BIG NEWS!

I finally bit the bullet and purchased a domain. http://ferrisrobinson.com so click to check it out!

Info for Never Trust A Hungry Cook is there, as is info on Dogs and Love, Dancing with the Stars and The Gorgeless Gourmet’s Cookbook (in the works). Thanks, and sorry you have to click two links.

 

 

 

Awesome review from Rebeca Schiller!

Rebeca Schiller just wrote the most amazing review of Dogs and Love on her website, http://www.alvahsbooks.com. I feel like I know her personally because I’ve been ‘following’  her on Twitter, and have been subscribed to her blog. One of the more helpful writing blogs, Alvahsbooks has a tons of info and resources that are FREE. There’s no trick to charge a fee as soon as you think you’re going to learn something important. She reveals everything from Scrivener (thank you!) to the Spanish Civil War, and reviews tons of books along the way.

http://www.alvahsbooks.com/book-reviews/dogs-and-love-stories-of-fidelity-by-ferris-robinson/

 

NEXT BIG THING BLOG HOP!

Author Patricia Zick  http://pittsburghwriter.wordpress.com asked if I’d participate in the Next Big Thing Blog Hop! Since I’m launching my Next Big Thing ebook (Dogs and Love – Stories of Fidelity) next week, (in time for Valentine’s Day)  it seemed quite appropriate to participate in my first blog hop. This blog hop requires me to answer ten questions about my new work and then tag other authors to do the same. Not only does it give me the opportunity to promote my new book, but I have the opportunity to support and promote my fellow authors as well. It’s a winning combination.

Ten Questions about Dogs and Love:

Was Dogs and Love always the title of this book, even when it was a work in progress?

I played around with a few titles, but I knew I wanted dogs in the title. And love. My intentions are for the ebook to take the place of a greeting card for Valentine’s Day. It’s actually a little cheaper, and better for you than chocolate.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

I’m a fool for my dogs, and the older I get, the more important they become. As a recent empty-nester, I find myself doting on them more and more. And the pleasure they bring is immense.

What genre is your book?

Dogs and Love  is a collection of memoirs. Sixteen true stories about dogs. So non-fiction essays.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

The dogs would play themselves of course, although they are unruly and disobedient. I’m picturing Diane Keaton and Richard Gere. Or the dogs, me and Richard Gere. Sorry, honey.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Sixteen true stories about the meaning and importance of the relationships between dogs and their owners.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Dogs and Love is self-published.  However, it’s gone through several beta readers and a professional editor before publication.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I wrote the first story ten years ago, when my oldest son turned 18 and wanted a puppy for his birthday.  And finished the last one last summer, when the reality of the empty nest set in, and we took the dogs to the lake instead of our sons.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I was going to say “Tuesdays with Marley” but really Tuesdays with Morrie comes to mind as well as Marley and Me. The stories show a transition; some are funny, some are sad. But there is a range of emotion in the stories.

What inspired you to write this book?

My emotional relationships with my dogs mirror my relationships with my humans. And also these relationships with my little fur people are important to me. Exploring that bond between animals and people, and showing how special it is, just called out to me.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

My sister thought I was actually going to put braces on my dog. Not sure what that says about either one of us.

Author Links

Here are five talented authors I’m tagging as the blog hop continues. Make sure you stop by their blogs and get to know these amazing individuals.

M.O. Kenyan

http://www.amazon.com/Shades-Spring-1964-Daughter-ebook/dp/B008MU9J02Image
TWITTER https://twitter.com/MOK_Author
BLOG www.mokauthor.wordpress.com
FACEBOOK http://www.facebook.com/MokAuthor?ref=hl
GOODREADS http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6445835.M_O_Kenyan
Wix site http://t.co/0G7bLz2o
GOOGLE +https://plus.google.com/111414526931901077795/posts?hl=en&tab=XX
LINKED IN http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=108319665&trk=hb_tab_pro_top

MICHELLE TURNER

Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/MichelleTurnerAuthor

Blog: http://michelleturnerauthor.blogspot.com/

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6549315.Michelle_Turner

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Michelle-Turner/e/B00A1DZW40/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1360192871&sr=8-1

Pamela Wilson

Lynn Thompson

Website: http://www.lynnthompsonbooks.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/#!/lynnthompsonbooks

Blog: http://lynnthompsonbooks.blogspot.com/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/lynnthompson8

Goodreads:http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5625793.Lynn_Thompson

I’d like to thank the fabulous Patricia Zick, for tagging me and asking me to participate. Please take a moment to visit her sites.

