hard decisions about her life and purpose, David is subject to some trials and experiences of his own and is dumbfounded by the things that she is willing to give up. Having several strong Christian friends and colleagues in their corner, they begin a journey together in which the lover learns to become a fighter and the fighter learns to become a lover. Only the hand of God can intervene in an intricate pattern of purpose to guide them through their quest.

In “The Key (Peacemakers Series Book 1),” Bruce Hammack has created an intriguing and suspenseful novel which gives all of the glory to God and demonstrates how His loving and guiding hand, often times through the use of His people, guides and directs a person’s life. As CJ and David navigate through their lives as Trooper partners, a very real divine plan, the key, is revealed to them in a way that gives testimony to God’s glory and sovereignty. Suspenseful, encouraging and realistic; “The Key (Peacemaker Series Book 1)” is more than just a novel; it’s a testimony to how God uses the faithful to bring about his purposes.

Extraordinary Art Made from a Fire Ant Mound

This is absolutely amazing. Each one is completely unique. You must see it to believe it.

BLT Sandwich with a Twist

Everybody loves a good BLT… Right?

Well, here is a BLT with a little twist to it that I discovered while rummaging for something to eat for lunch. You can certainly add your own ideas to it, but what I came up with was pretty tasty.

Put butter on one side of two slices of sour dough bread and grill it with the butter side down. Then turn the ungrilled sides up on your plate and add the spread.

The spread that I created for this is a mixture of Salsa Ajo and Mayonnaise. Salsa Ajo is basically the Colombia version of picante sauce. Just find your favorite or make your own. You could also substitute pico de gallo in place of salsa if you like.

To one of the two slices where I added the spread, I placed slices of tomatoes and lettuce and then I got the meat ready.

I used a thin sliced pork chop which I rubbed with salt, garlic and triguisar…(a mix of cumin, pepper, saffron and color) Triguisar (which is made in the city right down off the hill from San Antonio de Prado called Itagui), won’t be in the McCormick section, it will be with the Mexican foods section… If it isn’t there, look for Sazon Goya con Azafran which is more likely to be there. It’s not exactly the same, but close enough. If you can’t find either than make a mix of the ingredients above. Just to let you know that in Colombia, any cook worth her salt will have this spice mix on her shelf.

Once you’ve applied the rub grill the pork chop in the pan where you just grilled the bread. When finished, place the pork chop on top of the lettuce and tomatoes.

On top of the pork chop place fresh cilantro. Don’t worry about chopping it, simply rinse it and place several sprigs on the meat. The stems are actually the most savory part of the plant.

Place the other slice of bread on top and enjoy.

BUT WAIT!!! Where’s the BACON. You could add that I guess, but a pork chop is less fatty and still has some of that baconee flavor. Okay fine… Add bacon if you like. You could add cheese if so desired, but it is excellent just as it is.

Aprovecha!!!

 

 

Are You Up For A Sicilian Adventure?

World War II had all but destroyed Sicily and Domenico's family needed to get out. His father promised the family that things would be better for them in America. It is that hope which set Domenico and his family on an irrevocable course in "Finding Family: A Mystery Novella" by Giacomo Giammatteo, the first in "The Blood Flows South" series. With his father drinking up most of the money that the four of them worked so hard to raise in order book passage to New York, Domenico turns to a dishonest means of obtaining money. Once in New York, things are no better. His father is still a drunk and his mother falls ill and Domenico is forced to take care of his younger brother Guisappe "Zappe." In the racial strife of Hell's Kitchen where Irish, Italians and Puerto Ricans are all trying to coexist, taking care of Zappe isn't an easy task. Domenico won't survive alone. Another Sicilian family might be his only option; an option from which he can never turn back.


Giacomo Giammatteo has written a vivid tale of life in the streets for a Sicilian immigrant in New York in the 1960s. "Finding Family: A Mystery Novella" is a page turner with plenty of action, but plenty of deep feeling as well. Giacomo expertly captures the devotion to family and especially Domenico's devotion to Zappe, which his mother has passed on to him. Thrilling, heartbreaking and realistic; "Finding Family: A Mystery Novella" is starts off the "Blood Flows South" series like a shot from a pistol.

Tongue in Cheek Children's Book That I Can't Pass Up

Kids and adults alike often take a ribbing for the way that their name sounds or the nicknames that can be formed from the use of their names. At times, those added names can be mean, however, “What’s In a Name?” written by Terri Kelley and illustrated by David Stanley, takes a look at the lighter side of funny names in a way that can’t help but make the reader smile, if not chuckle a little bit. Names like Hamilton (Ham) Burger who runs that snack bar at the bowling alley or the lady at the place where Major Payne’s parents keep their money whose name just happens to be Robin, yes of course, her last name is Banks. The list of names is not the only highlight to this tongue in cheek book, but the illustrations that accompany these names even fit their owners. With a lighthearted presentation like this, the reader can’t help realizing that having a unique name isn’t all bad.


The humorous presentation of “What’s In a Name?” written by Terri Kelley and illustrated by David Stanley is a very well written and illustrated children’s book that can’t help but make the reader smile, chuckle or, in some cases, even roll on the floor with laughter when reading the names and matching occupations of the owner’s of those names, however, it is the quality of the illustrations that make names like “Chip Munk” come alive. Colorful, humorous and enjoyable; “What’s In a Name?” is not only enjoyable for children, but will even make those of us who have been children for decades chuckle.

Zipaquirá Trailer

Review of The Gray Season: Summer of Salvation

“The Gray Season: The Summer of Salvation” by Dianna Donnely is not only a story about how the death of two family members only a few weeks apart caught two families completely off guard, but it records the wonderful guidance and nurturing that took place within the lives of those closest to them. Lily Eastbrook Rhodes' story shows how at each turn there was another “God Thing” or “Open Door” that led from one seemingly impossible event to another and how each of those things added up to not only healing for the family, but healing for individuals as well. Though the healing improves the lives of the individuals and of Lily in particular, there is an ultimate healing; a healing for the emptiness inside that has plagued Lily since she was a child.

“We will have a house in heaven, an eternal body made for us by God himself and not by human hands (2 Corinthians 5:1, New Living Translation).” As the story of Lily Eastbrook Rhodes unravels in this inspired story of her family, “The Gray Season: The Summer of Salvation” by Dianna Donnely, the reader will come to realize that the things that we see falling into place as we go through open doors are those things which God has been building for us in His Kingdom. Honest, compelling and inspiring; “The Gray Season: The Summer of Salvation” is a marvelously written chronicle of how those things which seem to be the end of our happiness, turn out to be our deliverance.

A personal note: This story reminded me very much of my family and the way that our lives were changed and blessed as we served and cared for my father in his last days. This should be at the top of your reading list, especially if you have recently experienced a loss very close to you.

Review of an Incredibly Written and Inspiring Memoir

Rose Wallace didn’t need IV antibiotics for her sewer stomach, wormy belly and a poisoned head, what she needed was good old fashioned honesty and the empowerment of a fully confident woman in order to make sense of the craziness that plagued her youth. In spite of the difficulties she experienced as a child and teen Rose Ania Wallace was able to navigate her way through it all and chronicles it brilliantly in her memoir “Rising from Quicksand: How I Rose Above Madness & Illness to Reclaim My Life.” Her strength was evident from childhood as she stubbornly pursued the kinds of things that a young lady hadn’t ought to, like desiring to play baseball with the boys instead of softball with the girls, climbing the plum tree and eating all of the plums she could gather, or learning to ride her bicycle in a day, however, having been perfectly trained in the practice of denial by the adults in her life, she allowed herself to at first be a victim to the circumstances surrounding her mother’s illness. As she began to discover her independence, highlighted by starting her own law firm straight out of law school, she also began to the discover the power of mining for the gold nuggets of truth which are often the most difficult, thought the most valuable to find. The result of her new discoveries transforms her life, as well as those around her.

“Rising from Quicksand: How I Rose Above Madness & Illness to Reclaim My Life” is a brilliantly written memoir by Rose Ania Wallace which reads like a fictional novel. The emotion and honesty with which she describes her transformation are inspiring and the way in which she weaves the details of her story make it a page turner that I had trouble putting down. Real, honest and emotional; “Rising from Quicksand: How I Rose Above Madness & Illness to Reclaim My Life” is a must read for those who are searching for a way to be free of their own madness or simply to be inspired and encouraged to step out and do the impossible.

