All Aboard the E-Book Train

I don’t know if it’s my hippie or my old-fashioned tendencies, but I’m always one of the last ones to jump aboard the newest technology train.

Back in high school, it was pagers. Early college years, it was cell phones.

Honestly if it weren’t for my technologically savvy hubby, today I would be carrying the first basic cell phone – boring, cracked, and crusty – or possibly no cell phone at all.

I have an announcement…

kindle

I am now the proud owner of my very first Kindle, a super fancy Kindle Fire to be exact (thanks, mom!).

Sure, there are a few chew marks on the leather case of this gently used gift – no I didn’t get hungry, my mom’s basset hound did – but that just gives it the lovely character of a print book, one that gets tattered and stained.

You might be thinking: “Britt, you’re just now getting a Kindle? Don’t you write e-books?”

Damn skippy, I do! So it is time to get over my stubborn ways, my lifelong infatuation with paper books, and open up to the vast plains of e-books.

More than anything, I am excited to support other indie authors like myself. The first two e-books on my reading list are from two fellow authors I look up to very much…

Dianne Gray

the-everything-theory

and

T.W. Dittmer

the-valley-walker

These two are incredible writers, masters of witty sustenance. I’m looking forward to curling up with each of their books this winter. P.S….Mr. Dittmer’s book is currently FREE via Smashwords until Christmas (just use coupon number RE38Y).

And have no fear, my print book enthusiasts! I will never say farewell to print books as they are unmatched in the realm of nostalgic tangibility.

Adding this handy dandy e-books tool will take my unrequited love for reading that much further, granting access to the innovation of the indie variety, those writing their little hearts out and sharing their brave words.

A lovely blogger pal, Zen Scribbles, recently wrote a great post on the creature comforts of e-readers. Be sure to check out “Come to the dark side. We have an internal light source”.

At the end of the day I see this new route of books as an ideal relationship, marrying the known and the unknown, enticing more of us to read and write.

Despite what some might say, this technological convenience is not destroying what we know and love. It’s adding unapologetic creativity to the reading menu and igniting the urge to once again value the resplendence of a good old story.

P.S. I’m making myself take a little blogging vacay next week for the holidays. So, I will be back with a post in a couple of weeks. I hope you all have tremendously awesome holidays and I’ll see you next year!

A Birthday Perspective

Dang, I have a birthday looming in two days.

Nah, that’s not something I would say.

I am fortunate to celebrate another year of life in two days. There…that’s better.

birthday candle

Why are birthdays seen in a negative light?

Is it because we carry an unfulfilled life on our shoulders? Or perhaps it’s because each year we get that much older, unstoppably aging against our wills.

I’ve gotta say, a smattering of grey hairs and wrinkles sprouted up somewhere around the turn of a notable decade of my life.

I’m not going to lie. I was a little shaken with grey hairs at thirty. Then I realized it’s probably a common development but most women color their hair, making them oblivious to this colorless discovery.

At first I plucked them. And, to avoid further wrinkles, I attempted to not be as animated – forcing a half-smile when delighted and scolding my perky eyebrows when surprised.

But damnit…if I want to smile my ever-loving ass off, I’m gonna!

Of course it can be difficult to age, especially as women. Our society encourages eternal youth and unattainable perfection.

Yet, we all go down the same inevitable road. No matter how many expensive hair colors or night creams we entertain – we all have birthdays, we all age.

birthday

What if we look at birthdays this way…we’re not older than we were a year ago, we simply lived more.

I really like the way that sounds, don’t you?

Ah, the hell with it! I don’t care if I now have to buy two boxes of birthday candles since they usually come in packs of twenty-four.

I will not hide from this birthday or any thereafter. I am honored to be here another year, to enjoy more beauty and love.

I embrace my grey hairs because they represent incredible accomplishments and tribulations.

I embrace my wrinkles because they represent years of laughter and tears.

I embrace my birthday because it is symbolic of the joys of life – and that my dear friends is always a reason to celebrate.

The Clothes on Our Backs

About five years ago I was volunteering for International Rescue Committee back in Dallas. Although I was stationed in fundraising and development, organizing the donations closet was an oddball job I handled as well.

At the time I was working for a certain luxury store, which will remain unnamed, decorating the rich and famous with twinkly treasures that cost more than my rent many, many times over.

So, I was knee deep in the IRC donations closet – sorting and folding, sorting and folding. In walked two of our “clients”, a mother and her teenage daughter, displaced persons from a far away land.

While the husband/father filled out mounds of paperwork with their case officer, the mother and daughter peered curiously at the raggedy goods.

“May we come in?” the mother asked.

They were an exquisite duo – luminescent brown eyes, abundant wavy hair, and kind smiles which were, quite sadly, timid and hesitant.

“Of course,” I said. “You can have anything you want in here.” I waved around, presenting the mess as if it were a shiny boutique.

Their eyes widened, then tears graced each lovely surface.

“Really?” she asked, outwardly skeptical of my offer.

Recognizing her mother’s tone, the daughter reluctantly snatched her wandering finger from a nearby skirt.

