Listen, Share, and Be Nice Virtual Book Tour

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Listen, Share, and Be Nice cover

the lost art of mannerisms

 

Children’s Book

Date Published: May 21, 2023

Publisher: MindStir Media

Cori Elba (Illustrator)

 

 

These three words: Listen, Share and be Nice can be basic cornerstones for
your child’s growth and development. Teaching your toddler is a daily
routine. Using the same mannerisms towards them every day establishes a
routine that they become accustomed to. Iif you stick to this routine daily,
it teaches and reminds your child to be nice to others and to those in your
family. But parents do not expect a miracle in 24 hours give it time…
It will take six months to a year to see the effect in your child’s
behavior. Just repeat, repeat, repeat your words of action.

Politeness is spoken worldwide and in every language, whether in public or
private. The simplicity of kindness teaches that everyone matters in this
world. These three children’s books (“Please, Thank You and Excuse
Me,” “Listen, Share, and Be Nice,” and “Animal
Etiquette for Kids”) are lighthearted and geared for all ages.
Mannerisms must start somewhere, so why not parents, grandparents, teachers,
friends, and caregivers show our children mutual respect for all people,
places, and things?

This series of children’s books is a fun way to re-introduce manners into
your children’s lives. It’s cool to be polite and kind to everyone.

Listen, Share, and Be Nice tablet
Listen, Share, and Be Nice cover

About the Author

Ashley Chadwick

Ashley has been a professional nanny for over fifteen years and the owner
of a nanny service. She incorporates nature with mild education and
mannerisms in children’s lives. When Ashley is not a nanny, she is a world
traveler, nature enthusiast, and loves mountain biking, yoga, and spending
time with her nephew, Walker.

 

Contact Link

Website

 

Purchase Link

Amazon

 

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Moose Ridge Teaser

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Moose Ridge, Book 1 – Ending to Beginning

 

Inspirational Fiction / Women’s Fiction

Date Published: 08-02-2021

Publisher: Champagne Book Group

 

 

Faced with hardship and heartbreak, Jazmine finds solace and hope amidst
the hallowed halls of Harvard. Raised in a world of privilege that swiftly
crumbled beneath her feet, she emerged from the ashes as a foster child,
forever marked by the scars of her past. But fate has a way of weaving
unexpected blessings into the tapestry of our lives.

Embarking on a new chapter alongside Michael, a promising medical student,
Jazmine is finally poised to seize the idyllic future she has fought so hard
for. Leaving behind the familiar streets of Boston and New York, she
ventures into uncharted territory – the vast, untamed landscapes of Wyoming
– where Michael will complete his rigorous neurosurgical residency.
It’s a profound turning point, the culmination of Jazmine’s
unwavering dedication and boundless determination. For once, the universe
aligns with her dreams, assuring her that this time will be different.

But just as life teeters on the precipice of fulfillment, an unforeseen
letter shatters Jazmine’s newfound happiness, thrusting her into a
whirlwind of uncertainty. The fates conspire to test her strength once more,
as she grapples with overwhelming choices and unstoppable forces that
threaten to unravel all of her dreams.

“MOOSE RIDGE: ENDING TO BEGINNING” is a poignant tale of
resilience and the indomitable spirit of the human heart. It is a story that
will transport you from the towering spires of Harvard to the rugged plains
of Wyoming, and ultimately deep into the depths of emotion. Join Jazmine on
a transformative journey, as she learns that the true measure of triumph
lies not in the fairytale endings we crave, but in the unexpected beginnings
that arise from the ashes of our shattered dreams. 

 

Excerpt

 While drying off, I catch my reflection again. At least my face is no longer smeared with makeup. I brush my auburn hair the best I can, which takes time since it’s well down my back. Michael bugged me about the time I wasted on my hair, but I prefer it long. After returning to the bedroom, I put on cut-offs and my favorite shirt. It was my father’s and all I have left of his. It’s old and several buttons are missing so it might reveal more than it should. Not that anyone is here to see. I could parade around nude. 