The Texas Rangers Ride Again in "Attack on Orbital 454"

Muslim extremists continue to use terror to disrupt life on the new Utopian planet of Medina in this 26th century based Sci Fi thriller “Attack on Orbital 454” by XX. After an explosion destroys a major portion of Orbital 454, killing 250,000 people and most of the law enforcement force, four Federal Marshals remain however and those four are extracts from the 1800s and famous for their valor and initiative from the Texas Rangers and the old west. Through the assistance of “time slipping” by an AI form, they discover that the group of extremists is made up of a portion of the group of sixteen terrorists who were involved in the attacks on 9-11. With a master hacker at the helm, his plan is to extract them over and over again in order perpetuate terror. The four marshals, led by one of the most renowned Texas Rangers of all time, have to find that master hacker and prevent him from doing any further damage. “Attack on Orbital 454”, by XX is an incredibly creative story. Mixing events and characters from the past in a future serious of events allows the reader to imagine how a Texas Ranger and old west lawmen would have dealt with the Al Qaeda terrorists. The concept is intriguing and the characters are certainly a unique mixture which brings the story to life and adds a touch of reality. Intriguing, imaginative and ingenious; “Attack on Orbital 454” is certain to stir the imagination of the reader in a way that brings on a satisfying smile as the Texas Rangers ride again.

Review of Umbrian Twilight

A slow stroll through the Italian countryside during harvest time is exactly what the reader will take while reading “Umbrian Twilight” by Giovanna Piccozzi. Meeting an air marshal, Mike, on her flight to her farm in Italy, the story of her ancestry, her tragedy and her search for restoration unravel in a gentle story which is full of images of the Italian olive harvest as well as the warmth and generosity of an Umbrian village and the care of the neighbors. The memories of family gardens and slow, lazy Sunday afternoons among family and friends blends to create a rich portrait in the soft tones of a soothing picture in Giovanna’s mind as she works to reconstruct a soul which has been grieving at the loss of one of her children. How can she count the losses in her life when there have been so many gains? One of those gains is found in the gentle Umbrian breezes as the sun begins to set.

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Giovanna Piccozzi has painted a masterpiece with words in “Umbrian Twilight” which rivals the great masterpieces of the great Italian painters. The soft tones and gentle touch of her words not only ease the mind and sooth the soul of the heroine in the story, but they speak with a soft, gentle voice to the reader as well. The reader will take a quiet stroll through the gardens and village markets of the Italian countryside, feeling the cool breezes, smelling the delights from the kitchens, hear the gentle laughter and watch the setting sun through the olive trees. Gentle, soothing and homey; “Umbrian Twilight” will take the reader on an unforgettable journey of the soul.

Review of "Self Publishing a Book" by Hank Quense

With the revolutionary strides made in ebook publishing by Amazon, Nook Press, Smashwords and dozens of others on the rise, the ability to self-publish an ebook has become very easy, however, there are some keys to preparing your manuscript that will help set your book apart among the millions that are being offered. Hank Quense guides the reader through the publishing process in easy steps in “Self Publishing a Book.” Hank helps the reader determine which type of publishing house to go with or to go with self-publishing and the pros and cons of each. The book also helps you to understand the formatting involved in both ebook publishing and print book publishing. Hank discusses the ins and outs of ebook and print packagers and provides a list of questions that you need to ask before making a deal with one. “Self Publishing a Book” also helps you set up a budget so that you won’t be hit by surprises when it comes time to use the particular services necessary to publish your book. Hank also provides links to service providers and services that you might need throughout the process.

Having this guide would have been quite handy when I learned this process for myself. After publishing three books, however, I still didn’t know it all and “Self Publishing a Book” was still a great guide to help me see my own short comings and provided plenty of new ideas that I had considered before. Hank Quense has developed a valuable resource for the self publisher which is a must read, before you publish your book.

Our Field of Dreams "Cowboy Memorial Stadium"

I was just a punk kid watching the Gunnison Cowboys at Mountaineer Bowl when Mike Dickenson was playing football for the Gunnison Cowboys. Mike shined pretty brightly as a star in my eyes, though he was just a high school football player. Lots of other names stick out in my mind, but I’m just focusing on Mike for the moment, because it was getting to know Mike later as an adult that inspired the creation of this page.

When we were putting the finishing touches on the stadium preparing for the inaugural game, Mike, in spite of having some difficulty with his balance at times, was right out there working along with us. On one occasion, he and I had to go get some boards to help support the flag pole while the concrete was drying. It was an opportunity to get to know one of the Cowboys from the past as an adult. I am certainly glad that I had the opportunity, because we lost Mike not long after.

After one of those work sessions, I was standing atop the new bleachers looking across the field and the freshly painted G and realized that this field had memories for everyone who ever played football as a Gunnison Cowboy since the school was first occupied in 1965. What is now Gunnison Cowboy Memorial Stadium was the practice field and JV football field.

This is significant for two reasons. The football players that are honored by the naming of the field would have played their home football games on that very field and it seems fitting somehow that it will forever be memorialized that way. The second reason is that the practice field is christened with blood, sweat and Jim Bohnsack and Russell Dick’s favorite “beanie weenies” or as we called it “planting flowers.” It was on that field that we actually turned each other into Cowboys.

I can’t even begin to tell you the thrill that went through me when we turned on the lights at Cowboy Memorial Stadium for the first time and the first team of Cowboys to play on the field ran out onto the field to play. Even as we wrapped up the last game of the season with temperatures hovering just barely above the freezing mark as the game ended, I knew that we finally had a home of our own to be proud of.

Keep it going Cowboys; young and old alike, this is your page for remembering the past and making new memories, “memories so thick that (you’ll) have to brush them away from (your) faces (James Earl Jones, Field of Dreams).”

Hot Dog Condoms, the Arepa Police and Hot Chocolate

Most people associate coffee with Colombia, as well as some other not so pleasant, though completely archaic, ideas about cocaine cartels, bombings and kidnappings. I've been in Medellin just shy of a year now and the only things that have really been a huge surprise to me are the hot dog condoms, the arepa police and the hot chocolate.

They didn't make individually wrapped sliced cheese when I was a child. I don't know if it didn't exist or if I had never been exposed to it, regardless of which case is true, I have certainly just defined my age and socioeconomic upbringing. I eventually got used to the idea of individually wrapped cheese slices, but I am having a little bit more difficulty with the idea of hot dog condoms. Each of the "salchichas" (hot dogs) in a package are individually wrapped here. The little wrapper, when removed looks like a little condom and would make my neighbors, who happened to dig in the trash back home, raise their eyebrows, wondering what went on all of the time in my house and raising some questions about endowment. Lucky for me, I only forgot to remove the "hot dog condom" one time. The results made a lasting impression when I took the first bite.

Moving on to another thing that I am still getting used to is the necessity; no the requirement to eat arepas every morning for breakfast. An arepa is a cross between a corn tortilla and a pancake. Their taste leans a little bit more toward a corn tortilla. Every household in Colombia is required by law to toast an arepa of some variety: white corn, yellow corn, chocolo, cheese filled or even whole wheat (this is for those Colombians watching their figure). Because I find this rather strange, there is a running joke in my house that if you don't eat an arepa for breakfast, the arepa police can arrest you and charge you. There is little leniency for non-arepa eating criminals and therefore, I assume that the punishment is stiff. I have been able to sneak past breakfast without an arepa a few times and thus far have not been caught, but I looked over my shoulder the entire day wondering when they would be coming to get me.

Though the other two seem a little bit crazy, I will have to admit that the hot chocolate is actually a special thrill. They don't use Swiss Miss in Colombia. Occasionally, the few who can afford it will mix Milo in milk and heat it up or drink it cold. It is very tasty, but to me, the traditional method for making hot chocolate is still the best. My wife claims that I have mastered this art and therefore, I must brag about my ability to melt the squares of chocolate perfectly, add the hot agua-panela (hardened sugar with the molasses still in it) in exactly the right amount and then pour in the milk to the precise level. Those of you who are still drinking Swiss Miss or some other gourmet brand of hot chocolate mix have no clue what real hot chocolate is supposed to taste like. Trust me, my wife says that I'm an expert.

So, if you happen to be interested in finding out exactly how this gringo from the backwoods of Colorado's mountains is getting along in his new home in Medellin. I'm tolerating hot dog condoms, avoiding the arepa police and have become an expert at making hot chocolate. What more could anyone ask for?

"The Fight for Immortality" will raise the hair on the back of your neck!

