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* Fee Download Going Too Far, by Jennifer Echols

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How Far Would You Go?

All Meg has ever wanted is to get away. Away from high school. Away from her backwater town. Away from her parents who seem determined to keep her imprisoned in their dead-end lives. But one crazy evening involving a dare and forbidden railroad tracks, she goes way too far. . .and almost doesn't make it back.

John made a choice to stay. To enforce the rules. To serve and protect. He has nothing but contempt for what he sees as childish rebellion, and he wants to teach Meg a lesson she won't soon forget. But Meg pushes him to the limit by questioning everything he learned at the police academy. And when he pushes back, demanding to know why she won't be tied down, they will drive each other to the edge -- and over. . .

Sales Rank: #703971 in Books
Brand: MTV
Published on: 2009-03-17
Released on: 2009-03-17
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 7.00" h x .70" w x 5.00" l, .41 pounds
Binding: Paperback
245 pages

Features

Great product!

Review
"A brave and powerful story, searingly romantic and daring, yet also full of hilarious moments. Meg's voice will stay in your head long after the intense conclusion." -- R. A. Nelson, author of Teach Me and Breathe My Name

"Naughty in all the best ways...the perfect blend of romance, wit, and rebelliousness. I loved it!" -- Niki Burnham, author of Royally Jacked and Sticky Fingers

About the Author
Jennifer Echols was born in Atlanta and grew up in a small town on a beautiful lake in Alabama—a setting that has inspired many of her books. Her nine romantic novels for young adults have been published in seven languages and have won the National Readers’ Choice Award, the Aspen Gold Readers’ Choice Award, the Write Touch Readers’ Award, the Beacon, and the Booksellers’ Best Award. Her novel Going Too Far was a finalist in the RITA and was nominated by the American Library Association as a Best Book for Young Adults. She lives in Birmingham with her husband and her son. Visit her at Jennifer-Echols.com.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1

That's the worst idea I ever heard," I told Eric. Then I took another sip of beer and swallowed. "Let's do it."

"Meg," Tiffany called after me. But I was already out the door of Eric's Beamer. My beer sloshed onto the gravel as I led the way across the dark clearing to the railroad bridge.

Eric caught up with me. His hand circled the back of my neck, stopping me at the end of the bridge. We shared a hungry look. He'd been mad when I told him Tiffany and Brian were coming along tonight. And I knew why he was angry. If we weren't alone, we couldn't do it. If we couldn't do it, what were we hanging out together for?

Now, without sharing a word, he and I understood we would do it after all. The four of us were drunk past the point of needing privacy.

In the light of the full moon I searched his handsome face a moment longer, marveled at his carefully mussed black hair. He was hot. We turned each other on. We were about to screw on a railroad bridge. It was a shame we didn't like each other very much.

I gazed to the far end of the bridge. "It's not long enough for those kids to have gotten killed on it. Seems like they could have run to one end or the other when they heard the train coming."

"You don't believe that story," he said.

"Party pooper. Why do you want to cross the bridge if you don't believe the story? It's not a daring deed unless you think it's dangerous."

"The girl got her shoe caught in the tracks," Brian said behind us. "That's what I always heard. And the boy got killed, too, because he went back to help her."

"That's so romantic," Tiffany cooed. She sounded like she actually meant it. She was completely wasted on her first three beers ever, way too drunk to produce sarcasm.

"And then, blammo!" I said. "Very dangerous. That's more like it." I swirled my beer in my cup. "Maybe we should take our shoes off."

Despite his party pooping, Eric took his shoes off. We all left our shoes at the base of the sign that proclaimed No Trespassing and offered the number of the city ordinance we were breaking. We stepped in our socks across the railroad ties, toward the center of the bridge -- Eric and me, with Tiffany and Brian behind us.

Through my cotton socks, gradually I began to feel the cold, hard ties. The air seemed colder, too, as we walked farther from the riverbank.

I heard Tiffany trip, then laugh. Brian probably thought tonight was The Night, and maybe it was. He'd been bugging me for months in the back of calculus class about how to take his relationship with Tiffany to The Next Level. I had told him I wasn't that close with Tiffany anymore. I wasn't that close with anyone. He said it didn't matter. He seemed to think I was an expert on sex in general.

What did I expect? Good news traveled fast.

And I was pretty much getting what I asked for from Eric. I looked the part. As the only teenager in Shelby County, Alabama, with blue hair, I was everybody's goto girl for bad behavior. Tonight I wore a low-cut T-shirt that said Peer Pressure in the hope of luring Eric into another sexcapade. As if he needed any luring. He was pretty much self-luring.

As we reached the middle of the bridge, he steered me by the neck to the metal wall of the trestle. I didn't mind being held around the back of the neck, but I minded being steered. The rich, dirty scents of rust and tar made me dizzy. I was about to shake him off when he slid his hand down to my butt and parked me against the wall.

I sipped beer and gripped the rusty wall with my other hand, looking down at the reflection of the white moon in the black river so far below us. Trees clung to the sides of the gorge, their tiny spring leaves glinting white with moonlight. People had said the view from the bridge was beautiful, but no one seemed to have actually seen it. Now I had seen it.

Now I had seen everything. Brian Johnson, salutatorian, math team captain, had Tiffany Hart, valedictorian, yearbook editor, sandwiched against the bridge wall in front of him. At least he'd taken the precaution of putting his beer down. He wore all the wrong clothes, a sure sign his parents didn't let him watch TV. She wore the right clothes, clean version, no skin in sight. His hands moved up her sides toward a risqué area and I almost laughed. Every few seconds, he glanced over at Eric and me as if he needed instructions.

Oblivious to Brian's groping, Tiffany shook her blonde windblown curls off her face and asked, "Why didn't those kids just jump over the side of the bridge? Is that a stupid question? I can't tell what's a stupid question." She was so drunk. I began to regret letting her and Brian, innocence incarnate, tag along tonight on my walk on the wild side.

"We're really high up," Brian said in the tone of the Professor from Gilligan's Island. "Hitting the water from this height would be like hitting concrete."

"Getting hit by a train is painful, too," I said. "But the girl got her shoe caught, and the boy wouldn't leave her. So they were stuck up here anyway."

"I'm telling you," Eric said, "that story can't be true. What kind of dumbass would let himself get hit by a train because his dumb girlfriend got her shoe caught?" Immediately after declaring that true love was something he couldn't fathom, he proceeded to kiss the back of my neck and work his way toward hickeyville.

I tried to enjoy him, despite the irony. The cold March wind kissed my cleavage as he kissed me. A tingle of excitement spread through my body, and I tilted my head down to expose more of my neck for his mouth.

I'd grabbed him like a life preserver to float me through my last three months of high school. He wasn't much, but he was the only thing that kept me moving, besides anticipating my spring break trip to Miami one week from tonight. I would live as high as I could that week, which would tide me over until I graduated in June and moved to Birmingham for college. It was only twenty minutes up the interstate, but at least I was getting out of this tiny town. In the meantime, I was seventeen, a boy wanted to do me on a railroad bridge in the middle of nowhere, and I knew I was alive.

For the moment.

"Stop. Shhh." I pushed Eric's shoulder to detach him from my neck.

"What is it?" Brian asked over Tiffany's giggle.

"Shhh. Hush, Tiff." I leaned against the rusty wall, out over the distant black water, which stirred in the wind and distorted the reflection of the moon. My eyes strained, searching the dark for the source of the low hum. "Do y'all hear that?"

"No," Brian said.

My heart pounded in my chest. I hated being the cautious one. I couldn't help it this time. I looked one way up the tracks, but I didn't see the terrifying headlight of a train rounding the bend. I looked the other way down the tracks. Blackness. I considered setting down my beer and putting my ear to the railroad tie to listen for vibrations, like in an old Western. "Suddenly, I am full of fear."

Eric put both arms around me and massaged my boobs, too hard. "You're just stoned," he whispered so Brian and Tiffany couldn't hear. Even in their inebriated state, they would have been truly horrified at a mention of marijuana.

That buzz had worn off an hour ago, or so I'd thought. But Eric must be right. I was paranoid from the pot, and now I was drunk, too.

None of that explained the low hum in my ears.

The clearing at the end of the bridge exploded with the blue lights of the police.

Most helpful customer reviews

101 of 107 people found the following review helpful.
A Must-Buy
By Reader Rabbit
All Meg has ever wanted is to escape from her backwater hometown. Away from certain memories, away from her parents who seem to want to suffocate her in their dull lives...away from everything. And it looks like she's getting her wish, it's almost spring break and she's going on a trip to Miami and see the beach.

But then, Meg and a few friends end up on a bridge where, a few years ago, some kids died. They're caught by a cop, John After, who's only 19 years old and was one of the top students of his year...Meg can't imagine why he would choose to remain tied down in the tiny town and work as a cop. But John is connected, strangely, to the bridge and Meg and her friends' stunt provokes him to want to teach them a memorable lesson.

Meg is assigned to join John After during his night shifts for a week, to learn about the law and the importance of it.

Only, Meg isn't one to be complacent and she pushes to find out exactly what promoted John to remain bound to the small town that she's so determined to escape from. And he fights back, and stretches her boundaries in an attempt to figure out exactly why Meg refuses to remain in the small Alabama town that has shaped both of their lives so much.

So, this was my second Jennifer Echols novel. I'd always intended to read The Boys Next Door, but for some reason, I never got around to it. I *did* read Major Crush which was a pretty cute ro-com read. But then I read Going Too Far. It blew Major Crush away.

I'd expected Going Too Far to be good. To be great, even. I was sure that when I reviewed it, I'd tackle it like most of the other books I've reviewed. Normal and level-headed. Except this time, I have no CHOICE but to let loose and write a completely fan-girly review of Going Too Far. You've been warned.

Okay. So this book has depth. And I'm not talking the shallow pool that some YA novels are. Going Too Far is a freaking ocean. And I mean it in the best way possible.

The relationships and characters in this novel are so complex and layered. The main characters and secondary characters all seem so real. They all have their dreams, their hobbies and their insecurities. John and Meg's pasts both haunt them, every decision in the now is a reflection of certain events from before. Both have secrets that are hinted at, throughout the novel. But, it is only further in the novel that the secrets are fully revealed to the reader and the other characters. (And, of course, this fuels further conflict and further revelations and conclusions.)