Might have to, since my budget didn’t allow much for clothes. While packing, I’d thought this would change since Michael would have an income here. Now, though, what I have must last even longer. 

My suitcase is open where I left it, with the boxes from Boston off to the side. They contain everything I own. Might as well sort out my meager belongings. It’s all on me, and will be from now on. What else do I have to fill my time? The tears start again. 

Since there isn’t much, it doesn’t take long to unpack. It’s a good thing I have so few clothes since there isn’t much in the way of drawer space in the four-drawer scarred wooden dresser. In the kitchen, I find the basics, but knowing how to cook would help. Three frozen dinners are in the freezer, so I won’t starve right away. When I discover there’s coffee, I get my old coffee maker going and soon have a cup poured. I amble through to the living room, desperate not to let the drabness affect me. 

With few choices, I flop on the musty couch and contemplate what is next. Michael’s letter on the floor in front of me doesn’t help. The tears are stinging my eyes again when I hear a knock. Before I can get up, there’s another. After setting my cup on the bare coffee table, I hurry to the front door and open it. A man stands outside the porch door. He waves, smiling. The icy air making itself known makes me conscious of my missing buttons. I grab my coat and open the porch door, finding to my amazement a cowboy, complete with hat, boots, and a heavy coat I think they call a duster. I didn’t know cowboys still exist. 

I motion him into the enclosed porch and he steps in, removing his hat and releasing his mid-length light brown hair with its lighter blond highlights. 

He’s standing much taller than my five-six, and even though he’s wearing a heavy coat, appears more than fit. “Afternoon. I’m Jason Withers. My grandmother sent brownies to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Neighborhood? I have neighbors?” 

He chuckles. “She’s the closest and lives over the hill. She wanted to welcome you, but she’s not real mobile and asked me to bring these by,” he says, holding out a covered plate. 

“Oh! Well, thank you. I’m Jazmine. Jazmine Strake,” I tell him, taking the plate. “You say your grandmother lives nearby? Do you live with her?” 

He smiles. “No! She’d think I was trying to take care of her.” 

“Well, it was nice of you to bring this by. I’ll return the plate as soon as I can.” That is a farewell. I’m hoping he’ll leave. 

“No hurry, take your time. I understand you’re here alone?” 

I’m not sure if he’s trying to make conversation or what, but he seems nice. “Yes, the original plans didn’t work out.” 

“I heard they offered your friend a better position.” 

How small is this community? Does everyone know? “Would you like some coffee and brownies?” Why did I ask that? 

“No, I shouldn’t come in, but thank you, I enjoyed meeting you. Let me give you this. It’s my number, in case you need anything.” 

As I glance at the card, I’m startled by his title. “Doctor? You’re a doctor?” I pause, appalled at my tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like it sounded.” 

“No problem. I’m not the type of doctor you’re thinking. I’m a DVM, Doctor of Veterinarian Medicine. A large animal vet. You can still call me though, if you need something.” 

“Well, thank you. I might take you up on it.” 

“You should. Again, welcome.” 

He turns to leave and I half expect a horse to be close by, but no. Instead, there’s a monstrosity of a truck out front. 

I’ve never seen a pickup that big. Not that I’ve seen that many. His name on the door with the words “Veterinarian Services” along with his phone number makes me snicker. I guess everyone has his number. He backs out and gives a wave before making the turn onto the road.

 

About the Author

Craig Hastings

Born in Muncie, IN, Craig is as typical middle-America as they come. He was
young when his parents divorced and his grandmother came to live with him,
his mother, and two sisters. Seeing his grandmother’s faith in God on
a regular basis led him to accept and know everything is okay, God’s
in charge.