Appealing to the masses and especially to the youth of the world, through the promise of adventure, education and a future with endless possibilities, an alien force has easily began to overtake earth without shedding a drop of blood in “The Fight for Immortality” by Peter Arthur. Though the aliens have taken on a human form and have easily drawn in the vast majority of youth with their extraordinary ability to fulfill the basic and seemingly on-track desire for the proper lifestyle, career and family goals, there is one youth, Jack Cousins, who isn't fooled by any or it. With the leaders of the numerous branches of the United States government scrambling to get a hold on what is going on and attempt to stop it, the ordinary teen, Jack, not only has the proper amount of skepticism about the true motivation of DE corporation, but has an extraordinary skill of his own that will help him to fight back against overwhelming forces. He is forced to accept a challenge which borders on the impossible and win the fight for immortality or die in the process. “The Fight for Immortality” is a brilliantly thought out novel with enough realism to make the hair on the back of your neck stand up. Peter Arthur expertly shows how an alien force, understanding the common thinking of humans and the things that it is correct and morally right to pursue can become not only the stumbling block, but the means of eliminating us. Packed full of suspense, intrigue and realism, it is an enormous comfort that “The Fight for Immortality” is a work of fiction. I hope.

Charles A. Salter Hits a Home Run with "Borrowed Bones"

An odd green glow high up on one of the peaks on the island of Puerto Rico has government scientists confused and questioning its origin. Brad Stout is tasked to make sense of this URP (Unexplained Radiation Phenomenon) in “Borrowed Bones” by Charles A. Salter. With orders straight from the White House, Brad is put in charge of a secure lab which is bound to secrecy in order to come up with an answer to the mystery before it threatens to destroy the entire earth in something resembling a reversal of the Big Bang Theory. However, someone is trying to stop him and making it a permanent end seems to be their ultimate goal. The next twist of fate is that they are located on the inside of the lab. Is that why the beautiful Lindsey Cowell is so eagerly by Brad’s side or is she simply trying to seduce him for her own personal reasons? Brad has an overwhelming puzzle to solve and only a short period of time to solve it before the entire earth goes BANG! Charles A. Salter has done it again in “Borrowed Bones”. This thrilling mystery takes a firm grip on the reader from the beginning and tightens it throughout. The twists and turns of the plot continue to deepen the mystery as Brad Stout comes closer and closer to the truth. Having a saboteur on the inside makes it even more challenging and places the light of suspicion on those who are nearest to him. The hair-raising, intense and brilliantly woven mystery of “Borrowed Bones” will have the reader on the edge of their seat with their heart pounding.

Review of Golf Made Easy! A Backward Approach... or is it?

If you are ready to take up a new and relaxing pastime, it is best to have some basic instruction and direction before spending a large amount of money on all of the necessary equipment and greens fees that go along with the great game of golf. “Golf Made Easy! A Backward Approach to Learning Golf… or is it?” by Jeffrey W Kern is the perfect instructional book for beginning golfers. Though Jeffrey describes his method as being backward to the traditional way of learning and teaching the game, it seems to make perfect sense as the student moves from putting, to chipping and pitching and finally to driving. Learning to crawl before walking, before running is a sensible way of teaching and learning and Jeffrey makes it very easy with “Golf Made Easy!” Jeffrey’s guide not only teaches the basics of the game with simple instructions, photos and graphics, but he also gives plenty of reference material regarding club distance, making certain that your balls are balanced, club fitting and playing the fame in general. It teaches success from the beginning and builds on that success in order to keep the student coming back and learning the entire game. “Golf Made Easy!” by Jeffrey W Kern is exactly the book that I wish that I had been introduced to when I took my first gold lessons in college. The method may seem backward and it isn’t as dramatic as learning to drive first, but the concept makes plenty of sense. Learning the short game first allows the student to get the feel of aligning the shot, gripping the club, swinging and addressing the ball at lower speed first and then moves toward the more difficult aspects of the short game before moving to the more dramatic game of driving. Instructional, informative and common sense combine to make “Golf Made Easy!” an excellent instructional guide for beginning golfers.

SPECIAL OFFER ZIPAQUIRA FREE NOVEMBER 1 - 5

SPECIAL OFFER!!! ZIPAQUIRÁ FREE NOVEMBER 1ST THROUGH NOVEMBER 5TH ON AMAZON! The first FIVE days of November, Amazon is offering “Zipaquirá” by Bil Howard for FREE. If you haven’t had a chance to read it, now is a great time to take advantage of An Amazon SPECIAL OFFER! “Zipaquirá” is the first book in a series of Historical Romance novellas called the Belle of Colombia. Inspired by the charming and beautiful pueblo of Zipaquirá, about 30 miles north of Bogota, Colombia, “Zipaquirá” is the beginning point of two struggles: one for the independence of Colombia and the other a struggle to create a new life from one that is full of dark tragedy. http://www.amazon.com/Zipaquir%C3%A1-Belle-of-Colombia-ebook/dp/B00F46GG0I/ref=la_B00FDP3QS0_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383145206&sr=1-2

AWESOME Romance With a Twist

I'm a guy, but I was captured and intrigued by this book. I highly recommend it!!! Checking the locks on her windows and doors, three times over, has become a regular habit for Doctor Makenzie Holder and so far it has been keeping her alive. With the help of the FBI Dr Holder has been relocated to a new city and bears a new name in DeLaine Roberts’ thrilling romance “Chasing Air”. The brilliant Dr Judith Bellonte Donati staged her own death to prevent a hired, mob hit-man from ending it for her. Though she misses her family connections and is constantly plagued from ghosts of the past, Makenzie is doing the best she can with making her new life normal again. Wealthy businessman Jonathan Bain offers her everything that she was used to in the past, but his demanding demeanor is to close a reminder of her past, meanwhile another romance is kindling with detective Ryler Buchanan with whom Makenzie not only feels safe, but with whom she is most comfortable. With her life and love in a constant state of discovery, she wonders if and when her past will catch up with her and whether she will truly be able to let go and live again. “Chasing Air” is a steamy romance with plenty of suspense and intrigue to keep the reader on their toes. DeLaine Roberts has created a masterpiece for the romance genre. The reader feels each heartbeat and each catch of the breath as Makenzie struggles through the challenges of rebuilding a new life while the former one still lurks in the shadows behind her. For those who love romance with a twist, you simply can’t go wrong with “Chasing Air”. Suspenseful, sizzling and real; DeLaine Roberts will keep you on your toes, and looking over your shoulder, while you fall in love.

Review of "Bad Parent" by Dominique Wilkins

http://www.amazon.com/The-Bad-Parent-ebook/dp/B00B77TW5E/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1382577708&sr=1-1&keywords=dominique+wilkins Dominique Wilkins takes a hard look at the issues that affect our children and their lives in “Bad Parent.” When Gina fell for Big Dave, it seemed like she had found her perfect match. She knew little about him, but they seemed to “get each other”. What she hadn’t bargained on was that Big Dave would disappear as soon as his child, Lil’ Dave was born and Gina would be saddled with raising an overactive child that had been targeted by the schools as a menace. Gina tries everything and even asks for help from teachers and administrators for professional advice for Lil Dave’s problems. She discovers that “professional” simply isn’t in existence at Dave’s school and is finally relieved to have him relocated to another. Her relief is short lived, however, as professionalism is not a part of the vocabulary of the new school either. Gina eventually discovers Lil Dave has ADHD/bipolar, which answers many of her questions, but it might simply be too late to save him. “Bad Parent” is an accusation against the educational system in the U.S. Dominique Wilkins has written an excellent short story which not only illustrates the problems that ADHD poses for parents and teachers, but she has also exposed one of the many reasons that children struggle through school without receiving any professional help. She also, graphically illustrates the consequences that follow in the footsteps of ignoring a serious illness. The scripture references that are mixed within the story give an excellent look into the wisdom which God provides for parents in his word as well. Bold, thought provoking and tragic; “Bad Parent” will take you by the throat and won’t let go.