Patricia Zick

Purchase link: http://www.amazon.com/Trails-in-the-Sand-ebook/dp/B00ANVD6DE
Website Website: www.pczick.com
Blog: www.pczick.wordpress.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/PC-Zick-Author/155644747792596
Twitter: https://twitter.com/PCZick

 

 

From Jason Matthew’s Blog – Make, Market and Sell ebooks for Free

Indie Author Dog Lover – Ferris Robinson

Posted in e-publishing, indie authors, publishing, self publishing, sell ebooks, writers, writing by Jason Matthews on February 1, 2013

A soft spot exists in my heart for dogs and the people who love them, especially those who learn life lessons from dogs. Enjoy the following interview and excerpt from author, Ferris Robinson, who recently released Dogs and Love–Stories of Fidelity.

What was your motivation?

I LOVE my dogs, and the older I am the more important they are to me. Especially with my boys growing up and leaving home, the dogs have taken on the roles of kids. They sure are easier! Dogs are so sensitive to humans, knowing innately when hearts are broken, or there is much to be celebrated. They love us humans better than we deserve. (I’m a real dog person.)

Who will love this book?

I think dog-lovers will love the book, but also maybe people who ‘don’t get dogs’ will have an ah-ha moment and realize what a void they have in their lives. That’s how I feel really – but know I shouldn’t impose that on everyone. But I try! Especially recently widowed or lonely people. I think people will see their own dogs in the stories, and remember how much they loved ‘so and so’ and how much that particular dog meant to them.

Already made me think of mine. You’re an accomplished author–why have you gone Indie rather than Traditional publishing?

I didn’t try to get an agent for my nonfiction b/c know what a long shot it is, with tons of waiting, rejection, etc. I’m trying to get one for my fiction but will probably self publish it as well if I don’t have any luck. I self-published a couple of cookbooks years ago that I’m actually re-releasing this spring. It’s fun to work it, and you are a huge help and support. Not sure I would have done it without your books and advice.

Thank you. How do you like being an Indie author? Pros and cons?

I like being hands on as an Indie author, writing the press releases, stalking people like you (haha) and working it! I actually published a book on log homes with a publisher but between you and me, not sure what they did to promote it. It makes sense to cut out the middle man in my case and so far, I’m having a ball. The people I’ve ‘met’ online and on your site are incredibly helpful and kind. They all seem to want to ‘pay it forward’ and help another indie out. Nothing cut-throat or competitive at all so far and I am so happy to be part of such a kind and giving community. 

Happy to have you with us. The following is from Ferris Robinson’s book, Dogs and Love – Stories of Fidelity.

Puppy Training – Who’s Training Who?