The story is told in Meg's POV, and it couldn't be told any other way. Meg's voice is realistic; everything about her makes sense and stays true to her character.

Along with that, Meg's easy to relate with and feel for, despite her not being like the average teenager. When she hurts, you cringe. When she's happy, you smile. In that aspect, reading Going Too Far is like a (fun) roller coaster.

Similarly, John is well-rounded as well. His secret, his driving motivation in life and everything..really, are questioned by Meg in this novel. The way he handles his life, his job and the way he is, makes it easy to feel for him as well.

And when you put the two characters together? It's completely believable to have them get each other. To have them fall in love, even. There are so many books where relationships are handled shabbily; the girl and the guy meet, think the other is hot and decide, at the end of the book, that they should go out. It's not like this at all in Going Too Far. In the span of the week that the book takes place over, it's easy to see their relationship build as you read page after page.

Overall, Going Too Far is an intense, touching and believable story of love, loss and friendship that will resonate with you for a long time after you've closed the book.

Honestly, this is one that deserves a spot on your bookshelf. Make sure you pick up a copy!
Reader Rabbit
readerrabbit.blogspot.com

26 of 28 people found the following review helpful.
Troubled Teens With Angst Collide
By Tiffany
In Jennifer Echols' Going Too Far, two teens full of their own personal demons meet one night under volatile circumstances and end up pushing each other to his/her limit while falling in love.

The characters are real and interesting, showing great development from the first page. Meg feels like a real troubled teen, who is not without humor or sarcasm, though she is not happy with her lot. John also has his own issues to work out, and is nothing like normal from the beginning. The side characters are engaging and realistic, as well.

Told in first person perspective, Meg describes what is happening in her life, and is honest enough about herself the reader can mostly trust what she sees and feels. The writing is easy to follow and flows rather nicely.

While there are no big surprises in the story, I was still impressed by all the little details the author tied into the plot. No strings were left untied, and everything that happened or was said had some meaning and was important in some way. The novel was tight and concise, making the story and reading experience even better.

I would recommend this teen novel to anyone who wants some drama, heartache, and growth in their teen romance. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel and will not hesitate to pick up the next book by this author.

16 of 18 people found the following review helpful.
Beyond Words! Brilliant!
By Mint910
This book was HOT! The chemistry and banter between Meg and John (Officer After) could keep me reading for probably a 1,000 pages. It was an absolute pleasure to read I couldn't get enough of it.

Echols writing style is just perfect to me, it's humorous and detailed and random, everything I love. She created a very likable character in Meg, someone who intentionally creates a somewhat shocking appearance (blue hair) and attitude to protect herself but little by little we learn more about Meg and the reason she is the way she is and you can't help being on her side and wanting to be her friend. And John, man, I loved reading about this boy. I don't even know what to say.

I loved reading about John and Meg on night patrol and watching Meg realize she's falling in love with him. It's pretty cute to see this punk haired bad-a%* girl get kind of self conscious around John. There is a great push and pull between them that keeps you on edge, needing to know where this is going to go.

I'm at a loss for words of how to express how much I loved this book! It has so very many things going for it, GREAT characters (main and secondary) a great premise, humor, pain.... just please, do yourself a favor and read this book! I'll definitely be reading the rest of the author's books!

And seriously, when can I see the movie version? :P

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Minggu, 19 April 2015

@ Download Ebook Where Are You Now?, by Mary Higgins Clark

Download Ebook Where Are You Now?, by Mary Higgins Clark

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Where Are You Now?, by Mary Higgins Clark

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From America’s Queen of Suspense and #1 New York Times bestselling author comes a gripping tale of a young woman trying to unravel the mystery of a family tragedy—a quest with terrifying repercussions.

It has been ten years since twenty-one-year-old Charles MacKenzie Jr. (“Mack”) went missing. A Columbia University senior, about to graduate and already accepted at Duke University Law School, he walked out of his apartment on Manhattan’s Upper West Side without a word to his college roommates and has never been seen again. However, he does make one ritual phone call to his mother every year: on Mother’s Day. Each time, he assures her he is fine, refuses to answer her frantic questions, then hangs up. Even the death of his father, a corporate lawyer, in the tragedy of 9/11 does not bring him home or break the pattern of his calls.

Mack’s sister, Carolyn, is now twenty-six, a law school graduate, and has just finished her clerkship for a civil court judge in Manhattan. She has endured two family tragedies, yet she realizes that she will never be able to have closure and get on with her life until she finds her brother. She resolves to discover what happened to Mack and why he has found it necessary to hide from them. So this year when Mack makes his annual Mother’s Day call, Carolyn interrupts to announce her intention to track him down, no matter what it takes. The next morning after Mass, her uncle, Monsignor Devon MacKenzie, receives a scrawled message left in the collection basket: “Uncle Devon, tell Carolyn she must not look for me.”

Sales Rank: #79864 in Books
Brand: Pocket Books
Published on: 2009-03-24
Released on: 2009-03-24
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 6.75" h x 1.00" w x 4.19" l, .39 pounds
Binding: Mass Market Paperback
368 pages

Features

Great product!

From Publishers Weekly
Bestseller Clark (Where Are the Children?) spins yet another imaginative tale of murder and deceit. Every Mother's Day over the 10 years since Charles Mack MacKenzie Jr. disappeared from Columbia University just before his graduation, Mack has phoned his mother in Manhattan to let her know he's all right, but otherwise reveals nothing. In the meantime, Mack's lawyer father has perished in the 9/11 tragedy. Now Mack's younger sister, Carolyn, a graduate of Columbia and Duke Law School, where Mack was intending to go, tells him during his annual call that she's going to find him. When a note from Mack turns up in the collection plate at St. Francis church, asking Father Devon MacKenzie, his uncle, to tell Carolyn not to look for him, she becomes even more determined to do so. Based on a real story, as Clark notes in her acknowledgments, this novel of suspense will keep readers guessing to the nail-biting conclusion. (Apr.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

Review
"An imaginative tale of murder and deceit...will keep readers guessing to the nail-biting conclusion." -- "Publishers Weekly"

About the Author
Mary Higgins Clark, #1 international and New York Times bestselling author, has written thirty-four suspense novels; three collections of short stories; a historical novel; two children’s books; and a memoir, Kitchen Privileges. With her daughter Carol Higgins Clark, she has coauthored five more suspense novels. Her books have sold more than 100 million copies in the United States alone.

Most helpful customer reviews

103 of 105 people found the following review helpful.
Crisp, clear, and clean writing; a surprising and satisfying plot resolution
By Roy E. Perry
Mary Higgins Clark, America's Queen of Suspense, hasn't lost her touch. In Where Are You Now? she writes a chilling tale of a psychopath stalking his prey on the streets of Manhattan near the SoHo night clubs.

Four women are missing and presumed dead. Also missing for the past ten years, but presumed alive, is Charles "Mack" MacKenzie, Jr., who calls his mother once a year on Mother's Day, telling her he is OK and not to search for him.

Mack's sister Carolyn is frustrated that the NYPD and a private investigator, in spite of their intense efforts, have been unable to solve the mystery of Mack's disappearance. She resolves to find him, and, of course, by doing so, puts her own life in jeopardy.

Is Mack still alive, and if so, what kind of trouble is he in? Is he the serial killer? If not, then who is? And what is Mack's motive for dropping out of sight?

Scattering red herrings along the path, Clark leads us to suspect various candidates as being the shadowy predator of young women. We begin to wonder whom can we trust?

Clark's writing is crisp and clear. Although surprising, the plot resolution is convincing and satisfying; the veteran author ties together all the loose ends. And, as always, her work is admirably clean, without obscenity or profanity.

137 of 145 people found the following review helpful.
The Missing Person
By Tom S.
Years ago, a college student named Charles ("Mack") MacKenzie walked out of his life for no apparent reason. Since then, once a year, he calls his mother to assure her that he's all right, and to ask her not to look for him. Now, Mack's younger sister, Carolyn, has decided to find him. Her search uncovers a lot of old secrets among the people closest to her, and someone is trying to prevent Carolyn from solving the mystery behind her brother's disappearance--by any means necessary....

Once again, Mary Higgins Clark has provided us with a sleek, fascinating thriller that builds to a terrific payoff. I read it in one long sitting, and you'll be tempted to do the same. There's a good reason for her 30-year reign as America's "Queen of Suspense," and WHERE ARE YOU NOW? is ample proof of her extraordinary talent. Recommended.

67 of 69 people found the following review helpful.
He Calls on Mother's Day
By J.E. Stephens
If you have a free afternoon, this book won't disappoint you. Carolyn's brother disappeared over 10 years ago. He calls his mother once a year on Mother's Day.

Carolyn sees the toll his disappearance is taking on her mother. She also wants to get on with her own life. She tells her brother she is going to find him on his most recent call.

On that same day, a young student disappears while walking home from a club.

Carolyn begins to search for her brother while uncovering many connections to the new disappearance and other cases of missing girls.

This book held my interest. Early on I suspected someone but the connections were a total surprise.

You will enjoy this book. It is as good as early MHJ books.

See all 565 customer reviews...

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Kamis, 16 April 2015

^ Get Free Ebook Straight from the Source: An Expose from the Former Editor in Chief of the Hip-Hop Bible, by Kim Osorio

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Kim Osorio had a front-row seat for the biggest beefs, battles, and blow-ups in hip-hop. As the first female editor-in-chief of The Source, she had come up.

From her corner office, Kim got the goods on hip-hop's hottest names: Jay-Z, Nas, 50 Cent, Lil' Kim. She developed close -- sometimes intimate -- relationships with the artists she exposed to the public. But The Source couldn't hide its own dirty laundry for long.