The Colombian Paso Fino

The Colombian Paso Fino or Colombian Criollo Horse is a small, light horse, breed with high endurance and a smooth, foxtrot, gate that make them a beautiful horse to watch, but are equally desirable when it comes time to get some work done. Throughout history this breed has developed into what it is today. Its breeding has continually been developed to a point that the Colombian Paso is considered superior to its cousins in South America. The word “Criollo” was initially used by the Spanish to refer to pure-bred people or animals born in the Americas. The first Spanish horses to arrive in South America came through Buenos Aires, Argentina in 1935. As the Spaniards were forced to leave Buenos Aires by the natives in the area, their horses were left behind and the natives began to use them and breed them for their own use. The story repeated itself all over the North American and South American continents throughout the centuries which followed. In the nineteenth century the breed had been developed more or less as a native breed of South America with slight variations common to various regions of South America along with the variations of its topography and climate. The Colombian Paso was a hardy little animal used extensively in the Eastern plains of Colombia where vaqueros used the quick little horses to work cattle. They were also found to be very well suited for use in the Colombian Andes, because of their endurance and easy-going nature. In the area surrounding Medellin in the late 1800s and early 1900s the Colombian Paso began to replace the use of “sillateras”, a type of chair carried on a man’s back to transport goods. The quick gate actually defies what appears to be a nervous spirit. The breed as a whole is extremely gentle and even tempered. Their quick, foxtrot gate is also very smooth and the rider feels little of the quick hammering motion of their hooves. These hardy little horses are rarely found over 15 hands, but remain very popular as working cowhorses in Colombia and are continually bred to ensure their ability to perform the demanding tasks to which they are most suited. Though they are not large, they carry some of the traits similar to the mustangs which were once prized by the American cowboy: the thick, heavy front end, the thick neck, sure footedness and endurance (plenty of bottom).

Because of their easy-going nature and frugal eating, they are easy keepers and typically withstand extremes of heat and cold with equal vigor. They have excellent bone structure with resistant joints and hard, durable hooves. These qualities, along with their extraordinary endurance, cause many to argue that the Criollo and especially the Colombian Paso surpasses the Arabian in overall, long-term endurance. All in all, this hardy little beauty is certainly a keeper and a truly remarkable for its highly desirable qualities in gate, quickness and stamina. However, above all, this light horse breed is highly prized because of its even-tempered gentility. Enjoy a fictional history involving the realization of a dream of raising Criollo horses in the Belle of Colombia Series novels by Bil Howard.

Excerpt from Zipaquira'... COMING SEPTEMBER 10TH

Captain Vasquez had continually preached that it was better to die a free man than to live as a man in bondage to another. Esteban could not help believing him when he said it. It sounded reasonable and the force of his personality added to the strength of his argument. The concept of freedom was a little bit lost on them, because their lives had been subject to the same destiny of the generations of their families before them. They were destined to work in the salt mines and it is likely what they would return to when they won the battle, but the idea that they could have more, the opportunity to make a different choice was intriguing to them. Far above all of the sermons of Captain Vasquez, however, was the blood that ran through their veins, the Muisca blood, which had harbored a hatred for the rule of the Spanish since the first Spaniard drove a claim stake in the ground on the Plain of Bogota. They were not meant to be ruled by a government ten thousand miles away. They were not meant to be subject to sending the profits of their labor down the Magdalena River to be placed on a ship and sent across the ocean. As Esteban was marching toward the battle, he couldn’t help thinking about his family and his home. It wasn’t far, a half a day’s journey, back to Zipa, but the distance seemed as vast as the one between Bogota and Spain. He missed his family. He missed the simple, normal life that they led. He missed his own bed. He missed his cousins and aunts and uncles, who often visited on Sundays or gathered at his grandmother’s house for celebrations. Another thought suddenly came upon him as he was remembering his family; a deep regret. It was a regret that demonstrated how much he had changed. He had been horrible to his cousin Maribel. He had watched others in his family treating her the same way and believed that she was something less than the rest of them because she was an orphan. Because of that, he had decided that she could be played with, used and taken advantage of. What difference did it make? No one would ever have beaten him or even scolded him for abusing her. He now understood the difference. She was a human being, a strong one too, she had stubbornly continued to live on in spite of the abuse of the family and seemed to continue to grow in strength. He realized that in reality, he respected her, though he had never been able to stop trying to get a look at her naked body or a feel of her breasts. If he lived through this battle, he would apologize to her and he would treat her better. He crossed himself as he made his solemn promise to God. He suddenly heard the cadence of the drums change and knew that they were signaling for them to halt. He waited for the exact beat and planted his left foot firmly in step and brought his right foot to its side, just like they had been taught. The entire unit came to a standstill in the road as they awaited their next order. Long minutes passed as they stood waiting. The musket on Esteban’s shoulder began to get heavy and he wondered if they would ever receive the order to stand at ease. He could hear the drums and marching of other units in every direction around him and he realized that the entire army was forming up all around them. Being in the middle of the vast numbers began to bolster his confidence. Surely the Royal Spanish Army could be no match for so many men. He had heard rumors of their forces outnumbering the Spanish three to one. No one knew for certain if they were true and Captain Vasquez had told them never to believe rumors, but to fight as though they were outnumbered by the Spanish. “It will make you more fierce than jaguars and more vicious than wolves,” he had said. Because of his statement, they had named the two platoons of the unit “the Jaguars” and “The Wolves”. Esteban was a member of the Jaguar platoon and in his mind belonged to the fiercer of the two. The sounds of drums and marching echoed across the plain and then came to a very sudden and very silent halt. For several long minutes the sound of breathing and his own beating heart was more deafening than any noise he had ever heard before. His ears strained for some form of noise to drown out the heavy silence. It was a silence so pregnant with anticipation that it was suffocating. Every sense seemed to be blocked out during those moments. He could see nothing more than the soldiers in front and beside him. He could hear nothing, but his own breathing. He could smell nothing but the dust of the road. He could feel the heat of the sun, the weight of his musket and the tingle of a rivulet of sweat as it trickled down his cheek. Another sense had come alive however; a sense of coming doom was masked in the silence and lack of sight and smell. Of all of the senses, it was the most overwhelming. It increased the pace of his breathing and caused his mouth to instantly dry out. Something that had the irony taste of blood was in his mouth and the pounding of his heart was a clear assertion that he was still alive and that there was a deep desire within him to remain so. The silence was ended by loud commands, which were followed by drum-beats which told them to spread out into their lines for advancement. He followed his line as he had been trained and was soon shoulder to shoulder in the second line of the Jaguar platoon. He glanced to his right and saw the pale face of Franco. The moment was drawing near. “May God and the Virgin bless us both,” he said to his friend, crossing himself. “May the Virgin accompany you,” Franco responded, crossing himself also. The long silence which followed the formation of the troops was even worse than the silence which they had endured before. In their drilling, they had rarely gone from columns to formation to waiting. Action had always followed the maneuver and Esteban had assumed that the moment of battle would arrive the instant they were in formation. It seemed that neither side was going to fight. Perhaps the generals of both armies would ride out, talk it over and decide to cancel the battle. It was a silly thought, but he could come up with no other explanation for the long, silent pause. What erupted next, however, left little down to the fact that both parties did indeed intend to engage in battle. From behind both lines erupted the thundering sound of artillery being launched toward the lines of the other. Mixed with the thundering voices of hundreds of cannon was the beating of drums and orders to move forward. The acrid smell of smoke and the thickness of it drifted over the lines blocking out the view of the troops in front of them. Esteban caught occasional glimpses of Captain Vasquez off to his left and continued to marvel at how straight and stern he sat in the saddle upon the back of the dancing Ganador. He saw no fear in either man or stallion and took strength from the vision of victory that they demonstrated. He raised his chin slightly, putting on a proud air of confidence as he marched forward. As the sound of the Spanish cannon increased in volume because the Jaguar line was moving forward, Esteban began to hear another sound which he could not quite place. It had the quality of an eerie, ghostly moan mixed with the screams of banshees. It was something that he had never heard before. Along with the sound was the sharp staccato beat of rifles being fired in volleys. As the Jaguar line moved even closer, the sound of clinking sabers and horses hooves were added into the cacophony. The smell had changed as well. It was the sickening sweet smell of blood mixed with dust and smoke. Fear, thundering heart, heavy breathing, thick smoke, heavy musket and rivers of sweat all assaulted his senses at once. He could barely see the figure of Captain Vasquez through the smoke and barely hear the beat of the drums. Their signal changed again. They were to halt and raise their muskets. It all seemed to come upon him at once. At one moment, it had all been in the distance in front of him and in the next, he saw men in elegant uniforms coming toward them. They were formed up shoulder to shoulder in a dense line. Their muskets were at the ready and aimed toward them. He could see the barrels of several trained upon his own chest. He fought every natural urge to turn away and run. He knew that he could not run. At the sound of a new cadence, the men in front of him dropped to a knee. The men facing him across the field mirrored the same maneuver. He had never felt so exposed and knew that at any moment would come the order to fire. Would a musket ball rip through him before he ever heard that order? He was frozen in place. The moment of death was upon him. He awaited the signal to fire. He willed the commander to hurry. Why was he taking so long? The Spanish would certainly fire before they did. If the Spanish fired first they would be wiped out. Panic surged through him, but he held his position. He could feel Franco’s shoulder next to his. He dared not look toward him, but held himself in the ready. When the command finally came, Esteban took in the bright color of an enemy chest in front of him and pulled the trigger of his musket. He saw men falling before him and in the same instant heard what sounded like bees rushing past his face. He heard the heavy thump to his left and right and waited to feel the impact of a musket ball in his own chest. Franco groaned beside him and then collapsed and disappeared. Several of the men in front of him had disappeared as well. He saw the Spanish soldiers across the way working their muskets to reload and suddenly remembered that he needed to reload as well. With shaking hands and fingers, Esteban poured in the power and then pushed the patch and ball into the barrel. He worked the ram rod to tamp it all into place and then changed the cap on the firing pin. It seemed like he was taking long minutes as he worked, glancing up at the soldiers facing him to measure his progress. They had told them not to do that, but it was impossible. Panic hit him as he realized that they were already loaded and bringing their rifles to the ready. He wanted to run, but he knew that there was nowhere to go and he would merely be shot in the back. Would it matter? He would certainly be pierced through the heart by a bullet. The taste in his dry mouth was worse than before. He could not swallow. He was certain that he was no longer breathing, but the thundering rhythm of his heart let him know that he was still alive as he heard the Spanish commander give the order to fire, just as he was bringing his musket to the ready. He could feel a ball coming toward his chest. He knew that he would soon feel it tearing through him and yet, all he heard was the report of the enemy muskets and again the sound of bees passing by him. He waited, making certain that he was indeed still alive and standing and then heard the order of his own commander to fire. Again, he picked out a broad chest before him and fired. This time, he was certain that he saw the man go down. He knew that his musket ball had scored a hit and he saw the surprised face of the Spanish soldier in the brief instant of realization that he had been hit before he crumbled.