I am determined to house train my new puppy. I take him outside several times a day, my pocket heavy with treats. I say “Hurry up!” like my training manual suggests so that he will learn to relieve himself immediately upon hearing that phrase.
On a mission, I walk him down the path to my garden. So far he is in no hurry at all, despite my suggestions. Instead he sticks his nose in a clump of bee balm and sniffs. I pinch off a red fringed blossom and squeeze it in my hand, breathing in the sharp fragrance.
“Hurry up!” I coax as he meanders along the path, smelling the carmine-red spiraea and the tips of the lavender and the frothy yellow yarrow that spills over the path. Finally I give up and take a seat on the wooden bench my husband gave me a few years ago. It is the perfect accent piece for my garden, but to my knowledge, has never been used. I am glad to have a spot in the shade to wait. “Hurry up!” I say again as he wanders further down the path.
I have spent countless hours in this garden, but I am always working on a project. I weed constantly. I keep the bird feeder full and the hydrangeas watered and I spread pine straw on a regular basis. When I look at my backyard it is to see what needs replacing and what needs to be added.
This is the first time I have ever sat down and looked at my garden without criticism. I am still. Right beside me an oversized bumblebee trundles over a violet butterfly bush bloom. The bee clings, now upside down, to the conical blossom that has rolled over under the insect’s weight. Undeterred, he continues his mission, frantically eating pollen with what appears to be six hands.
There is a butterfly on another bloom, methodically opening and closing his brown and orange wings. I lean in closer and peer at his busy whirl of antennae as he vigorously sips up nectar. He seems completely unaware of me.
I am still. There is another bee so close to me I could touch him, but he looks different. His tiny body is a soft mossy green and he has a fan tail. Suddenly I realize it is not a bee at all, but a baby hummingbird. His whirring wings make no noise and I wonder if the motorized hum grown hummingbirds make comes with age. I don’t move as I watch him immerse most of his little torso in a single bloom of a vivid pink phlox. I listen hard to see if I can hear him. I can’t.
Instead, I hear the trill of a bird from the woods, then a repetitive chirp-chirp-chirp of another, and then a frenzied twitter of what must be a flock of the same bird. I cannot see any of these birds, but know I am hearing different ones.
A goldfinch glides in for a perfect landing on my full feeder. He is bright crayon yellow and pops out against the black sunflower seeds. I drink him in.
My puppy comes barreling down the path and jumps up on my lap, joyfully licking my chin. He has sniffed every flower and chased every bee and noticed every single thing in the garden. I glance at my watch and realize almost half an hour has passed and I have no idea if my mission was accomplished or not. Still, I do not tell him to hurry up.
I feel the vibration of the baby hummingbird just behind my ear, but I never hear a sound. The leaves rustle and there is a late summer breeze on my face and I think what a lovely spot I have in the world. I am thankful my little dog has not learned how to ‘hurry up’. I gaze out at the garden and think of all I would have missed if he had. I stroke my little dog’s ear and wonder if that was his mission all along.

I enjoyed this very much and know other readers will too. Read more about author Ferris Robinson at her blog.
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Anna, My Mother and Me

I close my eyes and listen to my mother’s voice. It’s as familiar to me as the sound of my own breath. She speaks softly, gently. But unwavering.

“She’s my girl,” my mother says quietly, yet adamantly. She’s stroking her dog’s head, and wondering if Anna hears her. The dog is 80% dehydrated after being stuck in a drainage pipe for 17 days, is necrotic, and on a ventilator. I have to turn my face away to breathe because of the stench from her rotting wounds. I, in turn, feebly pat my mother’s shoulder to offer comfort. I know the dog is going to die. They just brought her back to life on the operating table, and there is no way Anna can survive.

Anna is comatose, but she seems to recognize my mother’s kind, soothing voice. The dog’s nose twitches a little, and her heart rate changes on the monitor. Still, she just had a seizure so it could be another mild one.

“Even if she dies, she knows you were here,” I tell my mother. I brace her for the inevitable but my mother is constant in her vigil.

No matter that Anna is not what you’d call a “good” girl. Or an easy girl. She gives my parents a run for their money, and always has. Erratic, unpredictable and snappish, she was never the ideal companion. Terrified of people, she is still leery of humans, even family members if my parents aren’t around, and heads for cover under the bed during each and every social interaction at their home. When the animal first ran away, we couldn’t find a single picture of her. We realized at ever photo opportunity, the dog, as usual, had run for cover in terror, and hidden from the family members. Anna is rough around the edges, to put it mildly. The fact is, she’s more of a liability.