Behind the scenes, the magazine's volatile owners puppeteered every issue -- even coveted honors like the 5-mic album rating and the Power 30 list of industry heavy-hitters. Then The Source declared war on Eminem and began the notorious assault that would send the magazine into swift decline.
In a culture dominated by men, Kim rose to the top, and after years in the magazine's pressure cooker, she hit "send" on a two-sentence e-mail that would thrust her from the sidelines of the scandalous world she reported on to the center of one of the most explosive scandals in hip-hop history. Straight From the Source is the Book of Kim, the tell-all memoir only she could write about her influential years at the Bible of Hip-Hop.

Sales Rank: #2125936 in Books
Brand: Brand: MTV Books
Published on: 2008-09-09
Released on: 2008-09-09
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 9.13" h x 1.00" w x 6.12" l, 1.06 pounds
Binding: Hardcover
288 pages

Features

Used Book in Good Condition

About the Author
Kim Osorio, a native of the Bronx, New York, was the first female editor-in-chief of The Source magazine. She led the publication to some of its highest-selling issues ever before suing for sexual harassment. She lives in New Jersey with her fiancé and two daughters.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter One

Time's Up

Time moves too fast in the mornings. No matter how hard I try to be somewhere on time, I can never seem to get it right. But this morning, driving in New York City in the spring of 2003, it would probably help if I allowed myself more than ten minutes to get from New Jersey to lower Manhattan.

I pressed down on my car horn two times with both hands so that the yellow taxi in front of me got the hint. "Come on. The light is fuckin' green!" My windows are up, and no one is in the car with me. Basically, I am just yelling at myself.

The clock read half past six o'clock, and the radio was tuned to NYC's number one hip-hop radio station. "Hot 97, where hip-hop lives. This is the Renegade Radio," I heard Sway say over the airwaves. I was scheduled to do a live radio interview representing the Source magazine. As the newly appointed editor in chief, the agenda was to promote the new issue, which had just hit newsstands that week.

My friend Miss Info was one of the jocks on the morning show with Sway, and since she and the Source's owners were not exactly fond of each other, she hooked up the interview as a favor to me more than anything else. I typed out to her on my two-way pager, I am 5 minutes away, not factoring in the five minutes it would take to park my car and the additional five minutes that I would need to get past the security desk. Altogether, I was fifteen minutes away, which meant any hopes of my getting coffee before I went on the air were pretty much crushed.

I rushed out of the parking lot so fast that I almost forgot my ticket, then I checked in at the front desk. By the time I made it up the elevator, someone was waiting by the back door to take me into the waiting area. "You're going to go on in about two minutes."

Two minutes! Ugk, I thought. Not enough time to mentally prepare for an interview I knew could be tough. "Can I borrow this pad?" I asked the guy that walked me in.

"Sure." He offered me a pen to go along with it.

My mind was racing with questions that I anticipated they could ask. So I started to quickly jot down notes on the pad -- points that I knew I had to hit and topics I knew I needed to avoid.

Benzino's beef with Eminem not connected to the magazine...Stay neutral and don't say anything bad about Eminem...or 50...50! Don't mention knowing 50 personally.

There was so much controversy involving the magazine's rivalry with XXL, Benzino's beef with Eminem, and Eminem's record label, Interscope, having pulled their advertising dollars from the magazine that I knew the real reason they'd agreed to have me on the show. This was morning radio. The point was to entertain the listeners by ridiculing the guests. They were not going to ask me anything I wanted to answer. They were not going to help me promote the magazine. That was my job. Their job was to get me to say something that I didn't want to.

"It's time," said the guy, who walked back in the room to take me into the studio. Two minutes had gone by in just one, I swore.

"Okay, I'm ready." I tried to cover up any signs of my nervousness, even though I knew he could see my heart beating through my coat. I'd done live interviews before -- sometimes even on politics and shit that I didn't know the way I knew hip-hop or the Source -- but I was more nervous than usual. And this was not even television, it was radio. Normally, all I had to worry about was not stuttering and making sure I used an SAT word every few sentences so I came off intelligent. But this time was different. I felt like Bill Clinton trying to avoid discussing whether I actually inhaled.

I could handle this, though. Just stay on topic and never let them see you sweat,I thought. What was I so nervous about anyway? Sway and I were cool. He would not even go there.

'"Kim Osorio, editor in chief of the Source magazine, is in the room with us," Sway said, standing in front of the microphone, his long dreads standing behind him.

I sat down, put the headphones on one ear so I could listen to anything that went on in the room, and placed the pad with my notes in front of me. There were so many words on the page, but the number stood out like a sore thumb. The number 50.

Miss Info walked over to me from where she had just finished delivering her "celebrity drama" segment and sat in the chair to my right. She scribbled some notes on my pad, but I couldn't look down to read them because Sway had already started asking me questions.

After a couple of easy ones, I was in my comfort zone and had let go of any paranoid thoughts that I'd come into the room with. Then Sway, out of nowhere, straight violated my whole womanhood.

"You were sucking off 50 Cent?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't Eminem say something about you sucking off 50 Cent?"

"Eminem never said that. No."

"Isn't there a song where Eminem said you were on your knees sucking off 50?"

"No, I think you got that wrong."

"So you were never sucking off 50 Cent?"

"No."

What in the hell??? I started to write down on my notepad to Miss Info. That quickly, I was thrown off. I couldn't look Sway in the face because I didn't want to turn him to stone. I was so angry, Medusa had nothing on me.

Sway cut to a commercial, the on-air light went off, then he walked out of the room to take a break. Miss Info was on her feet. "I'm going to go talk to him."

In truth, it was too late to talk to him because he had already tried to blow up the spot. Did he even know anything about 50? How could I just ignore this now? If my coworkers, or even worse, my superiors, were listening, I was going to be humiliated when I got into the office. I had to calm down and figure out what had just happened.

First off, Sway was way off. I started to work it out in my head like an algebra problem. I've always been good at math, so I knew I could figure out the answer before we went back on the air. There was an Eminem verse that mentioned my name, but Sway had the lyrics wrong. Wait, maybe this was a new song that he was talking about. Uh-oh. Oh no. No, wait. I know the song he's talking about. Sway's buggin'. That was the song where Eminem was talking about his wife, whose name happens to also be Kim. Damn it, why is her name Kim? "She's probably on her knees somewhere sucking off 50 Cent." He's not talking about me in that song. I should have said that on the air. The song that mentioned my name said something entirely different: "Kim Osorio, you sorry ho...drag you through the barrio." Or something like that. Say that on the air. No, duh, don't say that on the air, but clear this up.

"Hot 97, we're back on the air with Kim Osorio, editor in chief of the Source magazine." Sway was back in the room, and the red on-air light was back on. Miss Info was sitting next to me and writing on my pad again. I felt I was in a time warp. This time, I had no choice but to pay attention to her and not him. He's going to come back to it. Just stay calm. Treat it like they're men in the street whistling at you and you don't turn around so they just automatically call you a bitch. Stay professional.

"So there is a song where Eminem mentions you, right?" Sway rephrased his question.

I knew that whenever I acted out of emotion it was usually the wrong thing to do. So now I just followed exactly what Miss Info was telling me to do. Why is her handwriting so damn small?

"You know what, Sway. It's, like, what's the first thing a man says when he's whistling at you in the street and you're not paying him any attention? He calls you out of your name. That's all that was. I've never even met Eminem."

That damn Eminem, look at all the shit he was about to start.

It's hard to laugh and joke around when you're as mad as I was at the station that day, but I somehow managed to ignore it and forgive Sway. I left the station immediately after the interview and went straight to the office, pretending it didn't all happen, but knowing it was at the top of everyone's mind and on the tip of everyone's tongue. I couldn't let anyone know just how much it bothered me to have been put on the spot like that. When you're in a position of power, you have to dust your shoulders off. You have to learn how to become immune to insults and expect the worst things to be said about you. Throughout my career at the Source, mud was slung so many times on my name, both inside and outside the office. Biggie said it best: "Mo' money, mo' problems." For me, though, once I became editor in chief, it was the problems that seemed to come a lot faster.Copyright © 2008 by Kim Osorio

Most helpful customer reviews

8 of 8 people found the following review helpful.
Believe the Hype
By mlangan
I've been waiting for this book to come out, bought it as soon as it did and read it in a weekend. Admittedly, I just wanted to tie up all the bits and pieces that i read in the media. i was looking for a clean and clear cut time-line and story of what happened to this successful editor-in-chief and the ultimate demise of hip-hop's bible. I got that and so much more. This story is an honest tale of a true lover of hip hop, raised on those exciting and optimistic days when hip hop was young and fresh (pun intended) only to be worked over like the rest of us by the ugliness and ultimately staleness of ego, power and greed. While Ms. Osorio's story is an insider's industry tale, what is ultimately so great about this novel, is she is just like the rest of us, just a true fan of the music.

great read for all hip hop fans.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Straight from The Source - 4.5 stars
By Geminigirl
Considering myself an "outsider" to rap/hip hop post 1990, I never gave The Source more than a cursory flip through and didn't know that Kim Osorio was the EIC until after I heard about her lawsuit. In fact, the only thing I HAD heard about the magazine regarded "Benzino's" ego-driven vendettas against certain artists so I was pretty eager to read this book to get the real story.

The flow of the book is excellent, she doesn't waste time detailing her personal relationships but admits to them without the sometimes tasteless sensationalization that others have used in recent tell-alls. As a woman who also grew up on rap & hip/hop, I truly felt her pain and the pain of other women who initially loved the artists, music & lifestyle of hip hop but then gradually got worn down due to the mysogyny & abuse perpetuated by so many males who've also grown up on this genre.

Kim's attempts to remain professional in the face of the kind of madness she worked in was admirable - I probably would've quit long before she did but on the other hand, why should she have to quit such a lucrative position and more importantly, one that she loved because of a crazy boss?!

This is a very entertaining & addictive read told in a matter-of-fact style that will have you laughing out loud at some of her observations and is a book that I'd highly recommend to those immersed in hip hop news as well as the curious (like me) who just wanted to get some insight into how such a popular & influential magazine imploded.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
OH YEAH BABY
By Rose S.
Well I must say from the minute I started reading Ms. O's book, she had me. I could not put this book down. It was well written, actually her writing skills are excellent. It was captivating, clever, witty, and just down right "REAL"! Ms. O's story inspired me. I too work in the entertainment industry and know all too well how it's a "man's world". I'm glad Ms O. rose to the top and didn't let anyone shut her down when it was time to fight for what was "right"!!! I recommend this book to EVERYONE. You don't have to be into Hip Hop to enjoy this book. I look forward to the next book by Ms. O.!!! This is one talented young lady.