Colombian Style Potato Salad

Looking for an new potato salad recipe? This one is easy and perhaps the best I've ever eaten. Colombian Style Potato Salad 4 medium potatoes 2 medium carrots 1 large tomato 1 green onion ¼ cup Mayonnaise ¼ cup fresh chopped cilantro Salt to taste Dice potatoes, carrots. Boil potatoes and carrots until tender. Drain and chill carrots and potatoes. When chilled add diced tomato, chopped onion, mayonnaise and cilantro. Salt to taste. Serve chilled.

GIVE HIM A MASK, AND HE WILL TELL YOU THE TRUTH

“MAN IS LEAST HIMSELF WHEN HE TALKS IN HIS OWN PERSON. GIVE HIM A MASK, AND HE WILL TELL YOU THE TRUTH.” -OSCAR WILD Nothing could be more true for an artist whether they are an actor, musician, painter, sculptor or author. Having experienced performance in all of these areas accept sculpting, I would have to say that allowing yourself to be vulnerable behind a mask is often times one of the hardest steps for an artist to take, and yet, the results can be the most rewarding. I remember the jitters before going on stage. I also remember how everything seemed to go blank in my mind right before I went on stage, but once I was there, it all came out. The lines and the rehearsals were lost as the first contact with the live crowd opened something up inside of me that was beyond the role that I was playing. I remember hearing and feeling their energy and their breathing. It was actually amazing to me how each crowd had its own personality and my character would change ever so slightly to meet the challenge of the different audiences. I also remember walking off of the stage completely exhausted, sometimes bursting into tears because I had opened myself up completely and left myself on the stage. I remember the discomfort of waiting for comments from others as they looked at my water color paintings and wondering if the comment that they gave me were honestly what they thought when they saw them, or if they were being polite. I made it through each and every one of these performances, losing myself in the character or the media in order to set the crazy, pent up person out for others to see. However, none of these things hold a candle to the intimacy that comes from inside of an author as he expresses thoughts and feelings in such a way that the reader holds the fate of his soul in his hands and turns each page to critique him. It is often a silent and intimate response that will influence and affect the reader for years to come. The responsibility is as heavy as the revelation. Therefore, often times, moving past the fears and insecurities and finishing a book is the hardest art to perform. Having said these things, I place the mask on my face and present to you the first four episodes of "The Wolf of the Highlands", now available on Amazon. The Wolf of the Highlands on Amazon

COMING SOON!!!! from Bella Colombiana Publishing

COMING SOON!!!! Bella Colombiana Publishing presents "Zipaquirá" by Bel Bedoya. This is book one in "The Belle of Colombia Series" Set in the struggle for the independence of Colombia, this book and series paints a portrait of love and turmoil as a nation and its people struggle for independence.

ZIPAQUIRA': As the struggle for independence has New Granada (Colombia), in the turmoil of revolution, Maribel faces her own inner turmoil. She has given her heart to a commander of the revolutionary forces (Santiago), who has marched away from Zipaquirá with its youth eager to meet the Royal Forces of Spain, advancing from both the north and south toward the plain of Santa Fe de Bogota. As the conflict rages on around them, Maribel and Santiago struggle to bring to life their love and their dream of a building a home together.

Muy Antioqueno

One of the things that I love about my new home is the Antioqueno Heritage. This past Monday, Sandra and I took a trip up into the mountains to the pueblo of Santa Elena. I felt so at home with the wind “whispering” in the pine trees and the crisp clean air that it was somewhat disappointing to go back down into the valley and back into the city.

Let me explain further. I am from a small town in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and grew up listening to the wind whispering in the pine trees and the gentle quaking of the aspen trees, which my father called “quakies” for as long as I can remember. Our little trip started off as kind of a research project for a children’s book that I’m writing called, “Huey and the Parade of Flowers”. The historical background for the story was to see firsthand how they make the silletas (literally a chair that is carried on the back with a strap across the forehead and shoulders), which they use to carry flowers in the parade on the last Sunday of the Flower Fair of Medellin. While visiting one of the fincas (small farm), and getting a great presentation about the work that they did in order to create the silletas covered in flowers that would be carried in the parade, we ran across this already finished silleta. My wife insisted that I take a picture with it. “You are muy antioqueno,” she said. I gave her my one eye-brow raised look, which is multi-lingual and did as I was told, wearing the poncho that we had bought in Santa Elena folded properly over my shoulder. Later, I came to understand the significance of what she was telling me by placing me in front of that particular silleta. The Antioquenos (more commonly referred to today as Paisas), were the mountaineers and early settlers of the area around Medellin and the Department (state), of Antioquia. They were well known for their humble honesty and strong work ethic, something that reflects precisely the same attitude of the Gunnison country where I was raised. Therefore, in honor of my family, friends and heritage in Gunnison, as well as, in honor of the Antioquenos of my new home, I stand with my cowboy hat and poncho combining the symbols of the two.

Exerpt From Solomon by Bil Howard (coming soon)

He ignored the innocent and trusting eyes of the greyhound as he looked down the sights of his 9mm, semi-automaticpistol and pulled the trigger. "Now," he commanded. "Get me some new dogs that can
win!"

"Yes, sir," came the immediate reply.

"Perhaps it isn’t the fault of the dogs?" he said aiming the pistol between the eyes of his kennel keeper. The man closed his eyes, crossed himself and waited for the expected bullet. His boss did not pull the trigger, though he smiled and enjoyed the moment of terror that came over the man who tended to the breeding and keeping of his dogs. He had just emptied his clip to kill all of the dogs in his kennels and he knew that there were no more bullets in the gun, but he was enjoying the moment.

After a long, silent period of prayer, the kennel keeper opened one of his eyes and noticed that his boss was smiling and had not shot him. Emboldened, he opened his other eye, still not trusting the smile. He had seen it before. It was a smile that had no joy in it, but rather cold, hard evil. "I will get new dogs for you," he whispered. "Better dogs that run like the wind itself."

"Good! Now get out of my sight!" He lowered the pistol to his side and glared at the kennel keeper; the smile gone from his face. He watched as the kennel keeper backed away from him until he was around the corner of the small building which housed the last dog whose life has been taken, not wanting to be shot in the back. He turned away and started back across the large, green lawn which was walled in by large, white, limestone, cut from a quarry in the mountains of Venezuela.

The white wall and green lawn surrounded a large, two story mansion set upon the top of a hill in the western mountains of Venezuela, not more than 100 kilometers away from the border of Colombia. Colombia had been his home until he had been forced to move his cartel operations across the border into a friendlier climate. He had government officials in Venezuela who made secret visits and frequently came with large sums of money meant to keep him happy. In return he was to regularly harass the army and the people on the other side of the border. One day FARC would be strong enough again and they would start a revolution. The people would come to him and he would unite them all under the flag of Colombia once more. All of the land of the old Colombia from the Caribbean to the Rio Maranon in Northern Peru and from Costa Rica to Guyana; the land of Bolivar would be united again.

