Saturday, March 26, 2016

Ask Me Again (Book 1) by Kara Kinsley

Ask Me Again

This is Book 1 of the 3 book "Ask Me Again" series.

Devin Grant had his future all figured out. Fight fires in his hometown until he could save the money to go off to college and become an Arson Investigator. He was going to leave his small town behind for something bigger and better. Until someone from his past walked back into his life.

Tricia Green had dreamed of leaving her run of the mill small town for as long as she could remember. All she wanted was to get away from the dead end life she lived with her alcoholic mother and never present father. More than anything, she wanted to head off to college and pursue her dream of being a physical therapist. But fate had other plans. Plans that would change her life forever.

About Kara Kinsley

When I was a little girl, I was always fascinated by the stories my grandmother would tell me. When I'd visit her during the summer in Texas, she'd spend hours with me, while doing chores or making supper, spinning delightful yarns about dashing cowboys or sweet, but confident little ladies, who would sometimes have the craziest adventures.

One thing that always stayed with me was how, in the midst of everything they went through, their devotion to their faith would never waiver. She didn't know it back then, of course, but her amazing stories would later on inspire me to write.

I enjoy creating stories with characters that my readers can relate to: people who have everyday problems, but no matter what, their hope endures in that all will turn out in God's favor. My desire is that my novels will touch your heart, just as Grandma Rose's stories touched mine. I hope my words, dear reader, encourage you to always believe in love, never to give up and to always hold steadfast to your faith.

Friday, March 25, 2016

WordPlay: New Christian Parables by Jwyan C. Johnson

WordPlay: New Christian Parables

Ride along inside 12 new parables, enjoying a bible-lover's playground where the scriptures play (WordPlay®). And share the twisting-n-learning rhythm of mystery-laced tales designed to excite bible study & bible memory with the symbolism of today! Discover a ventriloquist without his puppet, watch a blind architect, and witness a hide-n-seek champion who finally finds himself! With plenty more, you're all set to share Morals, Fun Facts & an experience every single hyperlinked scripture instantly for an Instant Replay. Inspire others today! For all ages, Christians can finally feel the scriptures like a roller-coaster ride full of surprise moves, loops, and upside-down perceptions which all come together for "the tablet of the heart." Equipped with a bonus family skit version, put on your seat-belt! Let's ride!

Simply touch or click to choose from 3 version of each parable:

The Hidden Smile Parable
A hide-n-seek champion becomes thrilled to be found inside a "new game which hides from him! And "ready or not," wisdom comes to reveal who's truly 'It.'

The Parable of the Ventriloquist
A mysteriously famous ventriloquist, without his puppet, reveals the "real dummy" to a potential fan.

The Smarter Copycat Parable
A schoolboy takes an "open book test," but in the subjects of School Crushes, Wisdom, and Caution.

The Mirror with Hallucinations
A painter strolls person-to-person offering to paint portraits for anyone if they simply pose for it. Although free of charge, posers will be "paying attention" to a picture worth a thousand words.

The Unsuspecting Suspect Parable
A standoff between a suspect and police becomes a mission for a hostage negotiator, a chess player, and an invisible smokescreen were (spiritual) justice is served.

The Parable of the Patient's Patience
A concerned father experiences the homonym effects between "patience" and "patients."

The Blind Architect Parable
A construction crew, blamed for a child's injury, discovers the real reason which hits many "like a ton of bricks."

The Parable of A Fair Affair
A potential office romance is threatened by an unusual request by Mr. Right result in a Ms. Story (or missed story) (or mystery).

The Invisible Carpool
A taxi driver recognizes an even more "driven" motive between his favorite sitting customer.

The Parable of the Fixed Marriage
Uncover the secret matrimony between a metaphorical Mr. & Mrs. Verbal Abuse.

Book Two is also available here.

About Jwyan C. Johnson

Years ago, bestselling author & award-winning poet Jwyan C. Johnson wrote the script to a cartoon. The story starts off with a police chase to a giant dictionary: the home of our vocabulary words. Cops break down the cover, and they all rush in with their weapons drawn. And as they move around inside this book, we learn that they’re looking for one specific word: a simple 9-lettered noun. It has been bragging about its countless offenses committed against our society, against mankind. Surprising unarmed, and not dangerous, this specific word simply turns us against each other.

