Monday, March 30, 2015

Moses Son of Maimon Virtual Book Tour Introduction & Giveaway with Ilil Arbel



Title: Moses Son of Maimon: The Life of Maimonides, 1135 to 1204 A.D.
Author Name: Ilil Arbel

Author Bio:

Ilil Arbel is the author of a number of fiction and non-fiction books, including biographies, memoirs, novels, and mythology/folklore. She has also written articles, short stories, and Judaic myths.

Arbel has a Ph.D. in the field of mythology and folklore but has also devoted much study to her special interest in Jewish history, biography, legends, and myths. She is currently engaged in writing the biography of Hillel the Elder, the first century B.C. leader and religious scholar.

Dr. Arbel was born in Tel Aviv, Israel. She has lived and studied in Tel Aviv, Paris, and New York and currently resides in Manhattan.

Author Links -
Publisher’s Website: http://www.21stpublishing.com/

Publisher’s Facebook Website: https://www.facebook.com/21stPublishing






Book Genre: Historical Biography
Publisher: 21st Publishing
Release Date: Feb 12, 2015
Buy Link(s): http://www.amazon.com/Moses-Son-Maimon-Maimonides-D/dp/0692339345/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1424475030&sr=1-1&keywords=moses+son+of+maimon


Book Description (LONG): Born into a distinguished family in medieval Cordoba, Spain, the young Moses Maimonides was quickly recognized by his teachers for his outstanding intellectual abilities and extraordinary versatility. At the age of twelve, when his peaceful world was shattered by war and persecution and his family was forced into exile, his religious and secular studies continued. Despite the years of wandering and the harsh conditions, he also developed into a writer and wrote extensively until the end of his life.

After years of wandering and relatively short stays in Morocco and Israel, Maimonides and his family settled in Egypt. The Jewish community quickly recognized his genius, and after completing his important book, the Mishneh Torah, he was recognized internationally as the chief religious and legal authority of the entire Jewish world. He produced many books on diverse subjects such as philosophy, law, religion, and medicine that are considered extremely important to this day by Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike. Despite experiencing loss and controversies, Maimonides rose to eminence as both the official head of the Jewish community in Cairo and the private physician to the sultan and his court.

His world was full of contradictions. A man who abhorred excess of any kind, Maimonides nevertheless lived as a member of a glittering society. Cairo of that time was full of art, music, literature, elegant fashions, priceless jewelry, and sophisticated food. He moved among the sultan’s wealthy advisors and the elegant ladies of the royal harem during the day, and among the Jewish scholars in the evening. He was accused of supporting corporal punishment for wives, and at the same time, people gasped at his revolutionary defense of women’s rights.

His fame brought controversy that is still raging—eight hundred years after his death. At certain times his books were banned and even burned at the stake. But no one could ever deny that his work was that of a brilliant innovator and scholar who could reconcile religious traditions with science and philosophy like no one else.

Book Description (SHORT): Moses Maimonides brought controversy that is still raging—eight hundred years after his death. At certain times his books were banned and even burned at the stake. But no one could ever deny that his work was that of a brilliant innovator and scholar who could reconcile religious traditions with science and philosophy like no one else.



Wednesday, March 18, 2015

Win A #KindleFireHD at #Amazon #FREE #Ebook March 18 - 19 - Failed Moments by A. Robert Allen





#Free #Kindle #Download March 18 - 19
Download the book for free during these two days and leave a review on Amazon by April 10 to be entered to win a 7" Kindle Fire HD!
Winner will be drawn April 11 directly from Amazon Reviews via live video and posted right here at the VBT Café Blog.


Book Genre: Historical Fiction

Publisher: Createspace

Release Date: March 8, 2015


Book Description:


Tagline:

What if the only way to survive your life is to go back in history and right the wrongs of two other men’s lives?


Book Description:

1790, French Caribbean: biracial plantation owner Patrice Beaumont is known as a “kinder” slave master, but his trusted friend reminds him that is no cause for pride. He claims to be committed to ending slavery, but his actions don’t back-up his words. Is being the “best of the worst” all he’s capable of?

1863, New York City: Giant Irish street fighter Patrick Allen is days away from battling it out with a similarly oversized Black fighter, when the Draft Riots ignite dangerous racial conflicts around the city. Never one to take sides outside the ring or join a fight he can’t win, he steers clear of the angry mobs. So when he stumbles on a lynching in progress, who can expect him to do anything more than look away?

Modern day, New York City: Patrick Walsh, a day trader by occupation and a daydreamer by disposition, sits alone on his terrace trading his portfolio, and staring out at the city skyline. Alone feels right…always has, and he’s fairly certain, always will.