Craig served 20 years in the U.S. Air Force and followed this as a DoD
contractor where he had multiple tours overseas and around the U.S. While
there were events in his life that tested his faith in God, nothing compared
to when his first son was born with major medical issues. As a
twenty-one-year-old father with a young devastated wife, his faith had never
been tested more. After enduring several surgeries, some considered
experimental, his son passed away at six months and two weeks. But even in
his brief life, he had a tremendous impact on Craig and others.

Since then, God has blessed Craig with two more sons and has been a
constant guidance in his life. Craig’s time in the military and as a
contractor afterward included over 20 years overseas, where he was part of
local mission churches. On their last return to the states, God led him and
his wife to Oklahoma, where he teaches Bible studies and serves in a local
church.

The memory of what God did to help him through his parent’s divorce,
his son’s illness and death, and many other events in his life, has
led him to want to share what impact God had and has with him.

Nowhere are we promised a life without tragedies, setbacks, problems, or
devastating events we have no control over, but God’s word does
promise, ‘It’s okay, God’s in charge.’

 

Contact Links

Website

Facebook

Twitter @ch875299_craig

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Purchase Links

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

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Python Teaser Tuesday

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(Dixie Reapers MC)

Motorcycle Club Romance, Age Gap, Suspense

Date Published: January 26, 2024

 

Galina – All my life I’ve been taught to obey men without
question, but when I find out my father has offered my hand in marriage to
Dima, a man who’s already killed two women, I know I’ve had
enough. The Vor offers me a chance to run, and I take it. Living with the
Dixie Reapers MC was supposed to be temporary. When I see one of the club
girls harassing Python, I step in. Maybe I shouldn’t have. I never
thought something so simple would become a complicated situation.

Python – All I wanted was to enjoy the single life forever.
Didn’t matter if the pretty little Russian caught my eye. I
wasn’t the type to settle down. Then she went and claimed me in front
of a club girl. The officers in my club are having far too much fun with
this. I’d planned to keep her at arm’s length — until I found
out she was in danger. With trouble breathing down her neck, I don’t
have a choice. I’ll make her mine in every way that matters. Anyone
dares to touch her, even the Bratva, and I’ll bury them.

WARNING: Python is intended for readers 18+ due to adult situations,
language, and violence.

EXCERPT

Python

 

I didn’t know what the hell the club officers were thinking. Yeah, I
knew the club had agreed to work with the Bratva when it came to helping
women in distress. I got it. They had my support one hundred percent. But
I’d thought we’d give them money, a new identity, and move them
along. So, why was this girl still here? In the past year, none of the women
had stayed longer than a night or two.

“What crawled up your ass?” Sticks asked.

We’d both patched in at the same time and had started prospecting
together as well. It had taken both of us a week or two to stop using our
real names around each other. There were times I still thought of him as
Will.

I pointed to the Russian girl. “Why is she still here?”

“You’d have to ask Grimm, or more accurately, his wife. Oksana
took a liking to Galina. It’s why she’s over there so
much.”

“Isn’t this just asking for trouble? It’s no secret
Oksana is here, or that we know where her mother and sister are located.
What if someone in the Bratva comes nosing around? Oksana might be
protected, but Galina isn’t.”

Sticks smacked me on the back. “Well, unless you’re
volunteering…”

Hell no. The last thing I needed was a woman. My gaze strayed to her again.
I had to admit she was pretty. Not gorgeous or even what I would call
beautiful. For some reason, there was still an innocence to her. How the
hell she’d grown up around the Bratva and not come out the other side
jaded was beyond me.

“Don’t let Wire and Lavender see you eying her like
that,” Sticks said. “You know what happens when they even get a
whiff of interest from one of us.”

I nearly shuddered. Yeah, that was the last thing I wanted to happen. I
tore my gaze away from Galina and went into the clubhouse. A cold beer was
exactly what I needed.

In the past year or two, a lot of changes had occurred not only here, but
with other clubs we called family or friends. Most had done away with the
club whores or set up a separate building for family events since so many
brothers were settling down. It made sense. If I did have a wife and kid, I
wouldn’t want them in the same space those dumb bitches spread their
legs.