Detectives follow the "alphabetical” directions to the right page, the right column and the right row, only to discover that this word has disappeared! Nowadays this divisive word lives inside our minds if we let it! The accomplished mystery writer reveals that "ignorance” was the word the police were after.

The creative writings of Jwyan C. Johnson aim to biblically "protect and serve” the mind state because "ignorance is still at large in our society!” And with his latest kingdom-seeking contribution, Christian Parables, there are some places where ignorance no longer resides so we can win back each other.

(Jwyan is also the author of mystery novel Karma's Collection)

Visit his website here.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

'Awesome at Being Awesome: A Self-Help Book for People Who Hate Self-Help Books' by Danny Pehar

Awesome at Being Awesome

When you were a kid you dreamed of building spaceships and being a superhero. Everything was magic, everything was awesome. But then you suffered disappointments: weight issues, relationship problems, money troubles, career troubles. Eventually the impossible was no longer possible. You lost your awesome.

But what if you could get it back? You can. Through funny, informative and inspiring stories from his life and work experience, Danny Pehar shows how strengthening one aspect of the three main parts of your life – mind, body and soul – will help you strengthen and balance the others.

And the results? You will learn to do an awesome amount of awesome things – from weight management to career management, from saving money to saving relationships, from building the perfect résumé to building the perfect speech, from getting through the toughest job interview to getting through the toughest day.

Read an excerpt:
When talking about the mind and soul, I've noticed that the characteristics and tips I've used to bring me great success in my career, education and finances also seem to work really well with my family, marriage, friends and personal life. I follow a very simply formula that I call Danny's ABCs of Life. The letters stand for: 

Buy links

About Danny Pehar

Having to wear his older sisters' clothes to school because his parents felt that saving a few bucks was worth his utter humiliation, Danny Pehar learned to get through tough times by putting a comical spin on things. Danny began his corporate life by taking an entry-level job so entry level he was told he needed to be promoted just to reach the bottom. Working his way up from underneath the bottom, he has sold and worked on multimillion-dollar projects as an entry-level employee, a manager, a director and an entrepreneur. In addition to his business success, he is also a mixed martial arts enthusiast, a children's book author and a stand-up comedian with fans in Canada, Australia, Europe and the United States. Whether he has succeeded as a champion or taken a brutal beating, Danny has a story to tell that will make you laugh, make you think and make you awesome!

Social media: 

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Read an excerpt from The Watermelon King by Daniel Royse

The Watermelon King

After being laid off from his job at a prestigious consulting firm, Dean decides to embark on a journey across east Africa with his younger brother. Unknowingly, the two travel into bandit territory through Northern Kenya where a medical emergency forces them to choose between their safety and their health.

Inspired by true events, The Watermelon King follows the journey of two brothers as they backpack across one of East Africa’s most inhospitable regions. As they endure endless days of difficult travel, a series of short stories written by their father begins to uncover some of their deepest motivations and brings to light their connection to the past. Along the way they begin to understand the beauty and frustration of life in Africa.

Buy links:

Read an excerpt from The Watermelon King:

It wasn’t long before we reached the edge of the Mercado. At the end of the road we could see it in front of us, a dense mass of humanity seething with commerce. Like an open plain leading up to a dense forest, there was no uncertainty as to where it began.
“Come. We can see the shops,” said Staven.
The four of us successfully managed to “Frogger” ourselves across the heavy traffic without a single man down. Once on the other side we cautiously stepped into the madness of the Mercado. Staven and Abdi walked in front leading us through the tiny winding alleyways while pointing out the various aspects of the market that made it unique.
On every side of us were shopkeepers selling all types of products. Some new some recycled. Some local, some shipped from across the world. Some of the goods were familiar like lawn chairs and pots and pans. Others were strange to see like old boom boxes and wicker baskets over flowing with exotic spices. The walkways became smaller as we hiked deeper into the heart of the commerce and with every step we took; more eyes began to focus on us. It appeared that we had entered a part of the Mercado that few foreigners visit, thanks to our new “friends”.
Staven explained to us that within the madness there was an order that lay beneath the surface. Despite the chaotic appearance, the market was arranged into sections, each one focusing on a specific product or category. Food stuffs, electronics, aluminum, spices, plastics…all organized into their own sections.
After about 15 minutes into the Mercado we had reached an obstacle in our path. Before us flowed a slow moving river of sewage at the bottom of a six-foot deep ravine surrounded by trash on all sides. With only a pair of two by eight inch boards laid across each bank for a makeshift walking bridge, people crossed effortlessly from side to side. One wrong step and it suddenly became a horrible afternoon. Staven and Abdi crossed along with everyone else without a second thought, while Ethan and I needed a minute to assess the situation.
“Holy shit!” Ethan’s eyes grew large. “What the hell is this?”
“This, my friend, is a river of shit.”
“You’re not kidding.”
We both paused for a moment staring at our only option across. It was either cross the wobbly 16-inch bridge or turn around and admit right then and there that we were no match for even the simplest Ethiopian obstacle. With dozens of eyes staring at us, our pride was now on the line. There was no other choice. With a sudden acceptance, Ethan simply shrugged his shoulders and walked across the bridge. In many ways he was more daring than I was, and this time it showed.
“Come on man, it’s easy. Get over here!” he shouted from the safe side.
Being the last man standing, I had no other alternative but to cross the bridge. As I cautiously made my way forward, the two wooden planks wobbled uncomfortably beneath my feet. The six feet of distance across felt like twice that. With hands stretched out like a gymnast, I slowly started on my way to the other side. With each foot carefully placed in front of the other, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there were now people on both sides waiting for me to get off the bridge. The pressure didn’t help the situation. For a second as I focused on the bystanders instead of the wobbly planks, I began to feel myself leaning too much to my right. It was too late. I couldn’t catch my balance. In one swift move I jumped from the plank with my left foot and landed on the other side. With a deep exhale; I stood there relieved that I didn’t fall into the river of shit below.
Despite my inner turmoil no one else seemed to notice; after all, it was only a six-foot crossing. Within seconds a woman with a basket on her head nudged me aside and crossed the bridge without the slightest inconvenience.
As if he had no idea why I was taking so long, Staven simply said, “Come, this way!”
The dynamic between our two new friends was slowly becoming clear. Staven was the talkative one, and the obvious leader. He had an aura of urgency about him, something that made his movements seem slightly aggressive. Abdi, on the other hand, rarely said a word and was perfectly content being led. He seemed to be an observer of life, satisfied with simply keeping to himself the things that transpired in his mind. If they weren’t so different they would have never gotten along so well.
We turned a corner to reach the end of an alleyway. Before us, it opened up to a large expanse where hundreds of people worked diligently in chaotic harmony. This was the “recycling center” of the Mercado.
“My friends, this is where we make old things new,” said Staven.
“Old things new?’ Ethan replied.
“Yes, unlike in your country we recycle everything we can. What you call trash, to us can still have good use.”
There, in the open expanse of the Mercado was the most unique aspect of any market I had seen anywhere. It was where trash came to be reborn. There were sections where people sat diligently pounding bent rebar straight again. Women sat on crates in the dirt in long rows viciously scrubbing old pots and pans to a like-new shimmer. Old electronics like 1980’s style Boom Boxes were carefully being repaired and old plastic bottles were rounded up for re-use. For people who have so little everything that can be reused, is reused. Our wasteful culture back home would be wise to take notes.
Despite the uniqueness of the area, we made our way through it fairly quickly. There was so much chaos occurring all around us that it felt odd to be standing in the way of it all. When we reached the edge of the Mercado it was obvious that the commerce jungle had ended abruptly. From where we stood, the rest of Addis began again.
“My friends, that was the Mercado. As you can see it is quite large!” said Staven.
“Pretty cool, should we grab a drink?” Ethan said as he surveyed the streets in front of him.