Besides having a similar name and a proclivity to make tragic mistakes, what mystery ties these men together?



Excerpt:

Chapter 1
The Boigen
NO PICTURE. NO name. No background,” he whispered to himself as he realized none of this missing information mattered. In his experience, first impressions made all the difference. Details offered nothing more than preparation for yet another first date. This time, however, roles would be reversed. She would need to find him. Patrick Walsh chuckled as he settled back into the snug couch inside the lobby of the elegant Boigen Hotel on the West Side of Manhattan.
The Boigen had to be new, Patrick thought, as he flipped through a small corporate brochure. The hotel, which was south of his old Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood and in the vicinity of a few favorite hangouts, boasted ”Classic Swedish Charm in the Heart of the West Side.” What an excellent tagline, he thought.
A beautiful chandelier in the center of the lobby, situated directly above a multi-colored table, demanded Patrick’s attention. The light passing through the table’s colored shelves reflected off the marble floor and mesmerized him. A large bouquet of white tulips occupied the small, purplish tabletop. Perhaps amethyst, Patrick thought. Below that were three shelves: The first level, ruby, the second, emerald, and the third, sapphire. Noticing the colored flecks of light on the floor again, he looked up. Where have I seen this fabulous chandelier? In a magazine? A catering hall? Or somewhere else?
Patrick’s mind turned back to his social life as he contemplated the newness of a first date and the anticipation of a second, both acting as a lovely build-up to the third date–the highlight of most of Patrick’s relationships, when the increasing ease that came from being somewhat acquainted was roughly equal to the remaining sense of the unknown. Third dates provided Patrick with a brief and welcome opportunity to smile. Fourth dates, however, brought on the inevitable question: “Where is this going?” or the new phrasing he’d heard twice this past year, “What is your end game?” Whatever the form of the question, it always marked the beginning of the end for Patrick, although he preferred to think of it as the need for yet another new beginning. She’s late. Where is she?
Patrick continued to survey his surroundings and tried to relax. The one modern aspect of the hotel, a full-length glass wall, featured three oversized doors with pearl handles, which provided access to Tenth Avenue. The Limerick Liar, one of Patrick’s favorite Irish bars, became visible in the distance as a large delivery truck pulled away from the front of The Boigen. How could I have missed this hotel?
Two distinct groups of people assembled in the lobby. The larger group clustered around the ornate table with the white tulips. Tourists, Patrick guessed as he detected a sense of anticipation when a big luxury charter bus pulled up to the Tenth Avenue entrance. The second group in the lobby lacked the excitement of the first and displayed more control, as they sat in a collection of chairs about ten feet away from the doorway that led to 20th Street. Patrick didn’t know what this group was waiting for and realized he had no theories. That was unusual. This game of analyzing the behavior and motivations of strangers relaxed him when he got anxious, which was often. Patrick’s blood pressure eased as he continued to watch.
The tourists left the lobby and headed toward the charter bus on Tenth Avenue and the more sedate group departed onto 20th Street. Patrick found it peculiar–actually rude–that each of the tourists peeled a single petal off a tulip as they passed the bouquet and left for the bus. He was tempted to say something to them, but realized as much as it bothered him, he would not want to be seen in any kind of a confrontation when his date arrived. First impressions dictate the outcome, Patrick reminded himself. A young hotel employee quickly replaced the ravaged bouquet as if it were a standard duty. Patrick smiled. Good service standards, well executed. It was a tightly run ship.
The Boigen lobby was almost empty and all of the energy that had filled the room a few minutes earlier exited with the two groups. His date was late. As Patrick glanced again at his watch, he felt a tap on his shoulder and then a brief, searing pain just below his right ear. The extreme discomfort forced him to hunch over while pressing his hands against either side of his head. After a few moments, he straightened up and tried to regain his composure. He was unsuccessful. So much for first impressions – Patrick turned to meet his date.
Good evening, Patrick, it’s been a while,” she said.
He didn’t know how to respond.
“Patrick. This must be upsetting to you, but we need to talk.”
His heart was pounding and beads of sweat started to gather on his brow.
Patrick loosened his tie and took several long, deep breaths. Finally, he stam- mered, “I don’t understand. The last time...the last time I saw you...” His words failed him.
She smiled gently. “I understand your confusion, but before I answer your questions, I have one for you.” She paused. “Do you remember the last time we were together?”
Yes.”
“I thought you would. So when was it?”
Patrick cleared his throat and muttered, “April 11, 2008,” as he examined his surprise visitor who hadn’t changed at all in the past five years. How could this be? Patrick asked himself. April 11, 2008, was the day she died.