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^^ Ebook A Little Bit Wicked: Life, Love, and Faith in Stages, by Kristin Chenoweth

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A lively, laugh-out-loud journey from Oklahoma beauty queen to show biz sensation.

“Life’s too short. I’m not.”

You might know her as a Tony Award–winning Broadway star who originated the role of Galinda the Good Witch in the smash musical Wicked. Or you may recognize her from her starring roles on TV—The West Wing, Pushing Daisies, and Sesame Street. At four foot eleven, Kristin Chenoweth is an immense talent in a petite but powerful package. Through a combination of talent, hard work, and (she’s quick to add) the grace of God, Kristin took Broadway and Hollywood by storm. But of course, into every storm, the occasional drizzle of disaster must fall, and Kristin reflects on how faith and family have kept her grounded, even in tough times.

Filled with wit, wisdom, and backstage insight, A Little Bit Wicked is long on love and short on sleep. It’s essential reading for Kristin’s legions of fans and an uplifting story for anyone seeking motivation to follow his or her dreams—over the rainbow and beyond.

Featuring Chenolicious recipes, Kristin's advice for young actors, and much more!

Sales Rank: #118770 in Books
Brand: Touchstone
Published on: 2010-04-06
Released on: 2010-04-06
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 8.25" h x .70" w x 5.50" l, .53 pounds
Binding: Paperback
256 pages

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Great product!

From Publishers Weekly
Currently seen as waitress Olive Snook in ABC's Pushing Daisies, the Tony Award–winning singer-actress Chenoweth looks back at her multifaceted career, which has encompassed recordings (As I Am), films (Four Christmases), television (The West Wing), Broadway (Wicked), solo concerts, animation (Tinker Bell), opera and Opryland. Beginning with the intriguing speculation that her unknown birth mother could be watching her career rise, she recalls her Oklahoma childhood and vocal training when she learned "[t]he music didn't come from notes and lyrics; it came from life and mileage." Personal revelations, such as her experiences with Ménière's disease, are balanced with bubbling backstage anecdotes. A chapter about her on-and-off relationship with writer-producer Aaron Sorkin includes a section written by Sorkin himself. With digressions, detours and words like "whack-a-noodle," the book is busy with show-biz flip quips and writing reminiscent of Julia Phillips's You'll Never Eat Lunch in This Town Again (minus the drugs and invective). Chenoweth has a frenzied, free-associative style; it's as if she's speaking breathlessly into a tape recorder between sitcom scenes. To use her phrase, this book is "a hoot and a holler"—a fast-paced frolic that her fans will appreciate. (Apr. 14)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
Kristin Chenoweth is an award-winning musical theatre performer, opera singer, television and film actress, and an exclusively signed Sony Masterworks recording artists. Visit www.kristin-chenoweth.com for more information on Kristin and her recordings: A Lovely Way to Spend Christmas, Let Yourself Go and As I Am.

Joni Rodgers is the author of several books including Bald in the Land of Big Hair, a memoir of her own unlikely journey from cancer patient to celebrity memoir guru.

overture

Los Angeles, California
February 8, 2008

I face myself in the full-length mirror, stability in one hand, sex in the other.

The white Armani gown is the dress every little girl dreams of. A lot of big girls, too. A line of blushing attendants, all picture-pretty, clutch their bouquets of roses and baby's breath, each on the arm of a dashing, tuxedoed counterpart. My best always-a-bridesmaid buddy Denny Downs is looking at me with wide, moist eyes, telling me how perfect it all is...but suddenly I'm not sure.

A moment ago, I was ready to commit myself to the faithful friend who's supported and stood by me all these years. Then Jimmy showed up, and everything became a question. Now, here I am at the eleventh hour, wondering what might happen, who will I be, if I allow my passion to be swayed by this dangerous bad boy. Crystallized moments like this one arise in every woman's life. Moments of truth in which she makes the choices that guide her destiny. Moments that ultimately write the story of her.

Sugar or spice? I agonize. Naughty or nice?

Sensible angels whisper in my ear, but the runaway bride in me is getting restless. I am a type A "leap and a net will appear" risk-taker, and if I trust that God made me this way for a reason, then I have to believe that the risk will be worth it in the long run. Experience has taught me that we all stumble and fall; faith assures me that He'll be there to catch me when I do. My heart speaks, and I listen.

I chose Jimmy.

Jimmy Choo, that is. A fabulous pair of four-inch platform slingbacks. Setting aside the safe-and-sane character shoes I was planning to wear onstage tonight, I cast my lot with the bad boy. Oh, I know what you're thinking, and, yeah, it's not exactly Sophie's Choice. But this is Oscar night. I'm about to step out onstage in front of thousands of people -- friends, colleagues, peers, people I hope and dream of working with -- plus my parents and everyone else watching the live broadcast on television.

People keep reminding me that billions -- with a b as in bombastic and boy howdy! -- yes, billions of people all over the world will be tuned in. Even in the coziest venues, performers can and do get hurt onstage all the time. There's a broken toe for every light on Broadway. But I'm not as concerned for myself as I am for the burgeoning cast of backup dancers. This is a huge shot of résumé adrenaline for most of these kids; I don't want it to turn into some tragicomic YouTube video labeled "Cheno Falls on Ass." On the other hand, when you're four feet eleven inches you get pretty comfortable in heels.

"A nice pair of Jimmy Choos never hurt anyone," I tell my friend Denny, but I take the precaution of having the soles rubbered for slip-resistance. (Faith is fine, but the Lord helps those who help themselves, right?)

I'll be performing "That's How You Know," one of three Oscar-nominated songs written by Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz for Disney's frothy fairy tale Enchanted. As Tilda Swinton collects the Best Supporting Actress Oscar for Michael Clayton, the backstage cavern turns into an anthill of scurrying crew members preparing for my number, which is being staged in full-on Broadway showstopper style. Joining me on the sweeping two-story set is a village-size cast including half a dozen dancing brides niftily accessorized with dancing grooms, quick-stepping waiters, acrobatically inclined construction workers, happy townies, multiculti mariachis, and (putting us indisputably over the top) a marching band. Against a miniature backdrop of Manhattan, a battalion of gorgeous guys will form sort of a hunkpowered elevator and pass me bodily off an ornate, ten-foot-tall bridge.

A great song. A magical night. Gown by Armani and travel by hunk-o-vator. I am in grave danger of thinking it doesn't get any better than this when someone tells me, "George Clooney is on the front row." I don't ask who else is on the front row. Is there anyone else?

George Clooney needs to know that he and I are perfect for each other. We would be instantly matched on eHarmony.com. I can already see us in that ad campaign, oozing adorable, giddily telling the story of our first kiss. Happily ever after, cue Chaka Khan, roll credits. He is my Mr. Right. The problem is, I'm still in love with Mr. Writer, a man who is more likely to show up in a "Falls on Ass" video than an "Everlasting Love" commercial. Truth be told, eHarmony would not encourage me to share so much as a cab uptown with this guy. But of course this is precisely what makes him irresistible.

Never for a moment did I even fantasize that Aaron Sorkin was Mr. Right. From the day we met, he was Mr. Sets My Brain on Fire, then he evolved for a long, lovely spell into Mr. Makes Me Sing REO Speedwagon in the Shower, but there was always an undercurrent of Mr. You Are Seriously Pushing Your Luck Here, and I eventually found myself doing the ol' step-ball-change with Mr. Why Am I Banging My Head Against This Wall? Instead of coming up with a cutesy Hollywood powercouple name for us -- "Sorkoweth" or "Chenorkin" -- the tabloids wearily call us "on again/off again," which means we periodically put each other through a wrenching spate of separation, but I keep reinstating him as Mr. Might Actually Be Worth the Trouble. We are now "off again," and it's painful to not share this amazing moment with him. I love the man, and whatever happens or doesn't happen between us in the long run, I always will.

"It's in God's hands," I tell my father whenever he shakes his head about it.

The only thing I can say with utter certainty is that come what may, my feelings for George Clooney will remain unsullied. Whatever curtains rise and fall, the "Kristlooney" dream lives on.

Hosting the Oscars tonight is Jon Stewart, who's been onstage riffing about the bitter writers' strike that was recently resolved. His wry, wisenheimer humor is good medicine for our cruel but tenderhearted community.

"Welcome to the makeup sex," he said at the start of the show, and I felt a twinge of knowing exactly what he was talking about.

Aside from my periodic reunions with Mr. If Loving You Is Wrong, I Don't Wanna Be Right, I've been holding my breath through the strike, terrified for the fate of Pushing Daisies, this beautiful baby bird of a TV show I've been doing. With the strike ended, we are all breathing again and anxious to get back to work this summer. Before I resume shooting the show, I'll spend the spring in New York, shoot a movie in Minneapolis, squeeze in some family time with my far-flung loved ones in Texas, Denver, and Oklahoma, do a concert with the Chicago Symphony, and give a special benefit performance for a friend in Manhattan -- all of which keeps me pleasantly occupied and comfortably distanced from L.A. with all its potential complications and painful reminders.

I make my way backstage in my Jimmy Choos. I'm getting nervous. This doesn't happen to me much anymore. Like everyone around me, I'm a seasoned pro. Stage fright is a thing of the past. But tonight, as I prepare to step onstage, a hollow, little ice cube of doubt forms in the pit of my touchy stomach. I close my eyes. Heavenly Father...

I don't have to say anything else. He knows.

Adding one last dash of adorable to the Enchanted number is Vanessa Williams's little daughter Sasha, so Vanessa is here, helping her get ready. She gives me a good-luck scrunch and tells me, "Sasha's going to be right there when you look at her."

It's good to have another Broadway girl backstage. There's no unnerving a woman who's conquered the pageant circuit and delivered eight shows a week. She's a glam-cat paragon of strength and calm. Sasha's learning early what it took me years to understand.

