Tuesday, July 2, 2013

THE ROCKIN' CHAIR by best-selling author Steven Manchester - Giveaway & Review at Janna Shay's

I’m very excited to welcome back, award-winning Steven Manchester, author of the The Rockin’Chair, which is a sensitively wrought and deeply moving story of love and forgiveness. I hope you will take the time to read my review of this fantastically written novel.

For this event, Steven is giving away an ebook copy of The Rockin’ Chair to one lucky commenter. To enter, fill out the Rafflecopter form below.
THE ROCKIN’ CHAIR

By Steven Manchester

Women’s Fiction
Publisher: The Story Plant
Release Date: June 18, 2013
Length: 272 Pages

Memories are the ultimate contradiction. They can warm us on our coldest days – or they can freeze a loved one out of our lives forever. The McCarthy family has a trove of warm memories. Of innocent first kisses. Of sumptuous family meals. Of wondrous lessons learned at the foot of a rocking chair. But they also have had their share of icy ones. Of words that can never be unsaid. Of choices that can never be unmade. Of actions that can never be undone.

Following the death of his beloved wife, John McCarthy – Grandpa John – calls his family back home. It is time for them to face the memories they have made, both warm and cold. Only then can they move beyond them and into the future.

A rich portrait of a family at a crossroad, THE ROCKIN' CHAIR is Steven Manchester’s most heartfelt and emotionally engaging novel to date. If family matters to you, it is a story you must read.
 

~~~Buy Links~~~

Amazon  |  B&N  |  Kobo  |  iBookstore  |  Powells
~~~Excerpt~~~

Alice could feel the sun on her eyelids before she dared opening them. Beginning with a squint, she was blinded by the light that engulfed the room. Taking a second to adjust, she shook off the two quilts that restrained her, and then grabbed for her flowered housecoat at the foot of the massive bed. Throwing it on, she steadied her tiny feet into a pair of worn moccasins, all-the-while wondering, Why didn’t Ma let me sleep in? It don’t make no sense. It’s Saturday…with no responsibilities to school or church. She felt tired, more exhausted than usual, but waking to a fire burning into her pupils was certainly not the way to start such a pretty day. Making the mental note, I’ll have to talk to Ma about the rude awakening, she stumbled and had to brace herself at the doorway. Her mind had sent some message that her body could not interpret. Brushing it off as fatigue, she started again toward the kitchen, thinking, Maybe Ma will let me help with breakfast?

Grabbing the dented copper kettle off the stove, she turned to the sink and let the water flow like one of the fresh mountain springs that ran out in the backyard. She lit all four burners, placed the kettle back on the stove and began humming a childish tune. The last embers in the wood stove made her nostrils flare at the distinct scent of burnt oak. Smells like the remnants of a late night’s chill, she thought, one of my chores to remove. But she couldn’t recall bringing in the wood, or lighting a fire. Shrugging it off, she snugged down on the robe’s cotton belt, folded her arms across her chest and continued to hum.
  
She wandered toward the kitchen window and, though she could not have fought it off, nor even detected it, her mind was suddenly exposed to a different reality. Like a child discovering a new world through ancient eyes, she peered out the window and her jaw went slack.

A stranger was busy at work and the sight of him made Alice’s mouth go dry. Her heart began to race and her breathing became shallow. Yet, though the man’s presence absolutely terrified her, his every movement was hypnotizing. Trembling, she stood paralyzed and watched.
  
He was a large fellow, maybe six feet or better, with shoulders as broad as his smile. In his fists, he held cracked corn, scattering it in a pattern so that every chicken had its fair chance. He was an old-timer, his face wrinkled and weathered like his callused hands. In the middle of that chiseled face sat the biggest nose. Curiously—as if she’d thought it a million times before—she decided that it showed great character. For a cruel second, he turned toward the window, making her squirm with anxiety. She relaxed, though, when she was sure that his liquid blue eyes had not found her. He returned to working slow, his every move filled with purpose and kindness.
  
But that moment of peace only lasted one single sigh of relief. As if caught in an inescapable nightmare, she watched the man’s three-legged dog limp straight to the window, glance up and tilt his head—cynically. Though she could not manage the words from her constricted throat, her eyes begged for the animal’s silence. Please don’t, she pleaded in her mind.
Please…please…please… But it was not to be. The crippled mutt barked out his wailing alarm, calling his master’s attention to her. In an instant, she felt her knees buckle, as the room spun slowly—in a cruel sort of way. She tried desperately to hold on, but the last thing she saw was a red cap and green overcoat rushing for the house. 

“Oh God...no!” she screamed, but the stranger kept coming. He’s comin’ to get me, she feared, and though her mind pleaded for her legs to flee, they would not budge. She collapsed to the cold linoleum floor and awaited the worse. 