Thoughts of how he would restore the great nation of Bolivar were in his head as he approached the large swimming pool at the back of his mansion. The water of the pool was a crystal, clear blue that had not a speck of any sort to be seen upon its surface. There was a man there whose only job was to make certain that the water was spotlessly clean. Surrounding the pool was more of the white limestone as pavers and half a dozen women were sunning themselves in various states of undress on the lounge chairs. He looked around in disgust as he took his first step onto the limestone patio. His house attendant was rushing toward him.

"Can I get you anything sir?" his attendant offered. "You look like you need something cold to drink."

"I want you to get rid of these damned women!" he shouted. "They eat my food. They each have a bedroom and bathroom provided for them. They lie around my pool all day and they don’t even acknowledge me!" What he said was true, however, they were also called upon regularly to perform all sorts of sexual favors and deviant fetishes for him at his bidding and had been chosen because of their beauty and kept because of their skills in pleasing him. At the sound of his command, they all turned and looked at him. "Yes, you, all of you!" he raged. "Get your shit and get the fuck out of my house!" He raised the gun and they started scrambling. "Now!" In a little more time than it takes an Olympian to run 100 meters, he was alone with his attendant and the pool keeper. He lowered the pistol and strolled toward the gazebo.

"I will get you that cold drink," the attendant said, scrambling to be away from his moody employer who made himself comfortable in his favorite chair in the shade of the gazebo.

He was in a rage today. He did not like to lose and his dogs were not performing. He enjoyed bragging to his friends about his winnings and to have that taken away from him was something that he could not stomach. He knew that they were talking about him and laughing about the fact that his dogs had been losing races. The thought of others laughing at him and about him, made his blood boil and nothing could change that until it simply wore off. Nothing, except for the tall, leggy, sleepy-eyed woman who strolled out of the house, across the patio and entered the gazebo.

"I was told that I needed to leave," Bianca said as she entered the gazebo. "I came to say good bye and to collect the money that you owe me."

He raised the pistol and aimed it between her sleepy, black eyes, that remained cool and steady as she stared at him. Her face was sharply cut, with a small mouth, but with full, puffy and pouty lips. Her body was slender and toned with tight abs, proportional breasts and a handsomely round, bubble-butt with a cute little tuck. She leaned over the table in such a way that he had a perfect view down the front of her loose fitting blouse which she was wearing without a bra. She was one of the few women that he had ever known who was not intimidated by him. Her look was cold and bored and she seemed almost reckless. "I owe you money? You sleep in my house and eat my food and have my protection and I owe you money?"

"Don’t fuck with me Tinto. Pay me or shoot me, it’s all the same to me," she said. Her steady gaze was still locked on his. She had the ability to be as hard and cold as he was and then lose that coldness in a moment of passion as they made love; if she was able to love. "I have done work for you that is beyond what these other whores have done and I’ve been your whore as well. If I am leaving, I am leaving with the money that you owe me."

He looked down the sights of the pistol with the same cold look that he had when he shot the dogs, then smiled and put the gun down on the table in front of him. "Sit down," he said.

"I’d rather not," she said. "I have packing to do."

"You don’t need to pack," he said. "You can stay."

"Maybe I want to go," she said. Her tone was cold and careless. "Maybe I’m tired of your bull shit."

She was likely the only person in the world who would be able to talk to him that way, and he let her. Why did he let her? Five minutes ago he would have shot anyone who spoke to him that way. The thought of her leaving and the defiance that she was showing should have made his blood boil over, but he was somehow calmed by her strength and her presence. The only other person who ever had that kind of control over him was his mother. She would always have that control over him. "How much do I owe you?"

"Sixty thousand dollars," she replied without blinking.

"When I pay you, you will be leaving then?" he asked.

"I will decide that after I’ve been paid," she replied. As she was speaking, his attendant arrived with his mojito. Her steady gaze never left Tinto’s eyes.

"Juan," he ordered. "Have 60,000 dollars placed in Bianca’s room and then bring her a drink."

"Yes sir," his attendant replied.

"There is also a mess to clean up in the hallway," she said. Her cold stare had a little bit of glint to it. "The whore who told me that I had to leave."

"Juan," he said as Juan started to turn away. "Let the security guys know that they can do whatever they want with the whores that I am dismissing, but there is to be no break in security."

"Yes sir," he said and turned away quickly to attend to his duties.

"You will be staying then?" he asked. His eyes had never left the cold stare that lingered between the two of them. They stayed locked onto hers as she took her seat. It was a game that he loved to play. He would not allow himself to be beaten at it. He would force the other person to look away. It would never be him. However, Bianca had always been a perfect match for him even in this.

"I will decide that after I get my money," she replied.

"Maybe I will not let you go," he replied. He enjoyed the sense of power that he exerted over everyone around him, but it was even more satisfying to him to have an equal who was as cold and careless as he. She would probably stay, but she would defy him for a while first. Why did he allow her to defy him? What was it in her that kept him from simply pulling the trigger? He considered that maybe he loved her, but he wasn’t sure that he loved anyone. He admired her strength and he always felt a warm sensation move through him when she was around.

"Then you will have to kill me," she replied. "But reload your gun first."

A deep chuckle began to rise into a laugh. "You are good," he said. "How did you know?"

"I have ears and I know how many shots are in that 9mm semi-automatic," she said. "I gave it to you."

"I could have reloaded."

"You only have one clip."

"Maybe I bought another."

"You did, but you didn’t take it with you."

He slid the gun over in front of her. "Prove it," he said carelessly.

She picked the pistol up from in front of her aimed it at him and held it on his face for a long time. The coldness made him believe that given the chance and the right reason, she would pull the trigger without any remorse. Her finger however, hit the release and the empty clip dropped to the table. She sat the gun down and continued staring into his cold eyes.

"Very good," he said. "A beautiful assassin who knows her weapons."

"Guns bore me," she said.

"Yet, you know how to use one."

"I have other weapons that are more deadly and make less noise," she whispered.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he considered just how silent and deadly this beautiful woman could be. He did not fear her, he was too vane for that, but he felt that he needed to respect her a great deal. She was his feminine match and he would never underestimate her. "I might have another job for you."

"We will see," she said. "After I decide if I am going to stay."

"This one will pay double what the other did," he said. It was a way to control her and keep her near him where he could watch her. He really had no other control over her. She enjoyed watching how his calm demeanor changed when rage suddenly filled his eyes and she cracked a small smile as she realized that she had hit the chord.

"Let me guess," she said. "You need me to take out the American who embarrassed you in Colombia?"

"No," he said. His eyes flashed with the rage of having been embarrassed by the American. The entire detachment had been executed for being inept. His blood began to boil again. "Another job first."

"Sicotris is here." Juan broke into their conversation as he placed the mojito in front of Bianca.

"Send him out," he replied without looking away from Bianca. "You might find this interesting."

"Why would it be interesting?"

"He is bringing me information on the location of the American and who he is," he replied. "I think we will pay him a visit and eliminate him."

"Or he will embarrass you again," she smiled. "I have other things to do." She stood, her eyes still locked on his, backed away slowly then very decisively turned her back on him, walked several steps, then looked back over her shoulder to let him know that she was still in control.

Excerpt from a Writing Project

I thought that some of you might be entertained by this short excerpt from a project that I'm working on:

AJ Spencer gave one last sharp tug on the latigo, slipped the prong of the cinch buckle into the nearest hole in the latigo strap, tucked the extra bit of latigo in the keeper and dropped the stirrup from where it had been across the seat of the saddle out of his way. He buckled the back cinch, pulled the breast collar into place and attached it’s straps and buckles. His horse stood still with the reins hanging to the ground and waited patiently as AJ buckled on his spurs, adjusted his chaps on his legs and buckled them into place. He had packed a lunch inside a flour sack, wrapped it in his slicker and he tied that onto the back of his saddle, pulling the leather saddle strings tight in a square knot so that it would be easy to work them free later. With little ceremony for an activity that he had performed thousands of times since his youth, he led his horse out of the barn, stepped into the “on side” stirrup and swung his leg up over the saddle. His horse started out as soon as he felt AJ settle into the seat. After a half a dozen steps, the sorrel gelding broke into an easy trot, blowing the remnants of a little bit of hay dust from his nostrils in something of a nervous manner, indicating that he was eager to be at his job.