It doesn’t matter. She’s my mother’s. And so my mother has always just rolled her eyes when she cleans up Anna’s messes, and tries to placate her when the animal is a basket case over things she should be able to handle. Even when she was warned the feral animal they adopted would never make a good pet, my mother never wavered in her commitment to this stray dog. Ever.

And I thank my lucky stars that this is the woman who is my mother. I’m not that unlike Anna. I was difficult from day one. So terrified of strangers as a child I wouldn’t meet their eye. I hid under my bed when I was invited to play at someone’s house, a complete basket case over something I should be able to handle.

I was much more destructive than Anna ever thought about being. Sledding down the stairs on the lid to the toy chest and crashing though the original banister carved before the Civil War. Jumping so hard upstairs the ceiling caved in on the dining room table, just as it as being set for Japanese executives from Tennessee Coal Consolidated.

The worst was accidentally crashing the adjustable hospital table down on my mother’s stomach after her abdominal surgery. She knew I was so upset over causing her pain, and of course her main concern was me.

I was combative. Demanding. Snappish. And that was all before the teenaged years. I won’t go into detail over wrecked cars and damaged real estate.

I sit with my mother at the Mountain Hospital for Animals, and watch her petting Anna’s head and rubbing her ears,  speaking gently and calmly to her. She sat by the dog’s side hour after hour, until days later, Anna miraculously lifted her head. And turned toward my mother.

I get it. I get how Anna, bewildered and blind and more dead than alive, would somehow will herself to come out of the grips of death toward the sound of my mother’s voice.

“She’s my girl,” my mother says, over and over, in her soft, sure voice.

And that’s all we need, Anna and me.

Pitch Live Contest from Brenda Drake!

 

 

LOVE this blog – so helpful!!

The Writer’s Voice #175 out of 175 – whew!

I  am thrilled to get to be a part of this contest! Thanks to the addition of 25 more slots, and by the skin of my teeth, I made it!! YAY!

Query Plot Summary for The Near Fall:

If George Konvolinka doesn’t get a wrestling scholarship, he’ll end up bussing tables at Mr. Greek, his family’s restaurant, and worse, living with his parents. Which would be intolerable even if his mother didn’t dress like a teenaged skank, and his father didn’t throw chairs at the matches.

His sister Dorrie made it out of Waterboro unscathed (he thinks), and George is on track to do the same. But the new surfer-dude dishwasher that George recruited for the team, Clive Duval, turns out to be a former state champion, and wants George’s spot.

When his mother amps up her flirting with Clive, George becomes a head case on the mat. It doesn’t help that the coach is on Clive’s side, and that Erin Breedlove, the team manager, has breasts he can detect under her baggy sweatshirt.

At Thanksgiving, Dorrie comes home thirty pounds thinner and his mom is thrilled she’s a size zero, whatever the f*** that is. But when George hears his sister throwing up in their Jack and Jill bathroom, he knows something is wrong.

Her timing couldn’t be worse. Dorrie has a heart attack, caused by an eating disorder, right before the State Tournament, and George must decide between wrestling for his scholarship, and supporting her during Family Week at her rehab center.

First 250 Words

I have thirty seconds. My thighs are on fire, but I crouch low to the mat and circle him, moving in and out quickly. I shoot in and grab his leg, then explode up through his body. Again. And again.

Sweat streams into my eyes, but I couldn’t see him clearly even if he was really there. I watch him, my imaginary opponent, as Three Doors Down plays Kryptonite in the corner of the gym.  If I go crazy now will you still call me Superman?  I check the clock and go again. I’m on my two hundredth shot when I feel a jolt of electricity right behind my elbow. I lose my balance, and stumble in the middle of the take down. I look at my time; 199 take downs in twenty minutes. I failed.

She should have warned me. Made a noise. Stomped her fucking Eskimo boots. Something. She’s lucky I didn’t jab her in the eyeball.

“What?”

Erin Breedlove taps her ear, and I take my ear buds out. I don’t know what to say. I should have said something earlier, back last spring when it happened. Her sister OD’ed and woke up dead. Or didn’t wake up at all, rather. Heroin. I don’t bring it up.