Crew hands hustle out the set pieces. The hunks and I brace ourselves for places.

Deep breath.

Jon Stewart catches my eye.

"You're going to knock it out of the park," he assures me.

"I feel like I could pee my pants."

Most helpful customer reviews

54 of 55 people found the following review helpful.
Great Memoir!
By tvtv3
I have to confess that I've just recently become a fan of Kristin Chenoweth. I knew she had won an Tony for Sally Brown in the revival of YOU'RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWN and other than that, that was about it. Last summer some friends played a few songs of hers from her albums and I was blown away by her amazing voice and from that moment on became a fan. I bought her Christmas album and saw her amazing performance in St. Louis in January. We share a common faith and though I'm not from Oklahoma, I did live there and I'm involved in theatre myself (though in a completely different sphere than Chenoweth). When I heard she had a book coming out, I knew that it would be one I would be reading as soon as I could get it.

Even though it's being marketed as an autobiography, A LITTLE BIT WICKED isn't an autobiography. It is a memoir filled with autobiographical anecdotes. There are parts of her life that are completely skipped and though there is an overarching progression moving from her childhood to the present, the story skips around quite often and zig-zags all over the place. It's definitely told in Chenoweth's voice; the book was written in the same style, manner, and syntax as the way she talked when I saw her perform and in the interviews I've seen her in. However, a true autobiography has a person telling as much as their life story as they can possibly remember or are allowed to tell. A LITTLE BIT WICKED has a lot of great stories and fills in some background information people might not be familiar, but there's a lot that's been held back and isn't revealed. As Chenoweth points out in the afterwards to the book, she knows this and perhaps years in the future she'll write a true autobiography. Until then we have A LITTLE BIT WICKED and though it's not a full meal of a book, it's a tasty little divine snack that's quite satisfying.

The most covers many of the major events of Chenweth's public life: her Miss America attempts; the Tony win for YOU'RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWN; WICKED; THE WEST WING; PUSHING DAISIES; the FHM pin-up shoot; her appearance on THE 700 CLUB. Interspersed between all of this is her story about growing up in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma and her training at Oklahoma City University. She talks a lot about her faith and a little time about starting out in New York City with the seemingly random audition for ANIMAL CRACKERS that brought her to New York. There's also her recipe for "No-Calorie-Left-Behind Pie", her simple advice for young actors, a timeline of her life, and a list of questions she wants to ask God when she meets him. She also briefly discusses the four grand loves of her life, including Aaron Sorkin. True to Chenoweth's spirit, Sorkin even writes a small part of this book explaining how he fell in love with and later met Chenoweth.

For me, the most interesting part of the book was the story Chenoweth tells until she first came to New York. I really enjoyed the learning about where she came from, who her parents and siblings are, what she thought of school, her early training, etc. In all honesty, this part of her life is the most informative and detailed in the book.

I really enjoyed reading A LITTLE BIT WICKED. It's a book that every fan of Kristin Chenoweth will enjoy. It's also written in such a way that casual readers who don't know much about Chenoweth will probably like it as well.

39 of 41 people found the following review helpful.
Folksy and Fun
By Jennifer Donovan
Celebrity biographies are not usually my first pick of books, but since the West Wing is probably my favorite TV drama ever, and since Wicked is absolutely the best Broadway show I've ever seen -- I was curious.

Kristin is a good Southern girl who's managed to stay out of the trouble that many starlets get into. She's been outspoken about her Christian faith, which has hit her from both sides -- from the Christians who say her views on homosexuality are too liberal and from homosexuals who say that she aligns herself with their enemies.

So, I wanted to see for myself.

At first I thought that the book was a little too chatty and folsky, but that grew on me, and in the end I did feel as if I knew Chenoweth better. I was also a bit bothered by the fact that there was no real time-line or even a theme to the chapters, but then I realized that's exactly the way we get to know a friend.

We don't hear their whole story from age fifteen to the present day. We pick up bits of a person's life and experiences here and there. It's sort of like mining for gold: In the "Sift, sift, sift, sift" of everyday conversation suddenly a gold nugget about a past love or a life-changing mistake is uncovered and you see that person in a totally new way.

So if you like celebrity bios, you'll probably like this one. If you don't particular like celebrity bios, but like Kristin Chenoweth or are curious about musical training or Broadway, then you might like this one too.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
I couldn't put this down!
By Tanya Dennis
I'm not into celebrity books. I'm not even a fan of memoirs, but this book was fantastic. I couldn't put it down!

This book reads as if you're sitting in her living room drinking tea and eating some scrumptious dessert. Ms. Chenoweth effortlessly combines her faith with her experiences and her confidence in who she is. You won't find any apologies or fake modesty, just an honest and witty portrayal of the way she sees life. It's delightful!

A stylistic note: I greatly appreciated the tone of this book. It is simply clean and friendly and funny. There are no explicit "tell-all" scenes, no bashing of other people, no negative vibes. With a single exception there aren't even any curse words or vain uses of God's names. A wonderful testament, a respectful perspective. Well done!

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Senin, 13 April 2015

** Free Ebook Salty Like Blood: A Novel, by Harry Kraus M.D.

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David Conners, M.D., is on the fast track to creating a perfect life when his seven-year-old daughter disappears. David's all-consuming quest to find her -- dead or alive -- threatens to destroy everything he has left: his medical practice, his marriage, his integrity, and even his soul.

If Rachel is dead: Can a parent forgive someone who has done the unthinkable?

Can David forgive himself?

If she's alive: Can David find her in time to save her?

Sales Rank: #1553422 in Books
Brand: Howard Books
Published on: 2009-03-24
Released on: 2009-03-24
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 8.44" h x .90" w x 5.50" l, .70 pounds
Binding: Paperback
352 pages

Features

Great product!

Review
"Harry Kraus digs deep in this story of a father's harrowing inner and outer journey, and tells it with grit, compassion, and suspense." -- James Scott Bell, bestselling author of Deceived

"Salty Like Blood kept me riveted and surprised me at every turn. I highly recommend this book. You won't be disappointed!" -- Terri Black stock , bestselling author of Dawn's Light

About the Author
Best-selling author Harry Kraus, MD, is a board-certified surgeon whose contemporary fiction (beginning with 1994’s Stainless Steal Hearts and including his 2001 best-seller Could I Have This Dance?) is characterized by medical realism. He practices surgery in Virginia and formerly in Kenya where he served as a missionary surgeon. He's also the author of two works of nonfiction.

Rachel and I tumbled into the tall grass at the bottom of the hill, having survived yet another Daddy-just-one-more sled ride from the edge of our front porch. I collapsed on my back, trying to find oxygen between gasps of laughter, and looked up at the summer sky. My daughter, with limbs sprawled in a wide X and her head against my foot, shouted her delight toward the house. "We did it! We made it!"

Seconds before, airborne and soaring toward record distance, Rachel reached for an octave above the normal human voice range, squealing a note that rang on in my head, and I suspected invited half the neighborhood's canine population to play. I laughed and put my fingers in my ears, rolling them in an exaggerated twist as if she'd deafened me.

She moved to lay her head upon my chest and quieted herself there, listening to my racing heart.

I stroked her hair, inhaled the scent of mown grass, and nestled my head back into the tickle of green.

"Is it okay?" she asked.

"It's okay."

"It's too fast," she said, raising herself up and pushing a bony elbow into my gut.

"Oh, so now you're the doctor."

She smiled. "Someday," she said. "For now, you're the doctor."

"Don't worry. I'm okay." I scowled at my seven-year-old. "Really."

We rested together, staring at the sky full of clouds of hippopotami, horses, rockets -- whatever Rachel imagined. Mostly I gasped and oohed. In a moment I found myself blinking away tears, overwhelmed with the enormity of it all.

It was so ordinary. A summer Saturday morning without an agenda. It's hard for me to describe beyond the sense I had of emerging, as if I'd been submerged for so long, and now, just to play and laugh and roll in the grass seemed a joy that would burst my heart. I smiled, taking it in, gulping in ordinary life as if I'd never have a chance again.

As Rachel chatted on with her running commentary of sky castles, fiery dragons, and fairies, other images drifted through my mind, pictures of painful chapters that set my current joy into sharp contrast. Traveling with Joanne through the dark tunnel of postpartum depression. My mother's battle with cancer. Memories of an intensive care unit visit while I was the too-young patient, watching my own heart monitor and wondering if life would be cut short.

Joanne's voice swept me into the here and now. "What's going on?"

I looked up to see her standing on the covered porch, eyeing a bottle of vegetable oil that was set on the white railing.

Rachel lifted her head, her blond hair dotted with grass seed. "We're sledding, Mommy."

Joanne's hands rested firmly on her hips. "It's July, David." She picked up the bottle. "And I've been looking for this." She was serious, but her eyes betrayed her attempt at scolding me. Her happiness at my delight in our little Rachel couldn't be spoiled by my summer antics.

I exchanged a mischievous glance with Rachel. She betrayed me in a heartbeat. "It was Daddy's idea."

"Women!" I said, grabbing my daughter by the waist and swinging her around in a circle. "You always stick together!"

As I trudged up the hill with Rachel folded around my back, I grunted exaggerated puffs. "You're getting so big."

I set her on the top step and kissed her forehead. She started pulling away. "Wait." I picked at the seeds in her hair. "You'll need to brush this out."

She opted for the shake-it-out method. "I'm a rock star."

I smiled. My star. For Joanne and me, Rachel had been the glue that helped us stick together through a valley of misery.

Joanne reappeared, carrying lemonade in tall, sweaty glasses. She handed me one and kissed me. She had thin lips to go with sharp, elegant features, dark eyes alight with mystery, and hair the color of caramel. She could have been a model before big lips became the rage.

I'd been to hell and back with Joanne, but the last six months, I'd sensed a real change in her. She seemed settled, somehow. Content. More romantic toward me -- the way she had been back in my medical school days. Our relationship, once teetering on the precipice of divorce, was now solidly a safe distance from the edge. I'd seen significant pieces of my life's puzzle fall together in the last few years. When the marriage one finally clicked into place, everything else brightened with it. It was as if I'd been living my life in black-and-white and someone just invented color.