“Okay, now we drink!” exclaimed Staven, like a man on a mission.
He led and we followed. And as we followed, we made our way down the main thoroughfares of Addis slowly approaching the neighborhoods in the outer areas. The roads changed from wide lanes with partial sidewalks to narrow lanes made of dirt and gravel. On the sides of the road, the partial sidewalks slowly morphed into ditches that collected rainwater and trash. The further away we progressed from the city center, the more people began to stare as we passed by. We were approaching areas that saw few foreigners. As the dirt roads began to change into alleyways, I began struggling to keep my sense of direction. Winding and turning, dodging kids on bikes and potholes...we kept moving until all of a sudden, we stopped.
There, to the left of us was a small gap about four feet wide between two cement houses, both of which appeared to be abandoned. It was nearly pitch black now as we were well beyond the parts of town that had streetlights. As we walked single file into the space between the two houses, we could hear the noise increase as we approached. We followed Staven and Abdi through an opening and down a set of cement stairs that led into a small dimly lit room. At its entrance, an overweight woman was sitting in a chair guarding the door. It appeared as if she knew Staven and immediately granted us passage by simply exchanging a few words and nodding in his direction.
Through the smoke and haze we could barely make out the faces looking back at us but it seemed as if many of them were under 18 years old. Before we had arrived they were all drinking and speaking loudly in Amharic, but nearly instantaneously the conversation stopped and all eyes focused on us.
Staven began to speak to a few of them in Amharic and smiles slowly began to creep across their faces. Within moments, the drinking continued and the gathering was back to its original intensity. While he spoke the women at the door had turned around and began to fill up four small glasses with a clear vodka-like drink. She passed them to Staven.
“Here!” he said. “This is arak.”
“Arak?” I said confused. “What is it?”
“Alcohol,” he said as if he was speaking to a child. “It will be 20 Birr.”
We paid, of course. It was simply unspoken that we would pay for every cost incurred that evening. After all, we made more in a day than they made in a month and things were cheap.... really cheap.
Without hesitation Staven and Abdi began to drink, then Ethan, then me. Forcing a look of disgust into one of acceptance, I slowly choked down my beverage. It burned like any liquor but with a distinct flavor of rubbing alcohol. It turned out that it was a standard homemade rice wine concoction. Here they call it “arak”, in other regions “roxy”, but in most places it’s just referred to as “rice wine”. I’ve even seen it come in little plastic bags while in some countries. But let me tell you, when you start drinking liquor out of a little plastic bag, you know that you’ve reached a new stage in life.
With any homemade rice wine I knew there were inherent risks involved, but sometimes you just end up putting trust in people, smart or not. A few years back I had been traveling in Cambodia when a batch of bad rice wine had killed off an entire village of men. The problem is that there’s no regulation on this stuff, so it’s up to the guy brewing it in his bathtub to not add anything deadly to the mix. Luckily for us, this was a good batch.
As we drank we made small talk with those who were able to work up the nerve to mingle with us. And the more we drank the more the overweight lady in the corner would refill our cups. As I looked around the cramped and dingy room, I realized that even on the other side of the world in a place so far removed, kids are all the same. Whether they live here in Ethiopia, North Dakota or California, kids everywhere are just trying to party.
It didn’t take long before our group got anxious and it was time for us to make our way to our next destination. We said our goodbyes, paid our bill and thanked them for their hospitality. At this point the sun was beginning to go down and we were starting to feel good. We made our way back to the alley outside of the two abandoned-looking houses and began our walk back towards town.
“So now what?” said Ethan, clearly ready for the evening to get into full swing.
Ethan was an instigator. He was that guy who always kept the party going or was pushing for the next one to start. Every crew needed an “Ethan”.
Staven chimed in, “We can do anything! We have bars, whore houses, chat houses. There are many things in Addis. What do you like?”
It was becoming clear that Ethan and Staven were feeding off each other’s energy. And to top it off, their motivations complimented each other. Ethan was looking for a good time, which Staven could provide and Staven was looking for a free night out, which Ethan was more than willing to cover. They were unstoppable.  
“Chat house? What’s that?” Ethan said.
“It is a place where people go to chew chat together…like a bar or a restaurant but for chat,” Staven explained.
“And what the hell is chat? He said as he looked at me to see if I knew what this stuff was.
“Oh sorry,” I said. “It’s local plant that people chew to get high. It’s a stimulant but it takes a while to kick in. It doesn't mess you up but it does wake you up!”
“So it’s like coke?”
“Eh, not really. I’d say it falls somewhere in between cocaine and coffee...but it’s legal here.”
“Oh, we’ve got to try this!” he said with excitement. “Have you tried it before?”
“Yeah, a few times. It’s alright,” I said, as if I was a veteran chat chewer.
“Well, how to we find it?” Ethan exclaimed.
“You want chat? We can get that. Come! My friend will sell to us,” said Staven.
Staven had a friend for everything.