As for the Dixie Reapers, this building was the one place you could still
find a woman. At least, after Wire and Lavender vetted them. Anyone wanting
to hang with us went through a background check these days. Too many little
ones running around to risk letting the wrong sort of person in. It had
happened too often already.

I grabbed a cold bottle of my favorite beer from behind the bar and sat at
a nearby table. Only two women were here at the moment, and I didn’t
want anything to do with either of them. Anna was the least clingy of the
two. Once I’d told her I wasn’t interested, she’d mostly
left me alone. Unless she thought I was drunk enough to give her a shot. The
other… Penny was a menace. The woman always latched on and
wouldn’t let go.

I’d no sooner thought her name than she spotted me and headed over.
If I wasn’t trying to keep away from Galina outside, I’d have
left the building like my ass was on fire. Anything to avoid the bitch who
wanted a property cut. And yeah, we all knew what her end game was, even if
she denied it. We could see it in her eyes.

“Did you come here to see me?” she asked, leaning toward me.
The woman practically shoved her tits in my face, and I barely dodged.

“Nope. Wanted a beer.”

She batted her eyes. “You could have had one of those at home. You
know you don’t have to be shy. I’ll give you anything you
want.”

I’d bet she would, and probably something else I most certainly
didn’t want or need right now. A baby in her belly. Bitch was crazy as
fuck, and I wouldn’t put it past her to get pregnant on purpose. I
finished my beer and got up to use the bathroom, hoping she’d be gone
when I got back. No such luck. She’d not only made herself
comfortable, but she’d gotten two beers. The way she licked at one of
them told me it was hers. And if it hadn’t been, it was now.

I stared at the open bottles. We always cautioned women not to accept open
containers. Someone at the Hades Abyss had learned not too long ago men
needed to be wary too. Cotton had gotten screwed over and still hadn’t
recovered from what happened.

“I didn’t spit in it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Wasn’t my concern.”

She huffed and took the bottle. After swallowing a mouthful, she handed it
back to me. “Not poisoned either.”

Fine. I might very well regret this later, but I didn’t want to make
a big deal out of it. Slayer and Royal were both across the room. Last thing
I needed was them calling me a little bitch or some shit. I drank the beer
quickly, then stood.

“I’m afraid I’m not good company today.” I made my
way to the front door. Partway there, the room started to tilt and spin.
What the fuck?

I stumbled out onto the porch and down the steps. The entire world looked
like I’d entered a funhouse tunnel. Shaking my head, I tried to make
sense of where I was. The line of bikes blurred and I couldn’t tell
one from another.

A small hand gripped mine and I started to shake it off, until I heard the
soft Russian accent.

“Let me help you.”

Galina. I let her lead me away, but we didn’t make it far before I
heard Penny yelling out my name.

“Wait for me, Python!”

Galina put her lips near my ear and spoke in a low voice. “Do you
want to wait for her?”

“No.”

She gave a nod and helped me walk a little farther. I hadn’t realized
it before, but the car the club had given her sat at the end of the row of
bikes. I didn’t know why she’d parked there, but right now I was
grateful.

“Hey, bitch! Where are you taking my man?” Penny
screamed.

Galina stopped and I felt her turn. She didn’t release me. Only
switched to her other hand, as if she worried I might fall. She wasn’t
wrong. At any moment I could land on my ass. Although, I didn’t think
the pint-size woman was going to be able to hold me up.

“Your man?” she asked. She spit out a string of Russian that
sounded like she was cussing the woman out and I couldn’t hold back my
smile. Even though I felt like shit, I had to admit I liked seeing this side
of Galina. “He’s not yours. He’ll never be
yours.”