I kissed her back, trying to discern her mood. There seemed a surface calm, but I sensed a deeper stirring. I'd become a champion at reading her. I knew the quiet of her bitterness, the bubbly way she prattled on when she felt guilty, and the aloofness that dared me to pursue her into bed. For a moment our eyes met. It was only a flash, but in that instant, I felt the foreboding that threatened my wonderful ordinary-life euphoria.

I took her hand. "What's up?"

She lowered her voice, but even at that volume, sharp irritation cut at the edges of her words, clipping them into little fragments. "Your father."

I raised my eyebrows in question.

"His neighbor called."

I waited for more, but it seemed the silence only uncapped her annoyance. In a moment she was on the verge of tears.

"He always does this. Every time we have plans, he has a crisis."

Plans. The practice was dining at the country club tonight.

I started to protest, but she interrupted, pushing her finger against my lips. "You know they're going to announce that you've made partner."

I smiled. Partner. A year early. Just reward for the practice's highest revenue producer nine months in a row. Another puzzle piece in my wonderful life about to connect.

"Which neighbor?"

"That Somali family," she said, flipping her hand in the air. "A woman. She has an accent. She said his place is a wreck. He's ill." She seemed to hesitate before adding. "He's asking for you."

It was my father's way. The crab fisherman wouldn't pick up the phone and let me know he needed me. He sent word around the block and expected me to show. "Define 'ill.'"

Joanne imitated the neighbor's accent. "Mister Gus isn't eating. He toilets in the bedroom."

I groaned. Whatever the neighbor meant, I knew it couldn't be good. I walked into the house to my study and picked up the phone. I was listening to the endless ringing on the other end when Joanne entered. "Not a good sign," I said. "He doesn't pick up."

"What are we going to do?"

I looked at my wife. Petite. Strong. And so able to read my thoughts.

She threw up her hands. "We're going to the shore," she said. "Just like that."

I nodded. I was predictable. Family first. We had to go.

She glared at me. I read the silence, loud and clear. That's why I love you...and hate you.

"I'll call Jim. The practice will understand."

Joanne shook her head. "This is your night, David. The moment you've been waiting for. And you throw it away because of family."

I couldn't say anything. She had me pegged.

"I'll see if Kristine will take Rachel for the weekend."

"Let's take her with us."

Joanne's face hardened. "With us? That place is so..." -- she paused, apparently mulling over adjective options -- "crusty."

It was the gentlest description of several other options that came to mind.

"We'll take care of the crisis and stay at that seaside bed and breakfast. It will be fun. A chance for her to see her grandfather." I let a hopeful smile tease at the corners of my lips. "Even if he is crusty, he does adore her."

Joanne sighed in resignation. "Yes, he does." She tipped her glass against mine. "As long as we don't have to sleep there," she said, shivering as if that thought was horrifying. She gave me a don't-even-try-to-cross-me look. "You're driving."

I walked out onto the porch and into the humidity we Virginians call summer. As I called for Rachel, I followed the border of the house, my prize lawn soft beneath my bare feet. From her perch on the back deck, my daughter ambushed me with open arms.

"Can we sled some more?"

I looked at the blue sky and my Southern Living home, and I pushed aside a fleeting presence. A ripple beneath the calm.

I'd been through too many hard times to trust the peace. Nothing this great can last forever.

"We're going to Grandpa Conners'," I said, trying my best to sound excited.

Rachel wrinkled her nose. To her, the shore meant stinky crabs and everything smelling fishy.

I poked her nose with a finger. "You're too much like your mother."

She poked me back. "You're too much like your father."

A sudden breeze lifted Rachel's hair against my face. I stopped, looking east. In the distance, a small thundercloud hung over the horizon. Not today. I don't want to travel the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel in the rain.

My daughter squeezed my neck, bringing a smile to my face and pushing my anxieties aside. I nestled my face into her hair, trying to find an earlobe. She giggled, and everything seemed right again. © 2009 by Harry Kraus

Joanne packed in a rush, throwing in enough clothes for one night. I added my medical bag and swimwear for myself and Rachel, slipping in her little fishing rod and reel on the sly, hoping to escape from family obligations with Dad long enough to hear Rachel's delight over reeling in a croaker or if we were lucky, a catfish or two.

With our sights set on the Eastern Shore of Virginia, we left our suburban home west of Richmond by eleven. By noon we were sitting at a picnic table outside Pierce's Pit Barbeque near Williamsburg.

Joanne wiped Carolina Red sauce from Rachel's chin. "I don't like those clouds."

To the east, fluffy popcorn clouds darkened the sky above the pines. I grunted a response and shoved the last of a shredded pork barbecue sandwich home. The clouds bothered me, too. I'd seen the tenacity of storms coming off the Chesapeake, and I didn't like the idea of being over the water on the lonely twenty-three mile...

Most helpful customer reviews

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Gripping from page 1!
By Stacey
Dr. Harry Kraus has written a brilliantly woven political thriller for the Christian and secular market! The story of a seemingly random kidnapping, "Salty Like Blood" is the story of a doctor and his wife who have traveled with their young daughter to care for the doctor's ailing father. The opening pages of this novel begin a fast-paced thrill ride that doesn't end until the final page is turned...

...and still leaves you wondering what will happen beyond the end cover. The intellect with which this thought-provoking tale is told not only taught me a few new vocabulary terms, but also inspired me to think. To say that this book merely entertained would be inaccurate. Although it did just that, it also made me appreciate my own family complete with all of its dysfunction.

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
This is a must-read!
By Retep Kcollop
Harry Kraus is definitely, in my opinion, an up and coming writer and if he keeps on like this he could become one of the greats.

Salty Like Blood is the story of one man's desperate efforts to find his daughter. Everyone else thinks she was swept out to sea but he is convinced she was abducted and will put everything on the line to prove it and save her.

Plenty of twists, turns and sub plots coupled with a masterful ending make this a great read. The only real complaint I have is that it switches between first-person and third person context constantly, which is VERY annoying at first!

3 of 3 people found the following review helpful.
Riveting New Read
By booklover1983
This is my first Harry Kraus M.D. book but it won't be my last. Salty Like Blood is a riveting book. It held my attention from the beginning to end. It kept me guessing on a few situations too. The ending has twist you might not see coming. The main theme in the book is forgiveness with God and others. The characters and scenery are vivid. The plot is interesting and not completely predictable.

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Minggu, 12 April 2015

> Free PDF The Sign Painter: A Novel, by Davis Bunn

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A deeply emotive story about a young mother struggling to get back on her feet after a devastating loss leaves both her and her daughter alone and living on the street—from bestselling and award-winning author Davis Bunn.

Amy Dowell had always considered herself a very good mother. But when she loses her husband to illness and her home to debt, she finds herself and her young daughter, Kimberly, living on the streets as she struggles to find a job that will get them back on their feet again.

When Amy meets Lucy Watts, the pastor in charge of the church program that fed Amy and Kimberly their latest meal, Lucy sets them up in temporary housing and gives her a lead on a job painting signs for a local auto dealership—but Amy is hesitant to let go and trust. Is this finally a legitimate break? Can Amy subject herself to the possibility of disappointment and hurt by hoping again?

Inspired by the true story, The Sign Painter is a tale of desperation, taking chances, and ultimately redemption. This heartwarming novel blends mystery, romance, and characters you’ll root for, will leave you wondering–Is home really where the heart is?

Sales Rank: #842080 in Books
Brand: Bunn, T. Davis
Published on: 2014-08-05
Released on: 2014-08-05
Original language: English
Number of items: 1
Dimensions: 8.37" h x .70" w x 5.50" l, .50 pounds
Binding: Paperback
256 pages

Review
"In The Sign Painter, Bunn brings readers into the heart of humanity—helping those who cannot help themselves. . . . This novel moves quickly with twists and turns along the way that keep readers excited and engaged." (Romantic Times (four stars))

“I received a pre-publication copy of The Sign Painter last Friday afternoon, and by 2:30 a.m. Saturday morning I had read it in its entirety. I loved it! I was crying by page 16. Davis Bunn has written a fascinating and engaging book, helping us understand the struggles millions of men, women, and children experience when they find themselves without the resources to survive. A wonderfully crafted story that is profoundly captivating.” (Patrick Robertson, President, Cityteam)

“Once again Davis delivers a work that is hard to put down. The Sign Painter provides an inside view of the plight of homelessness. You will never look at the homeless the same way again. In addition, the book loudly proclaims the silent and committed work of those who care for the poor. Rooting for a sequel!” (Phil Schultz, Executive Director, Jefferson Street Baptist Center)

“Davis Bunn is a master craftsman. He blends the perfect amount of compassion, intrigue, complexity, and then overdoses with six parts of excitement. He leaves me with tears in my eyes and thinking I've had three or four heart attacks. The Sign Painter is a really good story, recommend highly.” (Ray Hall, Founder of Prison Book Project)

“In these difficult economic times many thousandsof lives have been upended. The SignPainter chronicles a mother and daughter who are at the end of theirrope after being rendered homeless. Their path back to a semblance of stabilitycomes through the grace of an outreach ministry which touches lives andhearts with the love of Christ. Their tumultuous journey is one of faith inaction.” (Noel Mountain, Board of Directors, His PlaceMinistries)

“The Sign Painter is an amazing story of the sustaining, redemptive power of faith and a vibrant biblical community—all rolled into a high-stakes, pulse-pounding police drama. Davis Bunn proves once again why he is truly a master storyteller.” (Mark Mynheir, former homicide detective and author of The Corruptible)

About the Author
Davis Bunn is the author of numerous national bestsellers in genres spanning historical sagas, contemporary thrillers, and inspirational gift books. He has received widespread critical acclaim, including three Christy Awards for excellence in fiction, and his books have sold more than six million copies in sixteen languages. He and his wife, Isabella, are affiliated with Oxford University, where Davis serves as writer in residence at Regent’s Park College. He lectures internationally on the craft of writing.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
The Sign Painter

CHAPTER 1

Amy Dowell considered herself a very good mother. She did not allow her circumstances to dictate how much love she had to give. She did not permit the presence of worries to color the way she greeted her daughter. “Good morning, darling.”