With no more than a stern look, Three Speed lay down on the porch, the storm door slamming in his silver-haired face. John raced through the parlor and could hear the teakettle screaming for help. Breaking the kitchen threshold, his worried eyes caught Alice lying near the bottom cupboard. Her frail body was rolled up in the fetal position and her thumb was stuck in her mouth. As if he were approaching a wounded bird, he slowly kneeled down beside her and held out his hand. She swayed back and forth, humming louder with each movement. For what seemed a lifetime, she avoided his stare. And then finally, courageously, she glanced into his eyes. For a moment, she looked as if she was going to accept his hand but, in the last glimmer of such a hope, she pulled back, retreating deeper into her tortured mind. 

“It’s me, darlin’,” John whispered. “It’s John…your husband.”

“You do look some familiar,” she mumbled. But still, her eyes betrayed her lack of trust.
  
Again, he whispered, “Come on, Alice. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You’re just sick, ol’ girl.” He opened his hand even wider and watched as her horrified eyes gradually registered his words as truth.
  
Like an abandoned child who had lost all hope only to find that her parents had not meant to leave her behind, Alice raised her arms and began to weep mournfully. “I’m sorry…” she whimpered. 

In one easy motion, John scooped his tiny wife into his arms and kissed her frightened face. Turning off all four burners—the majority that did nothing but lick at air—he carried Alice like an infant to their bedroom. All the way, he could taste the salt of her tears on his tongue. It was a bitter taste and he hated it, yet he knew all-too-well that it was only a small taste of what was still to come.
~~~My Review~~~

The Rockin’ Chair is a well-written, powerful portrayal of a family in crisis. Steven Manchester demonstrates his exceptional talent with words as he creates this emotionally rich tale that touches the heart. He takes the sensitive subjects of illness and family dysfunction and handles them with finesse and great insight.

John ‘Grandpa John’ McCarthy has been taking care of his wife Alice, who has advanced Alzheimer’s Disease. When his wife’s disease worsens, he calls the family home to right the wrongs of their lives. Grandpa John takes responsibility for the hurt and damages he’s caused his family, and approaches each member with care and love as he helps them come to terms with their own demons.

This is a story that examines the interactions of a family and the love that is hidden deep inside each one of its members. As it takes a long, hard look at the problems the family faces, it offers the hope and forgiveness that is necessary for healing.

Having experienced the dreaded disease of Alzheimer’s first hand from the viewpoint of a child, Steven’s novel helped me realize that the other members of a family have totally different perspectives. Alice’s viewpoint of the disease and the feelings it brought forth, was one aspect that I never considered. Steven’s brilliant depiction was extremely enlightening and poignant.

Even though this book touches on adversity, misunderstanding, and tragedy, its focus is on hope, forgiveness, memories and love. It’s sensitively wrought, deeply moving, and contains well-drawn characters. This is a book that grabbed my attention from the first page and had me reading well into the night. I highly recommend that everyone reads this story and follows the career of this incredibly talented author.
About the Author

Steven Manchester is the published author of the #1 best seller, Twelve Months, as well as A Christmas Wish (the holiday prequel to Goodnight, Brian) and Goodnight, Brian. He is also the author of PressedPennies, The Unexpected Storm: The Gulf War Legacy and Jacob Evans, as well as several books under the pseudonym, Steven Herberts. His work has appeared on NBC's Today Show, CBS's The Early Show, CNN’s American Morning and BET’s Nightly News. Recently, three of his short stories were selected "101 Best" for Chicken Soup for the Soul series.