Penny sputtered, and it sounded like she was coming closer. Galina managed
to get me to her car and into the passenger seat. She slammed the door about
the time Penny stopped beside her. I couldn’t hear what Galina was
saying, but I could tell from the tone she was pissed. She lit into Penny,
and if I hadn’t thought I might pass out or throw up, I’d have
found it hysterical. She’d done the one thing I hadn’t been able
to. Mostly because I’d have felt like shit. Although, now that I was
certain the bitch had drugged me, I wouldn’t hold back. In fact, once
this passed, I was going to talk to the Pres and get that woman booted
permanently.

Galina got into the car and backed up. Penny ran around to put herself in
front, and Galina revved the engine. I heard the tires spin right before the
car shot forward. My eyes felt so heavy they slid shut, and I missed the
look on Penny’s face. Galina didn’t slow for a few minutes. My
house was toward the back of the compound, and the moment she came to a
stop, I knew she’d brought me home.

She shut off the car and I heard her get out. She opened my door and placed
her hand on my arm.

“Can you stand?” she asked. “Should I get
help?”

Oh fuck no. “My brothers will laugh if they know about
this.”

Shit. That’s right. If I told the Pres, then… I’d have
to think about it tomorrow. Right now, I wasn’t sure how much longer
I’d stay coherent, or able to stand. Galina helped me from the car,
and we walked up to my door. I couldn’t seem to get my keys out of my
pocket.

I felt her hand slide in and grasp the keyring, but it wasn’t all she
touched. Groaning as my cock went rock-hard, I wondered if I’d just
been dumped straight into hell. She froze and I could feel her staring at
me, even if I couldn’t manage to open my eyes.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

She pulled out my keys and got the door open. I tripped over the threshold
and barely stayed upright. Her small hand grasped mine tightly as she led
the way through my home. It was almost as if she knew exactly where she was
going. When we reached my bedroom, I sank onto the side of the bed, and she
kneeled at my feet. Fuck if that didn’t screw with my drug-addled
brain.

She set my boots beside the nightstand, then helped me get my cut off. I
tried to watch her, but the world was spinning too much. Closing my eyes, I
fell back on the mattress. My legs still hung off the side, but I
didn’t care.

“Python, what happened? Should I get someone?”

“Drugged.” At least, I tried to say it. Not sure how it sounded
to her. I could tell my words slurred and my tongue felt heavy. What the
hell had Penny planned to accomplish with me in this state? Then again,
I’d gotten hard when Galina brushed against my cock. It seemed that
part of me worked, even if the rest didn’t.

She did her best to get me all the way onto the bed, and I heard her
panting for breath when she’d finished. I didn’t know what Penny
had dosed me with, so I had no clue how long this would last. The thought of
lying here alone, unable to even get up if I needed to puke or take a piss,
bothered me. That bitch was going to pay when I got through this.

“Stay,” I said, or tried to. Galina seemed to understand. I
felt the bed dip as she sat beside me.

My movements were clumsy, but I managed to pull her down beside me. I
attempted to wrap my arm around her, to hold her closer, but failed
miserably. She sighed and inched closer.

“When I thought of my first time in bed with a man, this wasn’t
what I had in mind,” she said.

My head felt too foggy for her words to really sink in. First time? Wait.
“Virgin?”

She buried her face against my side. “Stop. Don’t make fun of
me.”

Before I could say anything else, the darkness started to pull me
under.

 

 

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC
Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde
immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible
women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still
managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new
plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book.
She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies.
Visit Wylde’s website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and
don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts
and other exciting perks.

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok:
@changelingpress

Pre-Order Today

 

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The Pleasure Seeker Virtual Book Tour

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The Pleasure Seeker cover

Literary Fiction

Date Published: Sept.2023

 

 

Dayal Singh is brilliant, quirky, & has Asperger’s. Son of parents
trafficked to East Africa from India just before independence, he knows he’s
Sikh, African, and calculus is the evidence of God.