 There was a big difference between a working horse and a pet, which is what AJ called those which people kept for pleasure riding. In his opinion, one that had been formed by four generations of men who spent their entire lives working in the saddle, an idle horse was dangerous. Horses needed to be busy and have something to do, otherwise, in the words of his granddad, “They’ll stand around and think of ways to hurt you.” It was a lesson that was true enough and AJ tried to pass along that wisdom to people who asked him to train some bad habit out of their horses. He worked some of their horses during the winter and spring when he wasn’t riding for the Lost Lakes Stock Growers Association during the summer and fall.

 Things had become increasingly difficult dealing with the government when it came to managing summer grazing permits on federal lands. Because of pressure from environmental organizations and animal rights activists, the cattle had to constantly be pushed up out of the “agrarian areas” and onto the slopes. “Agrarian areas” was a fancy term used to try to impress the ranchers, many of which had college degrees, with a high-sounding word that basically meant the richer bottom land that was near a stream or creek. That precious land was supposed to be reserved for the elk and moose. It was a ridiculous idea. Elk and moose did not produce meat to put on the tables of families all across the U.S. and the world. The other part that was even more ridiculous was that the government and those making the demands knew less about how to conserve and care for the land that did the ranchers who had developed and nurtured its resources for nearly a hundred and fifty years. Never the less, AJ spent his summers in the saddle moving the cattle around and making sure that the sick ones were doctored.

 As he road out of the ranch yard of the old homestead he was taking in the sights, sounds and smells of the early morning. The sun was just beginning to break over the Eastern ridge of the valley as he turned to follow the two deep ruts of what served as a road in the Western Montana Rocky Mountains. He could smell the sweet, savory scent of the sage covered with dew and the fragrance of pine and fur trees that lined the ridges on both sides of the valley. He heard the birds singing and chirping and a couple of coyotes in an early-morning chorus before returning to their dens after a night of hunting.

As the light increased he saw the numerous wild flowers, in every variety of color imaginable, sprinkled over the grassy bottoms which were in a constant battle over the advance of moisture, which was beneath the surface of the soil, with the sage brush. The invasion of the grey sage brush was held back by the grass in a ragged line of defense all along the bottom of the sub-alpine valley. Ahead, in the distance loomed one of the many peaks of this stretch of the Rocky Mountains. It thrust its bald face up over the jagged ridges which were covered in the darker green of the lodge pole pine, which grew thick and tall, but did not develop the girth of the Ponderosa, which was usually found lower down. The lodge pole pine had gotten its name because it was used for tee-pees, or lodges, by the Nez Perce and other nomadic tribes, which had used this area as their hunting grounds for centuries until they were driven off of it and put onto reservations.

 AJ rode along taking in the usual sights which were a regular part of his daily routine. He and Sam, his Queensland Blue Heeler, which trotted along beside and slightly behind him, were greeted by all of the normal morning sights and sound just as a man from the city was greeted in the coffee shop every morning, but AJ stopped when he saw something else that baffled him. There were tire tracks in the deep ruts of the road. “I wonder who came along here?” he asked aloud. It wasn’t uncommon for him to talk to Sam and Champ, his sorrel gelding, as he went along during the day. They or another horse from his cavy, provided all of his company and companionship as he went about his work alone. He hadn’t seen the tracks the night before, because he had ridden into the old homestead using the ridge, trail which came off of the ridge and into the ranch yard from the other side of the creek opposite the side where the road wandered along the edge of the slope through the sage.

 He examined the tracks for a moment. “By heaven, Sam, those are car tracks,” he said. “They aint big enough to be a jeep or a pickup. Who in hell would bring a car up here?” He touched his spurs to Champ to start him along again. The action was more of a signal than it was any form of prodding. Champ was well trained and the movement of AJ’s legs was the actual signal. There was barely even a brushing of his fur from the touch of the spurs. The three of them continued along the road at a steady trot and soon came around a bend and up over a small rise where they caught their first glimpse of the sun reflecting off of the cherry-red paint of a car sitting cross-ways in the road about a quarter of a mile ahead. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

 Sam saw the car and dashed ahead in his curiosity. He sniffed around, raised his leg to mark his territory on each of the tires and looked up at each of the windows expecting to see whomever it was that occupied the car. Most dogs would have barked at the strange sight in the middle of their yard, to Sam the entire range was his yard, but he was a quiet type which did not easily get excited and rarely barked at anything. His curiosity finally overcame him just as Champ and AJ were within a few lengths of the car. He jumped up and placed his from paws on the ledge of driver’s side where the bottom of the window disappeared into the door. When he did that, all hell broke loose.

 As AJ and Champ were approaching the car, Champ was a little bit spooked by the strange object in the road. He had stiffened and was snorting and blowing at the car as they approached it. He was beginning to calm down and get his nerves under control when Sam jumped up onto the car and the shrill whistle of the car alarm was set off. Champ leaped in the air to escape the now screaming object which had quickly turned from irritating, to unbearably dangerous. He spun along with the leap and plunged into the sage brush at the side of the road. Following his instincts, he began to buck and kick. The plunging into the brush spooked a flock of a half a dozen grouse which were pecking at the small berries that were scattered on the ground beneath. When they flew up, the start that had already set Champ into a wild fit, made him dodge sharply away, nearly unseating AJ, who barely recovered his balance in the saddle before the next wild leap of the gelding.

 The car continued to whistle, which set Sam to howling as he scrambled to a safe distance away from the car to sit and watch the entire proceedings while hidden behind a large clump of sage. The plunging horse came down a little to close to Sam and he yelped and scrambled to a safer place further down the road away from the impromptu rodeo, which had started near the red car turned sideways in the road.

First Episode of "The Wolf of the Highlands" Is Now Available

The first episode of  my debut novel "The Wolf of the Highlands" is now available at the link below. The first episode is free, then you can purchase a subscription to receive the other 11 episodes week by week. Enjoy!
http://www.senserial.com/

Country Music's Newest Talent, Tyler Blount, Releases Debut Single

With a rich tonal quality that is all her own and light undertones of Norah Jones, Tyler Blount is a rising country music star to keep your eye on. With the release of her debut single "Catch My Heart" http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/tylerblount2, she is starting down that road to success which actually began since she could talk.

Though Tyler was born in Pittsburg, her country music roots run from the Colorado Rockies, to Texas and on into Atlanta where she now lives. Her music career was influenced by several individuals who took the time to invest in her development. Henry Leck, the director of the Indianapolis Children’s choir, who instilled in Tyler that “it takes more than talent to make it in the music industry; it takes hard work, dedication and creativity", was one of those early influences.She was further influenced by her music teacher at Savannah Arts Academy where she attended high school. The most influential person however, was Ms Bradley, her voice teacher at Point University where she completed a degree in Vocal Performance and Pedagogy. Ms. Bradley encouraged her to broaden her horizons by working in various genres of music, as well as, performing in musicals to become more comfortable on stage and adding an extra push toward obtaining her goal.

Tyler first began performing for people other than her family at the age of nine at her family’s church. At eleven she joined the Indianapolis Children’s Choir where her first taste of being a vocal performer was born. Most recently, Tyler has performed in various musicals and given concerts at her alma mater, Point University, in West Point, Georgia. She has played at Southern Ground, which is a restaurant owned by Zac Brown and she has played numerous times for the Celebrity Roast at the Mel Blount Youth Home Fund Raiser in Pittsburg. She is performing at the Sweet Auburn Festival in Atlanta.

http://www.sweetauburn.com/Springfest2013.html

Though she has been singing all of her life, she only recently took up the guitar in a class at Point University. When someone asked her to write a song, she wrote “Catch My Heart”, which became her debut single. She has written a dozen more songs since and is working on a full length album. Tyler is also fluent in Spanish and has plans for recording some of her songs in Spanish as well.

Tyler also enjoys horseback riding with her grandpa and her family. She also has a big heart that is perfectly gifted for working with children. For her, music is more than just a career choice, it is something that she loves to do and a means of reaching out to others on a deeper level.

Some of her favorite artists are: The Band Perry, Miranda Lambert, Adele, John Mayer, Tim McGraw and Carrie Underwood. She is most influenced by Miranda Lambert, Adele and Martina McBride, but loves exploring the many different flavors of the world of music.

I am proud to give my endorsement to this young lady as she begins her music career and encourage my readers to purchase her debut single on CD Baby... http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/tylerblount2

Release in One Week

I'm giving you a sneak peak into "The Wolf of the Highlands" which should be released within the next week, but here is a teaser.