“What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to let you know I’m here. Didn’t want to freak you out if you saw me in the office.” She jerks her head toward the little glassed-in room in the corner of the gym.

The Masters: A Father’s Day Show

 

My son came home from college late Friday night after driving through Atlanta during rush hour, on Good Friday. I begged him not to make the five hour drive for only one day.

“You’ll be home in a month! It’s too long a drive for only one day!” I said.

My husband, the practical one, the one who weighs the pros and cons of every decision, the one who decides with his head, not his heart, said, “If he wants to come home, let him come home.”

It was ridiculous. The price of gas is ridiculous.Atlantatraffic is ridiculous. But he arrived safe and sound at 11:00 pm, and gave us a quick hug before we immediately went to bed. He slept until noon on Saturday.

I glowered at my husband as I made lunch on Saturday. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “We’ve seen him for ten minutes and he has to leave tomorrow!”

When my son finally sauntered downstairs in time for lunch, the two of them talked about the Masters over turkey sandwiches. About what a shame it was Tiger seemed to be falling apart. How good Phil looks. How well Freddy is doing.  How impressed they were with Rory after Friday’s round.

My husband updated him on what had happened on Thursday and Friday, about who had birdied and who had choked.

My son said he heard the azaleas all died, and my husband to him that they weren’t dead, but just bloomed early this year.

“The practice rounds are the best. The players are relaxed and everything’s low key. I saw Seve Ballesteros about 25 years ago on the 16^th tee box. Somebody in the crowd yelled for him to ‘hit one on the pond and skip it onto the green’. He hit one about a foot shy of the bank and it sank. He hit the next one within a foot of the first one, but it still sank. The third one he hit skipped right up onto the green and the crowd went wild. I mean wild,” my husband said. “You should go if you ever get the chance.”

The phone rang and my husband talked to his father about Freddy and Tiger and Phil. My son piped up about Rory.

They were in their seats by 3:00

My son asked why Phil putted with one foot far in front of the other and my husband explained that he didn’t want to put his cleat marks in the other guy’s line. “It’s a courtesy,” he told him.

My son listened to his father’s every word.

They talked about Rae’s Creek, the stream that runs through the whole course. And the Eisenhower Tree, the pine that the President hit so many times he proposed it be cut down.

They are ready for the final round, Sunday’s back nine. Anticipating Amen Corner.

I walk in and out of the house. They are riveted to the TV. They both cry out simultaneously as a club cracks the ball sharply. I stop and watch for a minute. The British voices on the television are muted, apprehensively analyzing the little pitted, white ball soaring over the manicured greens. The crowd has their own commentary. Not quite as muted.

Be right! Phil cries out.

My son asks what ‘Be right’ means. And my husband explains that the golfer ‘pured’ it, and wants his club to be the right one.

I stay for the commercial. There is an enormous old radio and I hear the familiar, hushed voices. There are shots of the azaleas, the years they didn’t ‘die’, and wide angled shots of the lush greens, and the still spectators. A golf analyst says people inAugustapause in April and gather across generations. Across eras, even.

“Who is watching with you?” the announcer asks. “Maybe a son. Maybe a father.” He mentions the person you’d give anything to be watching with, one more time.

The ball lands softly on the green, inches from the hole. And the two of them, my little boy and his father, whoop exuberantly in perfect unison.

My Sordid Affair with NetFlix

Just a hint of conversation would have made a difference. One sentence even, warning me that our relationship was about to change. Even those dreaded words, we need to talk, would have given me a heads up. But I never saw it coming.

We’d been so happy for so long! I felt listened to. Understood. Not judged at all for my preference to cheesy movies. I thought our relationship was perfect, actually.