“I don’t want to get up.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“It got loud last night.”

“But we were safe here inside our little home, weren’t we?”

“In our love cave.”

“That’s right. Here, let me slip this over your head.”

“Can’t I sleep a little while more, Mommy?”

“No, Kimmie, we have to get a move on.”

“But why? I’m so sleepy.”

“Because I have a new job this morning. I told you last night, remember? Kimmie, let go of your pillow, honey. Give me your foot. Now the other one. Okay, here we go, ready to face the world?”

A delivery truck chose that very moment to start up. Amy’s daughter had hated the sound of truck engines ever since the two of them had been forced onto the road. It was why they seldom stayed in truck stops. The rumbling motors gave her terrible nightmares.

Kimmie scrunched herself into the crook of her mother’s neck and squealed. Amy raised her voice to be heard over the departing truck. “It’s all right, honey. It’s leaving.”

“The big bad truck wants to eat me!”

“No, it doesn’t, darling. There, see, it’s gone now.” Amy dropped the plastic holdall with their washing items into her backpack. She had a purse, but it remained stowed in the cabinet over the sink. Carrying a purse was something from a different life. Amy waited until the truck had merged with the sparse dawn traffic to open the door. By mid-May, central Florida was already hot and sticky at six-thirty in the morning. Kimmie was big enough to walk under her own steam, but Amy carried her anyway. It was hard managing the flimsy stairs while hefting her daughter and the bulky pack. But she had grown used to much harder tasks than this one.

Their home was a camper cab bolted to a Ford truck. The pickup had a hundred and seventy-two thousand hard miles, and the massive eight-cylinder motor sucked gas. The tires were bald and the front windshield was cracked. The previous evening, Amy had parked in a service station’s rear lot, behind the car wash. After the nine P.M. shift change, the lone attendant of such stations rarely left the bulletproof enclosure. A year back, Amy never would have dreamed that such knowledge might prove vital. Or that she would become proficient at picking locks, which she managed with Kimmie wrapped around her neck. All service stations had cameras surveying the restroom doors. But at six-thirty in the morning, half an hour before the shift ended, the attendant rarely paid attention to the security screens. Amy opened the restroom lock in ten seconds flat.

Once they were cleaned up, Amy returned to the camper and gave careful attention to Kimmie’s hair. The five-year-old whined a bit over the inevitable tangles but mostly stayed quiet. By now Kimberly was familiar with their new-city routine. So much depended upon them both putting on their best face. Kimberly had hair like summer wheat, dry and blond and so fine that it poofed out with static electricity when brushed hard. Sometimes that was good for a laugh, but not this morning. Amy was in a hurry, and Kimmie was still sleepy.

Amy dressed her daughter in a clean T-shirt and jeans, then let Kimmie curl up with her blanket in the passenger seat. Amy flattened the sheet of instructions she had copied down the previous evening from MapQuest. Another thing she had mastered over the past eighteen months was finding her way through strange cities.

As they turned onto Highway 192, Brentonville’s main thoroughfare, a pair of police cars came flashing past. Amy could not completely hide her flinch. Her fear of cops was genuine and well founded. Her most dread nightmare was of some new city’s social services trying to steal Kimmie away. Not to mention the fact that her vehicle was a rolling list of violations. No one knew cops like the homeless. It was a fact of life on the road.

The church was easy enough to locate. The main building rose north of the thoroughfare that ran arrow-straight to Disney. It was good that Kimmie was drowsing, because they passed a giant sign advertising the theme parks farther west. That was all Amy needed, having her daughter freak out over how close they were to the Magic Kingdom.

The First Methodist Church complex dominated two full city blocks. Amy had researched it on her laptop the previous day, after the job offer had been confirmed. Most big cities had at least one such church, where the problems of today’s world were not hidden beyond the barrier of faith. There were websites dedicated to people like Amy, live boards that posted helpful information about every city in the nation. Some of the sites were specifically designed to help single mothers: where to go, where to stay, what to avoid. How to survive.

Newcomers without roots were not always welcome in churches. Which was why Amy parked her truck at the back of the church lot, then brushed Kimmie’s hair a second time and fitted in the two pink plastic hair clips and straightened her T-shirt before getting in close to her daughter and saying, “What are we going to do when we get inside?”

“Smile and be nice,” Kimmie replied.

“That’s my good girl.”

“Will they have eggs, Mommy?”

She took the little girl’s hand. “Why don’t we go and see?”

Many city churches with schools and day-care centers served breakfast for students and families. These days, too many of their charges arrived hungry. This free meal was generally restricted to people signed into the system. Others had to pay. Sometimes, though, Amy was able to slip in. It just depended on the church and the day. As they joined the line, she saw a father with three young boys set money on the counter. Amy gave a silent sigh and reached into her jeans. She hated having to use her gas money for food, but she needed a safe place to leave Kimmie.

The desk inside the cafeteria doors was staffed by a woman with an expression that Amy had come to know all too well. The woman’s name tag read LUCY. Her no-nonsense gaze held the hard-earned wisdom of having long experience with Amy’s world.

“You’re new,” the woman said.

“We just arrived last night.” Amy tried to make her voice as cheery as possible.

Lucy motioned for Amy to swing around to the side of the desk. The woman continued to accept breakfast vouchers as she asked, “Where from?”

Amy knew the administrator’s easy tone masked a well-honed ability to sense trouble before it started. The only way to handle a person like this was not to try and handle her. People like Lucy had heard all the hard-luck pleas and were not moved. Amy gave it to her honest and straight. “Tampa, and before that, Tallahassee. Before that, Atlanta.”

Kimmie reached for her mother’s hand and said softly, “I didn’t like ’Lanta.”

“Neither of us did,” Amy agreed.

The woman smiled a greeting to a young family and asked, “So why go?”

“Work. I was a graphic designer, you know . . .”

“Before,” the woman supplied, looking at her with a glint of what might have been sympathy. “And now?”

“Mommy paints pretty windows,” Kimmie said, a trace of genuine pride in her voice.

“I’m a sign painter,” Amy explained.

The woman appeared won over by Kimmie. “You have work?”

“Supposedly. At Denton Chevrolet. I won’t know for sure until I show up.”

“And you need a place for your little one to stay.” She smiled as she handed Amy two breakfast vouchers. “Go eat. I’ll stop by later. We’ll chat.”

Amy fumbled her thanks and hated how her fingers trembled as she stuffed the crumpled bills back in her jeans. The woman noticed. Amy suspected that Lucy missed very little. She gave Amy another smile, one survivor to another, and said to Kimmie, “I believe I saw them making waffles.”

Kimmie’s delight was genuine. “My favorite!”

Amy thanked the woman again and joined the breakfast line. She gave her eyes a quick swipe when she thought no one was watching. She had grown used to this, how an unexpected kindness threatened to unravel her control.

Amy filled Kimmie’s plate with sausage and waffles, then took eggs and sausage and hash browns and biscuits for herself. Kimberly hated how the syrup ran over her sausage, but the little girl had learned not to say anything. They walked down the central aisle. Amy veered away from the first table with free seats because of the man she spotted just as she was about to sit down. He was in his late forties, and very handsome in a chiseled fashion, and clearly a cop. Which was why the only other people seated at the table with him were church workers. The man might as well have had a stone wall built around him. No one else even looked his way. Amy was far from the only person in the room harboring bad memories from run-ins with the police.

Amy spotted two places at a table holding several Bibles. She smiled a greeting and let Kimmie snuggle up next to her on the bench. The room was filled with pinched features and faces bearing the remnants of a leathery tan. Many of the gazes were hooded and fiercely aware, all products of life on the street. Amy knew she was gaining some of the same telltales and was helpless to do anything about it. Another of her nightmares was waking up one morning and discovering the same traits drawn on Kimberly’s young face.

There was no conversation at their table. This was another thing she once found remarkable and now accepted as normal, how silent most people were. People on the verge knew others had no interest in hearing their worries. They also knew someone here might be very close to exploding and could be set off by the smallest word. Quiet was safe.

Lucy took a seat at the table across the aisle and watched as Amy helped Kimmie cut her waffle and sausage. When Amy finished her meal, she unzipped her pack and pulled out a Bible. The woman observed that, too. Amy had no idea why Lucy was so interested in them. But eighteen months on the road had taught her to judge people swiftly and well. She sensed no danger from Lucy. Amy opened her Bible to the passage that was listed on the board by the front podium. Let the woman watch.

The woman stepped to the front podium and introduced herself as Lucy Watts, head of the church’s outreach ministries. She led them in prayer, then preached a brief sermon. Amy followed the words with determined intensity. These daily lessons were a vital part of her holding on to what was most precious in her life, including the ability to set aside all her worries and burdens, and show her young daughter the love she needed. Amy had learned to clamp down on the questions for which there were no answers. Such as how God could allow these things to happen, or when they would find a way out of their impossible situation, or where she could offer her daughter a future. Stability. A home. All the things that had become impossible dreams. All the things that Amy was determined to regain.

When Lucy left the podium, she walked down the aisle, greeting several latecomers and hugging one woman who rose from Amy’s table. Lucy seated herself across the table from Amy. She reached over and swung Amy’s Bible around. The two pages were underlined, with thoughts and prayers written into the margins. “A student of the Word. I like that.”

“It’s all that holds my life together.”

“I know what you mean.” Lucy’s gaze drifted over the rapidly emptying room. “I wish I could wake up a few of the nodders to that same truth.”

“I can’t condemn them,” Amy replied. “I’d probably have given in to the same bitterness, except for one thing.”

Lucy watched Amy stroke her daughter’s hair. “Where do you live?”

“My husband’s camper. It was actually his dad’s. He used it for hunting trips.” Amy looked down at her little one. “I was after him for years to get rid of that old thing.”

“You lost him?”

“Twenty-two months ago.” The terse response was all that was required. Amy settled her hand over her daughter’s ear and pressed so that the other ear was covered by her body. “Cancer.”

“You lost your home?”