As we walked in the direction of Staven’s “chat guy” we made our way out of the small alleys and dirt roads and onto an area closer to the city center. We were still on the peripheral but now much closer. From where we stood in the darkness, I could see the glow of Addis in the distance. So at least I had a general direction of how to get back if needed.
The streets were still dark without public lighting and the only light that filled the air came from small fires or individual light bulbs hanging from private residences. People walked through the darkness chatting as stray dogs scrounged for food in the stillness. It was hard to picture a chat house in a place like this but what did I really know. This was a local area.
“You will like chat,” Staven assured Ethan. “It is very nice for staying awake and fucking a long time!...hahaha!”
Awkwardly, Ethan just looked at him and smiled, “Haha, okay.”
Within a few moments we had reached our destination. It was a rickety looking house with the front door closed. Beams of light broke through the cracks in the door, illuminating the street in front of us. With a knock and a push, Staven opened the door and a bright neon light shined down on us from the open entrance of the chat house. We walked in single file.
The room was painted bright pink with eight chairs positioned in a semi-circle and a small blue table set in the middle. As we entered the room I could see we were in the right place. There were already three guys sitting there sharing a bushel of chat. They glared at us with beady eyes and eerie smiles as they continued to chew chat and smoke cigarettes. The smoke in the air was thick and ventilation was non-existent.
“Please sit. I will speak with the manager,” Staven instructed as he walked off.
We pulled up three chairs in a row across from the first three chat-chewers in the semicircle. Abdi sat closest to them. For a moment we sat in silence as we waited for Staven to return. The guys across from us smiled with ever more welcoming gestures as Abdi began to make small talk in Amharic. Perhaps he was vouching for us.
I could tell that Abdi was a quiet yet friendly guy. He had a slightly nerdy or analytical vibe about him. If he had been born in the states I could see him being a software developer in Silicon Valley. He reminded me a lot of the people I used to work with in that area.
It wasn’t long before Staven returned with two bushels of chat, each in a black plastic bag and two glass bottles of Coca-Cola. He shut the door behind him and sat down in one of the vacant chairs.
“Okay my friends!” he said in excitement as he placed the bushels on the blue table and pulled the first one out of the black plastic bag.
He and Abdi began to dig into the first bushel as if they couldn’t wait. Ethan and I sat watching cautiously. Staven carefully pulled the tips off each of the leaves and proceeded to roll them into a tiny ball. He handed the first ball to Ethan.
“Here, try this,” he said.
“So how do I do this exactly?” Ethan replied in amusement.
“Just take these leaves and chew them. You can swallow the juice. If the taste is too bad for you, you can take some Coke,” he said as he handed Ethan the first bottle of Coke anticipating a negative reaction from the chat.
“Some people like to eat the whole leaf and the stem, but they are savages! We only eat the tips of the leaves because they are the best!
Staven then glanced at me, “You have had chat before, yes?”
“Sure. I’ve tried it a few times since I’ve been here,” I said.
“Excellent! Please, help yourself,” he said with a smile.
As we sat there chewing our chat our heart rates began to speed up, our pupils dilated and the room slowly began to get more and more friendly and vibrant. I could feel my mouth getting dry but I was slowly getting used to the taste of the bitter chat leaves. Still, my Coca-Cola consumption remained constant. The room was filling with cigarette smoke as the chat-induced adrenaline surged through us. Our group had merged with the one next to us, although Abdi sat in the corner not saying much as usual.
Whenever we didn’t chew the chat fast enough, Staven would roll us a little ball of leaves and give it to Ethan or me. It was hard to keep up and my cheeks began to become full of green leaves. The bottles of Coke made their way around the room but Ethan and I drank the majority, as we were new to the harsh taste of the leaves.
As the minutes passed and the first bushel made way for the second, we kept chewing and kept on talking. But the second bushel went faster than the first and soon, through the smoke and conversation, it was evident that our stash was nearly depleted. Energized and ready to hit the town, we all agreed that it was time to head to the bar. Before we could leave, however, we had to pay our bill. Again, this fell on us. And I knew from experience that when you don’t get the price up front, you end up paying for it in the end. Sure enough, that is exactly what happened.
After a few moments of sitting there chat-less, a small boy approached us with a yellow post-it note sized piece of paper and handed it to Staven. He looked at it and immediately came over to explain it to me.
“The price is 700 Birr, 300 for each bushel of chat and 100 for the Cokes,” he said cautiously as if he was expecting some push back from me.
“Ohh okay. That should be no problem,” I said.
He was in luck. I was feeling generous from the chat and actually I was expecting it to be higher. The total cost came to around $30 USD, much more expensive than it should have been but nothing that would break the bank.
Once paid up, we were free to leave and from the comfort of our cozy little chat den we made our way into the dark desolate side streets of Addis Ababa toward the more lively area of the Piazza. This, the historical Italian area, was now known mostly for pickpockets, hookers, drinking and all types of general debauchery.