Author Bio:
A. Robert Allen is a longtime New York City college administrator with a lifelong passion for writing. When he traced his family tree back hundreds of years and uncovered roots that were white, black, Catholic, Protestant, and Jewish, the seed of a story began to grow. Failed Moments is a fictional account of the exploits of his ancestors during racially charged periods in the past.
Find out more about the author and his works at his website: http://arobertallen.com/.


Author Links - 

Website &Blog: arobertallen.com
Facebook: anthonyroballen











Sunday, March 15, 2015

If You Leave This Farm by Amanda Farmer Book Tour Introduction & Giveaway #vbtcafetours





Author Bio: The author, Amanda, grew up on the farm and worked together there with her family until the age of 29. She now lives with her husband on a hobby farm in southeastern Minnesota. They have one grown daughter. Amanda holds a Master’s Degree in Nurse Anesthesia and currently works in that profession.

Author Links - 





Book Genre: Memoir, Autobiographic
Publisher: Archway Publishing
Release Date: July 2014


Book Description: My book chronicles the story of our move to Minnesota as a family when we are teenagers to farm together. The first year’s catastrophic crop failure sets off a determination by our father to totally control our circumstances and leads to 12 years of struggle by my younger brother and I to leave the farm. Interweaved into the story is our life as Mennonites and the influence that has upon our lives.




Schedule


March 15 - Introduction at VBT Café Blog
March 17 - Spotlight at Deal Sharing Aunt
March 19 - Spotlight @ Tea and A Book
March 24 Author Interview at Author C.A.Milson's Blog
March 25 -Guest Blog at My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews
March 28 - Guest Blogging at Mythical Books
March 30 - Spotlight at 4Covert2Overt - A Day In The Spotlight
April 1 - Reviewed at Confessions Of The Perfect Mom
April 3 - Guest Blogging at Lori's Reading Corner
April 6 - Reviewed at The Voluptuous Book DivaApril 7 - Spotlight at Jody's Book Reviews
April 9 - Spotlight FictionZeal
April 13 - Reviewed at Debbie Jean's
April 15 - Spotlight at My Life, Loves, and Passions
April 17 - 5 Things I Know For Sure at CAT Magazine




Monday, March 9, 2015

Charity Release Day Book Blast - We Go On Anthology - ALL PROCEEDS GO TO CHARITY



Book Genre: Charity Anthology, Veterans


Publisher: Indie


Release Date: March 9, 2015 


Buy Link(s): Amazon

Book Description:

The poems and stories included in this anthology, written by various authors, tell of veterans outside of war, of how their sacrifice of service changed their lives long after the war was over. Although some of the messages of the sacrifices of war are sadly timeless, they speak of unsung heroes, and I say unsung because nothing we could ever do for them would ever be enough to say thank you for all they gave. With that said, with these poems and stories, we will give what we can. 100% of the profits made will go to charities for veterans.

To all who have served and to all of those who love them, we offer our undying gratitude because it is all we truly have to give you for your sacrifices, told and untold. So, we give what we can to honor you, to say thank you, and to, in some small way, give back. Although it could never be enough, a million thanks or a million dollars, we pray we can help some of the many who have given so much, so selflessly, and then suffered even as they fought another battle, the battle to go on…

Table of Contents:

We Go On

An Enemy That Haunts My Mind by Alan W. Jankowski

Wailing Wall by Judith Turner-Yamamoto

A Soldier’s Dream by Steve Morse

No Man Left Behind by Terry Rozum

Waging Peace by Kelly Talbot

Just a Humble Hero by John Hansen

Dead Man Walking by Robin Merrill

That Time We Brought Some Veterans Down to Mexico by Evan Harris

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder by Gregory Roorda

The Demons Will Someday Die by Shruti Fatehpuria

To Love Again by Anita Stienstra

Journey of a Hidden Life by Julie Seedorf

She - A Brutal Truth by Liberty Samantha Michael

The Mind of a Shrimp by Robert E. Bergmann

Exit Wounds by Lana Bella

Not Perfect, Still a Hero by Jason W. Huschle

Shadows of the Past by SL Berg

Finding 'Peace with Honor' by Robert Morgan

A Soldier’s Cry by Kelley Hutchison

Coming Back To Life by Kiki Howell

My Dad, My Hero by Stephen Quinn

We Go On







Please help support this cause - All Proceeds Go To 

Charity. You can help by purchasing the book, bravelets 

or custom designs at the links below and share with 

your friends and family.