I nodded firmly. “Really.”

With feminine glee they rummaged. I helped them coordinate outfits and even accessorize. How many times had I assisted the absurdly fortunate doing just that?

“Where are you from?”

“Iraq,” the mother whispered, glancing fearfully at the lobby. Her eyes darted back over to me, warily scrutinizing my reaction.

I delivered a smile, something the mother clearly wasn’t anticipating, and she continued with her story.

It was a story of loss, fear, and unbelievable courage, one I will never forget. I was speechless as she concluded with an unexpected smile, the kind only a brave refugee can muster.

She said, “We had only the clothes on our backs, but we are alive…and we are together.”

Unable to resist, a solitary tear slipped down my cheek.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she said. And, they left.

Dumbfounded, I stood motionless, limply grasping a worn sweater, moved and confused.

I don’t consider myself a political person in the traditional sense, and if bringing any of this to my blog is offensive or controversial, so be it.

I stand by human rights. I stand so tall and proud…it hurts.

Human Rights Day is coming up on December 10. Rather than living with my back turned this is a time of year I do something worthwhile.

And so can you.

A lot of you, like me, are writers.

Another incredible organization, Amnesty International, will hold their annual “Write for Rights” campaign from December 5-16. This important action does not require any monetary contribution, only a small portion of your time. You pick how many letters to write and which issues you wish to stand up for.

This will be my fourth year writing alongside people from every corner of the world, and however miniscule this gesture may seem, I enthusiastically participate with the hope that some semblance of positivity will emerge from my words.

So many of us have more than enough, more than the clothes on our backs.

Let’s come together to fight the good fight, to cover the darkness with our light, to do something we all do naturally…just write.

Human rights are very awesome…I’ll write with you, Britt!

Trading Lives

Imagine signing a foreign name. Imagine severing contact with your loved ones. Imagine lying to every person you meet for the rest of your life.

Welcome to the witness protection program.

After much debate, I decided to coin my upcoming novel, Everything’s Not Bigger, a feel-good thriller. Catchy, right?

It was the only way to encompass a lost woman rediscovering herself after escaping a dark past, while relaying undertones of humor, romance, and inspiration.

Jaye Davis appears as a typical young adult, trapped in a materialistic world, working a job she despises, and hiding her insecurities. But there is more than meets the eye.

Her real name is Sigourney—Sig for short—a player in the witness protection program after a risky set-up gone wrong.

An excerpt from Everything’s Not Bigger…

Something was off. Birds chirped and the freeway hummed steadily; otherwise, it was too quiet at dusk, almost vacant.

Pick-ups were transacted in the garage, often through a cat door on the side of the building. Each customer had an assigned knock, orchestrated in a specific pattern for identification. If the rhythm was botched in any way, the sale was cancelled.

Sig worried muscle memory would break down in her moment of need, and she would be met with silence outside the garage.

She was unclear whether a failed mission meant she was free to go or not. She only wanted to do this once. Another attempt would surely cause her heart to rip through her chest.

“We’re right here with you, Sig,” Detective Garcia’s voice came through the earpiece.

She had almost forgotten they were there, and relished in a bit of comfort knowing the area was surrounded by Garcia’s team, ready for action. Although they were hidden with care, their presence explained the offbeat buzz. Call it instinct, but she could feel them everywhere, binoculars pointed and guns blazing.

She performed her assigned knock only to be met by a hushed audience. A fierce sweat dripped down her forehead and back. She could not repeat the knock. Once it was done, it was done. Sig was certain she had it right.

Noah wasn’t a big fish, because he was stupid. He was clever, evading police sharks at every turn, taking his school along with him.

In case she was being watched, she avoided conversation. She turned casually and headed back down the row of garages. She heard Garcia’s frustrated sigh on the other end of the earpiece as she strolled.

A gun shot reverberated through the garage corridor, bouncing off the doors like a pinball machine. She froze.

“Find some cover, Sig!”

She looked around desperately. There was no cover.

I wanted to reveal the permanent repercussions of a person who was forced to choose between prison and freedom at a price. She is flawed and torn, but a person with depth and purpose. She craves stability and assurance after having everything she knew—that which was comforting and familiar—taken away.

I was intrigued by the idea of someone destroying their own world by making a catastrophic, self-induced mistake, and dealing forever with those consequences.

A new identity would give birth to an impostor—no childhood, no connections, no memories. Relationships would be tainted by a fabricated truth, instilling a suffocating emptiness with no expiration.

Perhaps she would purposely get lost, pretending to lead an imaginary life in order to forget the pain. Because giving in would be easier than putting up a fight.

But, what if that someone decided to return to themselves instead of succumbing to a hopeless fate? What if she had the courage to forgive herself, to find herself, to surrender to the life that she deserves?

That to me is a brave soul, a hero of sorts, one with the potential for absolute integrity.

The one week countdown has begun! Everything’s Not Bigger releases November 10 to e-readers everywhere.

A big thank you to all of my wonderful friends in the blogging community who continually offer their beautiful support and encouragement.

As always, your comments and feedback are very much appreciated.