He becomes fascinated by a broken piano. and is offered a piano to sell,
buys it and learns to play.

Mentored by his older brothers, he follows them to Singapore to further his
education, then goes to Switzerland.

He falls in love with the granddaughter of the man who bought his father.
She tells him that the situation is impossible, and that he must stay in
school as long as his way is paid.

His youth is fraught, being an other. In Switzerland, he is constantly
proselytized to, which only defines for him how he wants to live. He’s
studying physics and engineering, but finds peace in playing the piano. He
meets other students, they jam, and suddenly they are rock stars…which
Dayal never imagined could happen.

He agrees to meet Sita, the daughter of a Sikh man his father met, and
Dayal thinks they are both in agreement about how they will live and raise
children, but things gradually go downhill. When Dayal learns Sita hasn’t
been truthful with him, he has to make a decision.

 

The Pleasure Seeker paperpack

EXCERPT

The song I wrote, “Is This OK?” was a hit. We got it out as a single, and added it to shows. We started in Boston and zigzagged through large cities in Canada, the USA, and Mexico, then to Spain and France. We broadcasted live shows to theaters around the USA, San Jose, Lima, Buenos Aires, Sydney, Perth, and Brasilia, and Japan. I wrote the Glazer girls, but there was no way I could see them.
At the end of the tour in August, I flew to Dubai for a week. We hadn’t seen each other since December! I couldn’t imagine where Sita got the idea that there was so much to do in Dubai. Was she comparing it to Mumbai? I noticed the town was growing. There were triple the number of buildings, many quite tall. We got out to the desert for camel races, where I saw my first Salukis. I thought they looked like Mara’s dogs. They ran a few races, and were so graceful. We went out to eat, saw movies, strolled the mall, the beach, met her girlfriends (she knew no guys and did not socialize with the girls’ brothers or husbands), had dinner with Baba Makkar’s other family, and we talked more about our expectations. Again, I asked her if she had explored birth control methods, and hit a road block.
“You know, a lot of women use the rhythm method based on their cycles and it works,” she said to me.
“Do you know how it works? I will use condoms, but you need to know your options.”
We had no arguments, but our conversations were never about anything controversial or deep. She wasn’t wearing a lot of makeup anymore, at least not when I saw her. She told me she had started saving her allowance, and was even going through her wardrobe to decide what clothes she would really need, as the weather would be different in Europe.
We weren’t sleeping together in Dubai, but we could bring each other to orgasm, and I was happy for that.
I asked Fatima about how the wedding planning was going, and she told me she was thinking of next March.
Seven months more? “Why are you delaying this?”
“Your horoscopes… .”
“This is nonsense. We’ve known each other over a year. I have a school break in November. Make it for then.” I found this irritating, but when I was stressed, and back then, it was almost all the time, everything was irritating.
I really wanted to see my parents. I was halfway there, being in Dubai, so I asked Fatima and Sita to come with me. Mr. Makkar agreed to pay for their flights if I would pay for a place for them to stay, which was at Mr. Curtis’s hotel. A few other small hotels had been built, but Curtis’ place was still the nicest.
I surprised my parents (I did send a telegram). I sent Sita and Fatima on several safari runs, suggested they have my tailor create some clothes for themselves, and took them around in the truck to see Alfred. I brought him a solar lantern, a few books on alternative energy, and a football and badminton set for his three children, who were giddy about the gifts.
Fatima and Sita were surprised at how far out from Arusha Alfred lived. When we pulled into their compound, Fatima asked me, “They speak English?”
“Alfred was in primary school with me, and he often guides safaris, so I know his English is good. I’m not sure about the rest of his family.” I spoke to his wife and children in Kiswahili.
Alfred and I discussed putting in a rain catchment system on his house. He had managed to build a burned brick house with a cement floor and tin roof, but still had his rondoval. His wife and daughters still had to fetch water. I told him I’d loan him the money if he agree to pay it forward.
Sita and Fatima seemed uncomfortable with the goats, chickens and dogs approaching us in their curiosity. Alfred’s mum offered us chai and mandaazi, which is a fried pastry. I saw that Fatima and Sita were hesitant, but I whispered to them, “Everything’s boiled or fried. You won’t get sick.”
On the way back to town, we stopped at a Maasai encampment. I just wanted to greet them, and I had bought them a few plastic buckets. We didn’t stay long. The flies were too annoying, and there was no place to sit.
On the drive back to my folks, Sita and Fatima commented how remarkable it was that people could live like they did and be so happy. Sita asked me, “How is it you have a relationship with such primitive people?”
Her question shocked me. “They aren’t primitive. They’re just poor. You know, they haven’t had the advantages we’ve had.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Maasai like living the way they do. They are free. Their children do all the chores. As for Alfred, I had my older brothers to help me learn. Alfred was the eldest child. He had nobody to help him. Also, his father had two wives, so resources for the children were spread thin.”
My parents were cordial towards Sita and Fatima. However, I knew from the way they were acting, that they weren’t comfortable. There was a real class difference between us and them. Baba pulled me aside and asked, “They knew they were coming to Africa. Why didn’t they dress more simply?”
I remembered the time Avi and Sodhi came home after guiding safaris one day, and were counting their tips in various foreign currencies. Sodhi remarked that most of the tourists on his lorry were French, and Avi responded, laughing, “Today mine were all Italian. They always dress like they’re going to a photo shoot. The women, always silk shirts unbuttoned to show cleavage and gold necklaces, tight silk pants that look painted on, and stiletto heels. Not just high heels—pointy six inch heels. They tottered and had to be boosted into the lorry. I can’t imagine what they were thinking. That the ground would be hard so they wouldn’t sink in?”
My future wife and mother-in-law were dressed as if going to a business luncheon, and I wondered if they owned any clothes that didn’t need to be dry cleaned.
“Baba, these people live in a tall building. They don’t even have a garden. These are their ‘simple’ clothes.” He understood this because he had visited my brothers.
I had been living in Europe as a European and just accepted that some people never did any real work. This was also why I took time to address expectations with Sita.
Hassan had brought one of his wives to live with him, and she was helping Ama with baking. Fatima expressed surprise that my mother could bake such amazing things over a grill in a covered pot.