I’m not proud of the way it started. It was dark. I was lonely. My husband was out of town, and I succumbed. Yes, I watched a romantic comedy lovingly chosen just for me by a Mr. Net Flix. There was no espionage, no car chases, no murders committed by twenty-year-olds in bikinis. I didn’t have to rewind to figure out what was going on. It was obvious that J. Lo was going to end up with Ben Affleck even though he was engaged to her client, so I relaxed and enjoyed myself.

I knew immediately after that one sordid episode I was goners. He nailed it! Even though we’d only been together one time, this Nettie, as I lovingly began to refer to him, not only knew me like no other, but actually encouraged me to be myself. He dropped everything and brought me Tortilla Soup andSabah. Instantly.

At first I was reluctant to try some of the things he suggested. The handful of dramas and foreign films I’d done before had left me dissatisfied. But he gently plied me with things I’d always wondered about, nudging me with a subtle love notes: new suggestions for Ferris. Who was I to resist that?

As our relationship deepened, I found myself looking forward to things I never would have chosen on my own. Lars and the Real Girl. City Island. Winter’s Bone. There was no doubt Nettie was adding a new dimension to me. I was growing!

It was only after I’d fallen head-over-heels in love with Mr. Flix that I realized all my other relationships (the ones I’d been perfectly satisfied with before) were lacking. They all took too much effort on my part, and I was tired of the constant give and take. These others wanted chips and dip while watching some buxom spy being stalked though Mother Russia, or a two-way conversation.

Not so with this guy. No sir. It was all about me, me, me.  What do youlike? How much do youlike it? Look what I have for you tonight!

It was like that every minute. All Nettie wanted to do was to find out more about me, and please me! And all that was required of me was to touch a particular button every now and then. But only if I felt like it.

I talked about my new relationship openly. I began every conversation with a recap of my previous evening with Nettie. My sister quickly asked me to arrange an introduction. Surprisingly enough, my parents were not only supportive of this relationship, but actually wanted to meet this character themselves. I told them it was too complicated (actually they can’t turn on the computer).

While I was in the throes of this love affair, I didn’t realize how controlling Nettie could be. I guess I mistook it for flattery, but if I hovered my mouse over a movie he didn’t approve of, he let me know immediately. Ferris wouldn’t like this, he’d whisper, taking pains to spell my unusual name correctly. I trusted him implicitly for years, not daring to watch anything he didn’t bring to me personally.

My husband was intrigued at first, and I was shocked at this new side of him. He’d always been so conservative! But soon he was threatened by Nettie, and began to throw his weight around.

“Order The Goodbye Girl,” he demanded. “You’ll love it.”

My husband didn’t give me a specific score, so I had no idea if he meant a 3.2 or 4.9 when he said I’d like it.  Until Nettie, I’d never realized how inadequate my husband was.

I hovered my mouse over Marsha Mason, humoring him. We’ve been married twenty-five years. I owed him that at least.

Nettie seemed to be equally threatened. “2.3!” He doesn’t even know you! Nettie’s words suddenly seemed shrill, or was it my imagination?

I guess the timing was right. My relationship with Mr. Flix had gotten out of hand.

Apparently my precious Nettie felt the same way. Maybe he was tired of our relationship being so one-sided, of always being the one calculating what I wanted based on hints I’d given, and constantly trying to please me. He never brought me just one thing, always at least eight for me to consider. I can see how this might be exhausting, but he should have just said so!

I didn’t even get a ‘Dear John’ letter. Not a word of explanation, much less an adult conversation about what was bugging him. About what he wanted to change. Even my husband knows better than this!

Instead I got a bill. Actually it was a charge already on my credit card. (I know, I was actually paying him for services rendered, but he made me feel so, so understood!)

I tried to contact Nettie. I wanted to force him to talk. I wanted to tell my side of the story, to wail and cling and gnash my teeth.  We’d been together for so long!

But my email came back unread, and there was no phone number at all. The absolute nerve!

My husband said it was for the best. I had been giving him overt hints about watching Legally Blonde, but he didn’t even notice. He just looked up from Live and Let Die and asked if I would mind making some dip.

I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I still miss my perfect little Nettie.