Charities Include but are not limited to:


Project Homefront, PTSD


Check Some Fun Other Ways We’ve Come Up With In Our Crusade to Support 


Veterans


All Profits Go To Veteran’s Charities!!!!

Bravelets – Bracelets that remind to “Be Brave” with donations going to PTSD Awareness

https://www.bravelets.com/bravepage/we-go-on-charity-anthology-for-veterans

Get The Anthology Cover on Shirts, Mugs, Buttons, etc at Café Press

http://www.cafepress.com/kikihowell





Thursday, February 26, 2015

Remember Della by Cynthia Mock Burroughs Tour Kickoff



Title: Remember Della
Author: Cynthia Mock Burroughs
Length: 274 pages
Publisher: Self published
Release Date: November 9, 2011
Genre: Paranormal Mystery
Buy Here: Amazon|Create Space

Book Description:

Kat, a “slightly" psychic sixteen-year-old, begins having disturbingly persistent dreams. Dreams of a yellow scarf - with a seeming life of its own - which taunts her and haunts her every dream. Dreams about Della, a fellow classmate, who to this point has remained all but invisible to any and every one at school. Kat eventually comes to the realization that until she unravels the mystery surrounding that “dagblasted” creepy yellow scarf and this girl she hardly knows, she'll not have another night’s rest. What Kat soon discovers is that she is the only person in Della’s life (including the girl’s mother and stepfather) who recognizes - or will admit - Della has simply vanished, gone “splitsville"! And Kat is helpless as her life becomes indelibly intertwined with Della’s – so much so, that she will carry the emotional scars for years to come.

Kat is surrounded by an extremely colorful cast of characters. You will meet: long-time friend and recent love interest, Em; Kat’s precocious eight-year-old brother, Gordy; her feisty octogenarian neighbor, Mrs. Harper and a chain smoking waitress named Clovis. All who, for various reasons, join Kat’s desperate quest to help a girl she hardly knows and to find answers to questions that, with any luck, will bring her the peace she seeks – the biggest question on her mind being, “Why me?” 

“Remember Della” - which is predominately set in the South during the mid-fifties - is chock full of facts, trivia and slang from that era. While an entertaining read, I believe this book addresses bullying - both physical and emotional - in a fresh and unique way during a time before such issues were “labeled” as unacceptable or problematic.

Author Bio:


I was born and raised in the South and to this day reside in South Carolina with my dashing husband, crotchety cat and nimble Jack Russell. My first novel,Remember Della, definitely reflects that Southern upbringing; and like Katherine, my main protagonist, I am also a child of the fifties.

I have enjoyed reading my entire life and relish childhood memories of long, languid summers spent in lawn chairs beneath shady old trees—my best friend and I devouring one library book after another. I hope to be proof of the old adage that everyone has at least one good book in them—but suppose that remains to be seen. You, the reader, will be the judge of that. 

Drawing and painting have always been passions of mine, but I had never tried my hand at writing until my mother passed away several years ago. During my grieving process I found that painting was not keeping my mind as busy as I would have liked. Painting allowed me too much time to think. So in an attempt to ease my sadness, I decided to try a new creative outlet. The result was a 24,000 word children's chapter book (as yet unpublished) and a newfound love—writing! In fact, I am in love with the entire writing process, especially the part where I get to tell really tall tales—and get away with it . . .


Author Links - 

Website http://www.cynthiamockburroughs.com/ 
Facebook https://www.facebook.com/authorcynthiamockburroughs?ref=notif&notif_t=page_user_activity 
Twitter @cmburroughs 
Pinterest http://www.pinterest.com/cmburroughs/ 
Linkedin https://www.linkedin.com/pub/cynthia-burroughs/7b/a80/107
Goodreads http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/23826688-cynthia-mock-burroughs
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Remember-Della-Cynthia-Mock-Burroughs/dp/1500199346/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1420753436&sr=1-1&keywords=remember+della

Excerpt One

I sat at the kitchen table while Momma contemplated what to do
with the ground beef thawing out on the counter. She settled on
goulash and was checking the pantry to see if she had all the ingredients
when it occurred to her she hadn’t heard a peep out of Gordy.
The quietude must have alerted her to his absence.

She turned to me, “Where’s Gordy—up in his room?”

I shook my head no. “He’s not home yet.”

She checked her watch and asked, “Did you hear his bus come
by?”

No’m. It’s probably running late.”

Gordy should be home by now, Katherine.” She gave me a doubtful
look and asked, “You’re sure his bus hasn’t come by?”