About Daniel Royse

Daniel Royse is the founder and editor in chief of the online travel publication, This Boundless World. He has written numerous articles on travel, business and politics. The Watermelon King is his first full-length novel.

Daniel is an obsessive writer and explorer who has backpacked to over 50 countries, spanning five continents. To the disbelief of many, he still enjoys long, hot bus rides through chaotic places.


Wednesday, March 2, 2016

'Chocolate Kisses and Love Filled Wishes' by Linda West

Summer and Brad are slated to get married but things go awry in Kissing Bridge! 

Brad's younger sister, snowboarding champion, Kacey Anderson is forced to come home to heal from a bad accident. After being told she can no longer compete she begins to train at her home while still missing her beloved Olympic gold medalist Brody Jenkins. Against doctor's orders she begins to regain her strength in the hopes of competing in the 2018 Olympics. When a young Climate Change activist enlists her help to bring awareness to the cause, Kacey begins to think that her future may be much different then she imagined. 

Summer is forced back to LA to finish off a contract when the worst blizzard in decades hits her hometown. Unable to return she can only suffer as she here's a fate worse than she can ever imagine is unfolding back home in Kissing Bridge Mountain. Against all odds, love always seems to bring miracles to Kissing Bridge and this story will leave you believing and having faith in the power of true love.

About the author:

Linda West was born in Buffalo and now lives in LA. She used her small town as an inspiration for Kissing Bridge Mountain, and she had more fun writing this book than any thing she has ever written! Linda is a manifestation and law of attraction expert and has many books on empowerment and living your dream life. Go see her tools and books at

'Christmas Kisses and Cookies' by Linda West #99Cents

This is a hilarious light hearted and charming romance about a delightfully funny family and their determination to win the prestigious Christmas cookie competition against all odds. It's sure to bring a smile to your face and uplift your heart and make it a truly magical blue ribbon Christmas! 

Los Angeles super model, Summer Landers, finds herself stuck going home for Christmas after ten years of avoiding the heartbreak she left there. After a snowstorm hits closing most of the airports, she is forced to fly back to Christmas-obsessed Kissing Bridge Mountain where people take their holidays, and cookies seriously. 

Upon arrival Summer finds her family legacy in shambles. Despite the Landers winning the blue ribbon every year for decades at the Christmas Fair Cookie Competition, somehow they had been unthroned by their neighbor Mrs. Beaverton! The Landers women, with their family curse and strange and unique talents, now must struggle to find a way to best their competition who has secretly employed the help of the Evil-Martha Stewart. 