“No. First I lost my job. Then my health benefits. Then I declared bankruptcy. The home went last.”

Kimmie squirmed and pushed Amy’s hand away. “I can’t breathe, Mommy.”

“Sorry, darling.”

Lucy rose from her place. “Mind showing me where you live?”

The Ford pickup had never looked more battered. The camper’s rust spots were glaring blemishes in the morning sun. The door shuddered as Amy pulled it open. The old vehicle seemed as embarrassed as she was over having someone see how they lived. Amy had forgotten how loudly the right rear suspension creaked when someone climbed the stairs. Lucy entered and slipped into one of the two chairs by the narrow fold-down table. She gave the cabin a very slow look.

Amy settled on the bed and pulled Kimmie into her lap. She had no idea why Lucy was here. But she knew an interview when she saw one. For what, Amy had no idea. Even so, she felt a faint thrill of electricity run up her spine. Maybe, just maybe, this woman would give Kimmie a free place in their day-care center. It would make all the difference in the world, knowing her little girl was taken care of by people like Lucy while Amy was off at work. Making money. Trying to climb out of this hole.

Lucy pointed at the drawings taped over the window above the sink. “Your daughter has real talent.”

“Did you hear that, honey? The nice lady likes your art.”

“Mommy only puts up the ones that make her happy.”

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Kimmie.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost five and a half.”

Amy added, “In two months.”

“That’s ‘almost,’ isn’t it, Mommy?”

“Yes, darling. You’re my big good girl.”

Lucy asked, “You select the drawings that are happy?”

“It’s the best reinforcement I can give her,” Amy replied. She heard the shiver in her own voice. Please, oh, please let this woman give my baby a day-care place and for free!

Lucy nodded and did not speak. She continued to look around the cramped confines. Amy’s gaze tracked along with hers. She saw the battered equipment and the neat rows of possessions, the shelf with Kimmie’s toys and dolls, the shelf where their clothes were folded, the scruffy cabinet with the cans of emergency food and their two plates and two cups and two knives and forks. The narrow sink beneath the opposite window was clean; the drying rack held their soup bowls and glasses and spoons from dinner the previous night.

Finally, Lucy rose from her chair and started for the door. “Come with me.”

Together they walked through the parking lot shared by the outreach center and a small medical clinic and the crisis pregnancy center. Lucy took them along a covered walk past the main church buildings, crossed a street, and stood before what formerly was a down-at-the-heels strip motel. Amy’s heart started beating so fast, she thought it might escape from her chest.

“The church acquired this property two years ago. Volunteers converted it into nineteen studio apartments.”

Kimmie protested, “Mommy, you’re squeezing my hand!”

Amy swept her daughter up into her arms. She did not trust herself to speak.

Lucy fished a key from her pocket and unlocked a door. “The family in here until the day before yesterday has been moved into a home built by Habitat for Humanity. Normally, I only give our apartments to church members, or families recommended by a local relief group. But just before you showed up this morning, I felt God whisper to me.”

The studio apartment was freshly painted and had a kitchenette and a real dining table. There was a door with a lock and pale curtains and a foldout sofa and a sleeping pallet rolled up in the corner. There was a bathroom. With hot water. And a shower.

It was a palace.

Kimmie whispered, “Mommy, is this for us?”

Amy could only nod.

“Let me down! Let me down!”

Amy allowed her squirming daughter to slip from her arms. She had no choice. Her strength was gone. She could scarcely hold herself erect. She felt tears course down her face.

Lucy had clearly seen it all before. “Why don’t I leave you folks to settle in. You can come by later and we’ll go through the forms.”

Amy managed, “I need to go see about this new job.”

“So call me when you get back.”

“I have no idea when that will be.” Amy heard her voice break over the words and did not care. “All these jobs are rush-rush.”

“Girl, believe me, I don’t serve with this ministry so I can work from nine to five. Your daughter is welcome in our day care. We run a special after-hours service for working moms.” The outreach director set the key on the table by the sofa. “Welcome home.”

When the door shut, Amy did not so much fall to her knees as feel the carpet rise up to meet her. Kimmie was suddenly in her arms. The little one was crying, too. Her daughter’s joy was as great as her own.

This was another lesson the road had taught them both. How much it could hurt to hope again.

Most helpful customer reviews

9 of 9 people found the following review helpful.
Exciting Novel Inspired By True Events
By Carolyn Warren
What's better than a fast-paced, absorbing novel with realistic characters and an important theme? It's when that same novel has been inspired by a true story. And that is exactly what three-time Christy winner and international bestselling author Davis Bunn has done in The Sign Painter.

Amy is a single mother whose husband died of cancer two years ago. The financial devastation she faced left her and her five-year old daughter living out of a camper-truck with bald tires, rust, and an engine that is sure to give out any day. Amy wants nothing more than to have a second chance at life--to hold down a secure job and make a home for the two of them.

Lucy runs a daycare and semi-permanent shelter for the homeless. The facilities are owned by the First Methodist Church, and the church board is split down the middle on this arrangement. Half of the Christians think it would be more prudent not to get involved with this riffraff of society. The other half knows not all homeless are addicts or criminals; but rather, they are good folks who need a hand up.

Bob Denton is the wealthy owner of Denton Chevrolet. He's a good man who has no clue that some of his staff are cavorting with international criminals.

Paul Travers makes problems go away. He is something of a mystery. He carries a gun and a Bible, and he knows how to use them both.

Drew is one of Bob Dentons' flashy car salesmen who likes handling wads of cash and flirting with naturally beautiful women like Amy.

Across the street from the church is a house where ten-year olds on bicycles pass out little bags of white powder to drivers of expensive cars that stop by. Inside the house danger lurks. The DEA and the local police are at odds about how to handle the situation, and the longer they fight over it, the higher trouble mounts. It threatens the outreach of the church as the young people and the former homeless hang in the balance.

This story is about hope, change, second chances, taking a chance, facing fear, and doing the right thing. It is exciting, entertaining, and will keep you up past your bedtime.

Author Davis Bunn was the keynote speaker at a writers conference I attended earlier this year. I learned so much about creative writing from his presentations that when the publisher offered me a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review, I jumped at the chance. This is the first Davis Bunn novel I've read, but it won't be my last. He has a new fan.

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
A neat story of one church making a difference in large and small ways
By Paul Mastin
Davis Bunn's latest novel, The Sign Painter, starts out as a touching story about a homeless mother and her daughter trying to get back on their feet. Amy Dowell and her daughter have been living on the road for months, since her husband died of cancer and they lost their home to foreclosure. Through a Florida church's ministry, they find a home, a job, a place to worship, and a circle of friends. What she did not expect was to get caught up in the investigation of a major drug running operation.

Amy's new home is an apartment in a converted motel owned by the church across the street. The church itself is in a transitional neighborhood and has made deliberate moves to reach out to the poor and homeless in the community. Unfortunately, the drug dealers in the neighborhood drug house aren't pleased with the church's interest in their commercial activities, especially when a bunch of retired police and military affiliated with the church start patrolling and bringing the attention of the police to their trade.

Bunn drags Amy right into the mess of the neighborhood, where she quickly becomes a target of the drug gang and a key player in their takedown. I loved Bunn's portrayal of the church and their outreach ministry. A faction of the members resist the ministries to the poor, fearing that it will bring more bad elements into the area. Others argue that the bad elements are there and the church can stem the tide, as they already have been, providing positive change.

Interestingly, the church calls on the services of a retired federal agent to lead their people in a shaking the bushes and thwarting the drug gang's work. I'm curious how many churches choose a similar strategy, using military and law enforcement techniques to patrol the area around the church. That's not an evangelism method with which I am familiar. Nevertheless, it's refreshing to read about a church that is making an impact on their community, even if it is fiction.

I enjoyed the story, enjoyed the description of the church's outreach in their city, and enjoyed the interactions of the characters and their expressions of faith. The Sign Painter is a quick, entertaining read, but it left me with a feeling that it was rushed, that the characters inadequately developed, the police and military procedures and action seemed superficial, and the criminals were stereotypical. Most importantly, though, it's a solid plot with a strong faith component. I recommend it.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the complimentary electronic review copy!

6 of 6 people found the following review helpful.
Hope from Homelessness
By Conny
Title: The Sign Painter
Author: Davis Bunn
Publisher: Howard Books
ISBN: 978-1-4165-5673-2

"No way was she giving up on this place, this home, this job, this church, this new chance at life for herself and her little girl. Amy's back was to the wall," Davis Bunn writes in his novel, "The Sign Painter."

At two hundred and fifty-six pages, this paperback targets those who like stories of redemption, grace, and gratitude involving the homeless. With topics of gang violence, drug use, and poverty, the book would not be appropriate for immature readers. A reading group guide with a total of fifteen discussion questions and conversation with the author completes the book.

In this current day novel inspired by a true story, thirty-two year old Amy Dowell is doing the best she can taking care of her five year old daughter. When her husband died of cancer almost two years ago, the mother never expected to be homeless, jobless, and living in a beat-up truck camper.

Eighteen months on the road land the mother and daughter in central Florida where she hears through a local church of a temporary job doing sign painting at Denton Chevrolet. Not only does the church's community director offers daycare for her daughter, she provides a nice small apartment and a trusting friendship.

While painting window advertisements for Bob Denton at the car dealership, she encounters a circumstance that solidifies her honest nature but she forces her to rely on the church's security team leader and a drifting ex-federal agent for protection.

With a drug house dealing with gang activities blocks away from the church causing problems, Amy begs for a normal life while those around her ardently try to connect the dots between cash, drugs, and thugs to help keep the neighborhood safe.

Being wary and insecure in her new environment, the woman does everything she can to shelter her daughter from harm as she learns to turn her inner fears and regrets into godly responses to improve her daughter and her lives.

As Bunn's descriptive, tender tale provides a heart-wrenching view into the bleakness of homelessness, a shimmering hope by trusting God for every need is conveyed. Due to the honest approach of being penniless, readers should not be surprised when tears well up in their eyes more than once.

Thanks to Howard Books for furnishing this complimentary book in exchange for a review based on the reader's honest opinions.

See all 65 customer reviews...

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