~~~Follow Steven Manchester~~~

~~~Giveaway~~~

Steven is giving away an ebook copy of The Rockin’ Chair to one lucky commenter.
a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, June 3, 2012

WHY GOOD SHOES MAKE ME A BETTER AUTHOR

I'm thrilled to welcome Award-winning New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Shirley Jump. She has written over 30 novels in women's fiction and romance, and also horror young adult as AJ Whitten.



As I look over THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE, released to Nook First just this week, and read all about the dress and shoe shopping of my heroine, Candace, I am convinced that shoes are the reason I am where I am today as an author. No, not because I walked from here toNew York, or because some editor spied my shoes and instantly said “Sign her up; she’s got good taste in Nine Wests,” but because the shoes forced me to work harder. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.



How can that be, you ask? Well, bear with me, because I’m making a case to my husband,too. Macy’s has a big sale coming up and I need him to understand the vital role cool shoes play in my career.

1. SHOES ARE A GREAT INCENTIVE. I love shoes. I mean, really love them. If I had to choose between a chocolate cake and a pair of killer high heels, I’d be hard pressed to make the choice (though chocolate comes pretty darn close, just as it does for my heroine in THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE). When Macy’s or Penney’s has a sale, it’s all I can do to keep myself from hopping in the car and scooping up a half a dozen pairs, plowing other shoe shoppers out of the way of those awesome red heels I saw last week. So, I play a little game with myself. If I finish this difficult scene, hit a certain page count--whatever my goal is for that day--then I can go shoe shopping,. If I don’t make it, then I have to wait until I do. Trust, me there’s nothing like a pair of platforms to get my fingers flying across that keyboard.

2. SHOES MAKE ME FEEL LIKE A GROWNUP. I’m a mom, which means my wardrobe more often contains sweats than skirts. Sure, I’ve seen “What Not to Wear” and heard Stacy andClinton’s arguments for throwing together a nice little ensemble every day, but geez, there are days when I don’t see the point. Someone is inevitably going to get peanut butter or milk or dog hair on me, so I save the nice clothes--and thus, the nice shoes--for the days when I get to go out and play with other grownups.

When I slip on a pair of heels I instantly feel like a grownup and I act like one, too. I’m professional, smart, and not some rundown mommy who can’t remember if she fed the cat today, never mind her children.

3. SHOES ARE GREAT INSPIRATIONS FOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes, or so the adage goes. Just see a bunch of women at a conference or a wedding. They’re checking out each other’s foot adornments, exclaiming over the cool ones, passing by the ordinary brown loafer types. So, when I dress a character I give her shoes that speak to her character. Some get Prada heels, others get sensible flats (and the horrible mother-in-law to be in THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE gets sensible, ugly shoes for her oversized feet). And, I can incorporate a trip to the mall into my research. (See my thinking? The shopping was research, honey, honest. Will you please tell the nice IRS man that shoes are a necessary part of my office décor?).

4. SHOES MAKE GOOD FRIENDS. Shoes don’t need to be walked, fed, petted, told they did a good job wiping the kitchen counter. They sit there, patiently waiting for you to be ready for their next outing. And if you bypass the black ones in favor of those strappy red ones, the black pair doesn’t get all put out and refuse to talk to you for a week.

5. SHOES INSPIRE ME TO BE GOOD IN OTHER AREAS. Shoes don’t just impact my writing productivity, but my whole life. If I have on nice shoes, I want a pedicure. If I get a pedicure, I want to shave my legs (remember I’m a mom. Time to myself is about as plentiful as cheese on Mars). Once I shave my legs, I want to put on nice clothes. Do my hair. Wear make-up. It’s like a whole chain reaction, inspired by a little simple footwear.

6. SHOES ARE AN AUTHOR TREAT. Most of us sit around a home office all day, barefoot or socked, never venturing outside. My sole outing for the day is when I walk a few houses down to get my mail from the box. But when I put on a pair of nice heels, I want to take on the town. Go to dinner. Dance. Take in a movie. There’s just something about slipping into some fancy shoes that gets me going, transporting me from my silent, in-my-head world of books and into the real world.

7. SHOES ARE THE GREAT CONNECTOR. I have struck up more conversations with perfect strangers over a pair of heels. Made best friends over a pair of sandals. Women understand shoes and through that, they understand each other. It’s a sisterhood, built one shiny rhinestone buckle at a time.

Okay, so maybe my husband isn’t going to buy this argument. He’s a man who owns three pairs of shoes total--dress, work and sports. He sees no necessity in having his shoes match his outfits or in getting one pair for the black suit, another for the brown pants, a third for the navy Dockers (don’t even get me started on matching handbags).

Maybe the next time I go shopping with him, and he’s pacing the shoe department, asking me if I REALLY need another pair of back heels, I can rally a group of women. We’ll persuade him that shoes are a female necessity. That they help us be happier, more productive, friendlier humans.

In the meantime, I’ll work on convincing the IRS that shoes should be a deduction. Research can take many forms, from pump to stiletto. As I said, that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it, with a little Dr. Scholl’s to back me up.

And if you want to read along with me about adventures with chocolate, dresses and shoes, pick up a copy of THE BRIDE WORE CHOCOLATE today. All three books in the Sweet and Savory romance series feature food, friendship and fashion. Fun reads for everyone, along with recipes from the characters. In BRIDE, Candace wakes up in the wrong man’s bed two weeks before her wedding—an event that drives her to desperate measures, like stealing the chocolate in the church office. It’s a hilarious romp through the planning of a wedding with the man she thought was all right for her, until Mr. Gorgeous shows up and detours her plans!


                                                     The Bride Wore Chocolate (book link)
 
http://www.shirleyjump.com

http://www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com