The look of concern on her face was fleeting, and we both cringed
as Gordy heralded his arrival by slamming the front door so hard the
house shook. Momma yelled at the top of her lungs, “Gordy!” When
he came barreling through the doorway she asked, “How many times
have I told you not to slam the door like that? You’ve already taken a
minimum of ten years off my life!”
He never even heard a word she said because he was talking louder
and faster than his customary mile-a-minute. His words practically
ran together as he said, “You shoulda seen it! Sammy Spellman
throwed up all over prissy ol’ Becky Taylor on the bus! We had beets
for lunch an’ Sammy ate a whole bowl of ‘em. I bet that’s what made
him throw up. He says he likes ‘em, but I don’t believe it for a minute.
I think he just eats ‘em to show off. But the really good part is
Sammy’s throw-up was all red—like he was throwing up blood! Then
ol’ Becky started crying an’ everything, and Cindy Walker started
gagging ‘cause throw-up splattered all over her shoes an’ then she
throwed up. It was so cool! They were sitting across the aisle from
me, an’ I got to see it all. And Becky, with her weirdo-self, told Mikey
Olson she was gonna wipe throw up on him ‘cause he laughed
at her. And the bus driver had to stop the bus an’ calm everybody
down. It was Coolsville!

I could see Momma was trying to keep a straight face as she said,
Gordy that’s enough—there’s nothing cool about someone throwing
beets up all over the place.”

Well I couldn’t be sure, but from the smell of it I think Sammy
must’ve been sick at both ends. I tell–”

Gordy!!!” Gordy was treading on very thin ice.

It’s the truth! It was gross I tell ya. Gross enough to gag a maggot!
Everybody sitting around ‘em looked like they were gonna
puke—’cept me. The bus driver made everybody get off, and
the monitor had to go to somebody’s house to call for another
bus and for Sammy an’ Becky an’ Cindy’s parents to come and
get ‘em.”

Dear Lord, I hope Sammy’s not contagious.” And in spite of the fact
we weren’t Catholic, Momma crossed herself.


Excerpt Two 

I HATED THAT despicable clock. I hated the way those two nerve-jangling,
damnable bells blasted me so urgently from sleep
every morning. I snatched the clock up, shut off the alarm
and slammed the offending thing back onto the nightstand.
Throwing the covers back and my legs over the side of the
bed, I stood unsteadily a moment before aiming my body at
the door leading to the hall. Destination—the bathroom. But as
my fingers touched the doorknob the clock began its shrill intonations
again. Oh dear Lord! That sound, so early in the morning,
was the equivalent of fingernails screeeking down a chalkboard.
Hadn’t I just turned the dad-blamed thing off? Maybe I
jarred the lever into the ‘on’ position when I, perhaps a little too
vigorously, delivered the clock back to its pocked resting place.

I retraced my steps and after turning the alarm off, again,
placed the clock on the nightstand—a little more gently
this time. And for more reasons than one, I moved a wee
bit faster for the bedroom door. I reached it a second time
and stopped cold—the God-forsaken clock was, once again,
clanging for attention! With the strangest mixture of anger,
fear and foreboding I walked back, turned the alarm off a
third time and buried ‘Baby Ben’ not only under the covers,
but both pillows as well. Then I ran back to the door, jerked
it open and took off through it.

Instead of the hall outside my bedroom door, I found myself
out on the street in front of my house—still dressed in baby
doll pajamas and walking toward my bus stop. There wasn’t
time to go home and change. The school bus had arrived
and it sat idling as a half-dozen students climbed on. I waved
and yelled for them to wait, but no one seemed to hear.

Running for the bus wasn’t even an option, for it was suddenly
as if my feet and I were slogging through knee-deep
mud. I could only watch as the door closed and the bus
pulled off without me. Oddly, I felt thoroughly and utterly
bereft—as if all my hopes and dreams had taken off with that
big yellow bus.

As the bus lumbered down the road something yellow flew
out an open window. Even from where I stood I could see it
was a scarf—a yellow scarf—lifting, floating and fluttering in
the early morning breeze.

My legs came unglued and I began running after that scarf
like my life depended upon reaching it before it touched
the ground. I caught up to it, but each time I attempted to
pluck it from the air a breeze would whisk it away, lifting it
just beyond my reach over and over again. I soon began to
tire of the game and was about to abandon the chase when
the wind picked up and blew the scarf toward me instead of
away, pressing it against the lower half of my face. Slowly,
almost as if caressing me, the scarf began to move along my
skin. It slid over my mouth, under my chin, and down my neck.
Snaking round and round my throat, it became longer and
longer, tighter and tighter—and I began struggling for air . . .