 

About the Author

Robyn Michaels

I am retired dog groomer and have titled dogs in performance and
conformation. I didn’t go to college until I was 30, and took CLEP exams to
avoid prerequisites. I have a degree in anthropology with concentrations in
African & Indian studies, and a master’s in urban planning. I was
a Peace Corps Volunteer in Malawi. I have had several short stories
published in literary journals, and the pet industry press.

 

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Draft2Digital

 

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How to Grow a Marshmallow Tree Blitz

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How to Grow a Marshmallow Tree cover

Children’s Book

Date Published: Nov 14, 2023

 

Join Amelia and her best friend, Paco the polar bear, on a tooth-aching
adventure in a world where cotton candy clouds and ice cream slides are just
the beginning.

When they are almost running out of their favorite treat, marshmallows,
Amelia’s wild imagination leads the friends to an idea: a marshmallow
tree!

But can you really grow a tree from a marshmallow? With a dash of school
knowledge, a sprinkle of sugar, and some really bad dentist jokes, Amelia
and Paco are determined to find out.

About the Author

Stefanie Gamarra

Stefanie Gamarra, full-time project manager, part-time marshmallow tree
cultivator, has officially added ‘children’s book author’ to her list of
LinkedIn titles. While originally from Germany, she now calls the US home
and peppers her debut children’s book, ‘How to Grow a Marshmallow Tree,’
with a blend of transatlantic charm and humor.

She finds her greatest critics (and inspiration) in her two little ones,
whose laughs and sticky marshmallow-covered kisses are the only literary
recognition she’s after.

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