He searched the soldier and could find no wound. “What is this man doing here?” he shouted. “He has no wound. This space could have been used by a wounded man.” At the sound of his voice, the unconscious soldier opened his eyes. They were the dark evil eyes of the man who had pursued him in Egypt. He drew back as the man sat up on his stretcher.

“Did you miss me Ray?” the man said. An evil grin spread across his face. “I found you again. You must come with me.”

“MacGregor!” Ray called out.

“I got it Ray,” MacGregor’s voice answered.

“MacGregor, MacGregor, MacGregor,” the man mocked. He started to laugh. It was a demonic laugh. “I’ve got you this time, Ray.”

“Who the hell are you!” he yelled at the man. The others in the truck looked at him. A shocked expression was on their faces at the sound of English coming from the great doctor’s mouth. They saw the man rising toward him and one of the other men threw an arm across him to restrain him. The sudden stopping of the truck aided in pushing the man back down onto the stretcher. Ray was able to brace himself against the sudden stop and kept himself upright.

The door of the truck opened and he turned toward it. Alexia was holding the door open. “Come quickly,” she said. He moved as quickly as he was able. The sounds of the struggle behind him told him that he had a little bit of time to make his break. When his feet hit the ground outside the truck he turned to speak to Alexia. “Run,” she said. He started to protest. “Run, damn it, NOW!”

He fell in behind her running across the compound. He heard the sound of the man breaking free in the truck behind them. He surged forward and passed Alexia and then realized that he didn’t know where he was going. “Where?” he gasped, turning to look back at her. The man had leaped from the truck and paused a moment to see where he went, then began his pursuit.

“Just run,” she said. “If you want to leave this place alive, run.”

“But, I can only leave a place when I turn to pursue,” he protested. The words came out broken up by his panting.

“Not in this case,” she said. “Trust me. Do not be concerned about me. Just point your face out there and run.”

He did as she said. He had to trust her. There was no reason to believe that she would lead him astray. He pointed his face toward the bleak, frozen plain and ran as best he could through the snow. It was not easy. His lungs burned and he wanted to stop. He looked back and saw Alexia plunging along behind him. Behind her the evil-eyed man was holding the distance. Ray stumbled and fell in the deep snow and then scrambled to get back up. Alexia was beside him. She reached down and helped him as he rose. With her hand on his arm he was able to right himself again and they plunged ahead together.

His lungs burned more than he could ever imagine. He could not catch his breath, but merely gasped and tried to take in great gulps. He felt Alexia’s hand leave his side and he turned to look over his shoulder. She was no longer there. The man was no longer there. The aid station was no longer there. For miles there was only frozen prairie. He stopped and turned a full circle. He was in the middle of a frozen prairie. He looked down at his clothes and noticed that he was wearing a heavy buffalo coat and his feet were covered in thick, fur covered moccasins. When he looked up again he saw a wolf coming toward him. He paused and waited for the wolf and then he noticed the eyes flashed those of the evil man. It wasn’t his wolf.

“What do I do?” he cried out, hoping that MacGregor was still there.

“Run,” MacGregor answered.

“I can’t outrun a wolf,” he replied.

“You can’t worry about that, just run,” MacGregor answered. “I’ll take care of you.”

Ray turned and ran. His feet were heavy in the snow. His lungs were somehow fresher than they were before and he could breathe better. He pushed himself hard. He had to trust MacGregor. He could hear the wolf behind him. He knew that he would be overtaken soon. He could not look back. He simply had to trust MacGregor and run. The pursuer was gaining on him rapidly. From the corner of his eye he saw movement to his left and he glanced in that direction. It was a wolf and he knew that his time was up. He dodged to his right and the wolf turned with him. He ran as hard as he could, but the wolf kept pace beside him. He felt the wolf calling to him like before, not in an audible voice, but in that strange way which he had know as Hoka. He glanced again and noticed the eyes were different. The wolf was calling for him to dive onto her and wrap his arms around her neck. He dove, just as he felt the lunging body of the pursuing wolf fly past him, turning his shoulder slightly.

Then he was struggling to right himself on the back of his white horse. He found his balance and leaned into the thick neck of the horse and felt the speed of the wind increase around him. He turned to look and saw that the evil wolf was struggling to his feet after the failed lunge. He lunged to pursue them again, but the horse was much too swift and his pursuit soon failed.

The white horse ran across the frozen prairie just like it had before. It seemed that the horse had wings and hardly touched the ground as she ran. It was then that he realized that the wolf and the horse had been Alexia. Even before, when he was Hoka, the wolf and the horse had been Alexia. He struggled with remembering the real wolf on the mountainside, but he could not connect the two. Was she always there? Was she always with him? Had he simply not noticed before? As he struggled with his understanding, the speed increased dramatically, but the wind in his face disappeared.

When he blinked his eyes again, he was looking through the windscreen of a Mirage fighter. He was back in the cockpit of the jet. “Break right!” MacGregor shouted in his headset. He reacted automatically and pulled the stick to the right and mashed down on the chaff button, releasing metal shavings into the air to confuse a radar guided missile. The missile streaked past him and exploded off to his left. David’s training had saved his life, maybe more than just his life. He wasn’t exactly certain what all was at stake in this strange set of experiences. Was it his soul that was at stake? He hated the thought and really had little time to ponder more as he had to focus at extreme speeds with an Egyptian fighter on his six. He hit the afterburner and drove the jet vertical and then pulled it over backward into a dive. The move was meant to put him into a position behind his pursuer and allow him to become offensive, but his pursuer was not there and he was suddenly running across a green hill.

He looked down at the front pair of his four paws and felt his tongue lolling to the side. To his right was his mate running beside him. He did not know why he was running. There was a fear flowing through him and he ran because he was driven by that fear to run. Something was pursuing him and his instinct to survive was strong inside of him. His mate kept perfect pace beside him and they plunged over ravines and up over rocky outcroppings. They disappeared in the thick brush of a forest and paused to sniff the air and listen for their pursuer to give himself away.

After hearing and smelling nothing for some time, they began a noiseless trot through the deep cover of the underbrush. His mate trailed along with him. They found a deep covert and crawled back into it. Their senses were in tune to all means of detecting their pursuer.

He smelled them and stifled the growl which was thick in his throat. His mate was bearing her teeth and fighting back the deep growl as well. He could hear them rattling through the brush. “Those damned wolves are here somewhere,” the voice called out.

“We’ve got to find them,” another answered. “You realize that we’ll be a part of history.”

“How is that?” the first responded.

“We’ll be the ones who killed the last two wolves in Scotland,” the other replied.

“What about the pups?” the first asked.

“I found the pups and took care of that problem,” he answered. “But if we get rid of the old he-wolf and his bitch, we’ll keep them from making more.”

“That’s what you said last time,” said the first. “It seems both wolves and MacGregors keep showing up.”

Brock felt their presence was much closer and he crouched to lunge. His mate was crouched beside him. The moment his eyes caught sight of one of his pursuers, his muscles released and he sprang forward planting both feet in the chest of his pursuer. His teeth sank into his throat and he ripped and tore at the soft flesh there. The body soon went limp and he turned in time to avoid the blow which had been directed at him by the other man. He lunged away from the dead body. He started to turn toward him and caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes. His mate had slipped quietly out of the hiding place and he sensed her calling to him to run. He spun away from the man and lunged through the brush into the thick forest. He was again at the side of his mate and they were running.

What happened next was a dizzying flash from being on a horse, to being in a cockpit, to running across the Western plain of Russia, to running as a wolf in a seemingly endless cycle in rapid succession. They all blended together into one and the instinct to survive, the instinct of the wolf was the only thought and feeling that surged through him. He no longer had control. He could no longer think. He could not fight back. He could only run. Alexia’s voice, MacGregor’s voice, his own voice, all of them flashed through his mind and every time he heard nothing but the command and the urging to run. “The wolf must survive,” he repeated to himself over and over. It had no meaning. It had no rational thought behind it. “The wolf must survive. The wolf must survive. The wolf must survive.” Everything suddenly went black.

“The wolf must survive.” He heard the voice calling from the distance. Where did it come from?

“The wolf will survive,” the soft voice whispered. He knew the voice. It was that of Alexia. He opened his eyes and saw her gazing down at him. Her deep, dark penetrating eyes looked into his soul and he felt peace flowing over him. “You will survive, Ray.”

“Where am I now?” he asked. He had lost complete track of everything. He was unsure of who he was or where he was. Was he a fighter pilot, a wolf, a Sioux, or a Soviet doctor?

“You are in Greece,” she replied. “You are Lykos, a member of the senate in Athens and you are expected to address the senate in the morning.”

Coming soon at www.senserial.com