Besides dealing with the crazy antics of the town people, Summer must also avoid her ex boyfriend Brad, who has returned home for the Christmas holidays as well. Now she is confronted with her feelings and the truth about that fateful night under the mistletoe so long ago. 

Mistletoe kisses and cookies are too much to deal with, and try as she might it looks like Summer is destined to relive the worst nightmare of her life. Luckily, Christmas brings miracles and Kissing Bridge is full of them so anything can happen...

This is a recent newly edited edition.

Look for the follow up to this book - "Holiday Kisses and Valentine Wishes" where the fun on Kissing Bridge Mountain continues!

Rave Reviews!

#1 Best seller in Holiday Romance Series! 
“A sweet, funny, heartwarming, and delightful read! I laughed so hard my husband kept asking me what I was reading. The inhabitants of Kissing Bridge are so adorable. This is exactly what I was looking for in a Christmas book! I wish I could give it 10 stars!”

S.Stevens - Kindle Good Books

About the author:

Linda West was born in Buffalo and now lives in LA. She used her small town as an inspiration for Kissing Bridge Mountain, and she had more fun writing this book than any thing she has ever written! Linda is a manifestation and law of attraction expert and has many books on empowerment and living your dream life. Go see her tools and books at

Tuesday, March 1, 2016

'Talking to Your Physician: Surviving Obamacare' by Lawrence W. Gold, M.D.

Talking With Your Physician is a lighthearted attempt to deal with a potentially serious problem in medical care, the deteriorating relationship between patients and their physicians. As the healthcare system becomes more complicated, expensive, and stressful for both patients and their physicians, especially under Obamacare, we may need, more than ever, to rely on that relationship to guide us through the system.

The book makes important observations and specific suggestion about how to improve patient care, reduce malpractice claims, insure patient rights, and allow physicians to practice in a more rewarding manner.

Dr. Gold does not pretend that solutions are easy or quick, but he does believe that improving the patient-physician relationship is a good start under any healthcare system, including Obamacare.

About the author:

I was born in the Bensonhurst section of Brooklyn, moved to Queens, and then my family ascended to the Island. After graduating from Valley Stream Central High School, I went to Adelphi, a college then, a university now, and then to medical school in Chicago. The war in Vietnam interrupted my postgraduate medical training with a year in Colorado Springs and another as a Battalion Surgeon in Vietnam. I spent seven months in the Central Highlands with the 4th Infantry and five months in an evacuation hospital in Long Binh outside Saigon where I ran the emergency room. I returned intact in 1968 to complete my training in internal medicine and diseases of the kidney, nephrology. I worked for twenty-three years in Berkeley, California in a hospital-based practice and served as Chief of Internal Medicine and Family Practice and as an active member of the quality assurance committee. We retired in October 1995 before fate could intervene. We sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge for a life at sea in Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean. Four years later, exhausted from repairing everything on board, (often many times) we sold the sailboat and within a year took the lazy man’s out; we bought a Nordic Tug trawler. We motored around Florida, the Bahamas, and the entire East Coast and Canada. I’ve written fifteen novels, ten in the Brier Hospital Series, and one non-fiction book, I Love My Doctor, But…, a lighthearted look at the patient/doctor relationship. I write primarily to entertain, but I can’t help but pass on to readers observations and beliefs culled from years of practice, and yes, my biases, too. In fiction, I strive for realism in portraying the medical scene that is gripping without being melodrama or gimmicky. With even a minor degree of success in writing novels, comes responsibility to readers. I attempt to produce honest material that reflects my beliefs. Exposing these beliefs to the public through my writing requires courage, stupidity, or both. My fans have been generous, and although nobody enjoys criticism, I’ve learned much from that, too. The novel that expresses most clearly my candor, and my bias, is For the Love of God. The novel reflects my attitudes toward those who are willing to sacrifice the lives of their children for their personal religious beliefs. We live in beautiful Grass Valley with 11 year old Bennie, a Yorkie who just looks like he’s on steroids and Wesley, a 1 year old rescue, a terrier of some sort.