Until I Met You

            Jessica starred transfixed as she stared at the photograph. Although she didn’t need to, Jessica glanced at the caption below, shaking her head in disbelief, “J.T. and me on the Fourth of July.” From the appearance of the picture, Tyler knew Grant for years. Propping her elbows on the desk, Jessica held her head in her hands. The man she’d grown to love was the man she’d been looking for.  She had thought she could trust him, and all this time he’d been lying to her. Why did he lie? What did he plan to gain by pretending to be someone else? Tyler was just like all the other men in her life.

            A small sob sounded in her throat. Jessie thought he was the one man she could trust. She should have known better. The men in her life were never trustworthy. Some things never change.

            She’d heard him say goodnight to Wyatt and close his bedroom door.

            “Tyler.” Her voice sounded more like a plea than merely calling his name.

            When he walked into the office her eyes widened beseeching him. “Thanks, J. T.”

            He glanced at the laptop and nodded. “Yes, that’s me.” His voice sounded heavy with regret. No he sounded relieved.

            Tyler or J. T. or whoever he was stopped two feet from her side. Standing Jessica faced him.

            “Jessica?” He reached a hand out to her. When she ignored his gesture he lowered his hand.

            “Please let me explain.” Again he extended his hand to her.

            She tried not to hear the anguish in Tyler’s voice. “Why?”

            “Let’s sit down.” He placed his hand on her elbow.

            Not wanting to feel the warmth of his touch or his kindness, Jessica jerked her arm away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

            He gave her a cut nod then followed her to the living room. She sat on the couch, her back stiff and straight. Jessica guarded her emotions. Tyler sat beside her, turning to face her.

            “My life turned around when Grant’s family took me in as a foster child. For the first time, I found a family who loved me. I was a little guy who was always picked on and Grant watched over me.”

            “I know, but that doesn’t explain why you lied to me.” Jessica worked her hands in her lap.

            “I didn’t find out Grant died until after I’d completed my special ops. I received an email from his little sister, another child the Markham’s took in. She explained what happened and that you were taking care of Wyatt. I promised Grant I’d watch other Wyatt if anything happened to him. When I make a promise, I keep it no matter what. When I returned home, I needed to find out who was caring for his child.

            “In the service, I learned to know your opponent before you strategize. Once I got to know you I saw how good you were with Wyatt. It was evident he loves you. I fell in love with you too.”

            Jessica flinched when he referred to her as his opposition. “So you got to know me yet you still didn’t have the decency to tell me who you are. You let me believe you were Tyler Brown.” She swallowed quickly before the emotions tightened her throat. “We made love and you still didn’t bother to explain.”

            “I tried to tell you several times. My name is Justin Tyler Reynolds. I was named after my wonderful father.” Heaving a sigh, Tyler leaned forward and rested his arms on his legs. “He’d come home drunk and beat up my mom. One night he beat her so bad she died before she got to the hospital. I was twelve at the time and swore I’d never used his name again. From then on I went by J. T.”

            His voice was unusually monotone and devoid of all feeling. This wasn’t the fun loving man she knew. Jessica wanted to reach out and comfort him, but the thought of his deceit stopped her.

Rogue's Angels Present: A Place of Learning by Catherine DePino

Please welcome Catherine DePIno author of A Place of Learning.

Catherine will give a way a copy of A Place of Learning

Title: A Place of Learning

         A Teacher's Story

ISBN: 978-1-62420-320-6

Author: Catherine DePino

Genre: Fictitious Memoir

Excerpt Heat Level: 1

Book Heat Level: 1

Buy at: Rogue Phoenix Press, Amazon, Barnes and Noble

REVIEW:

A Place of Learning: A Teacher’s Story

By Catherin DePino

Five Stars

Review by Jeffrey Ross

Nothing I write in this brief review can do justice to this quality work. On one level, A Teacher’s Story is DePino’s loving memoir about 31 years of teaching at different high schools. It is also a review of cultural and pedagogic trends in our society since the late 1960’s. The title is most important—the phrase “a place of learning” is used in many chapters in this book—of course, the easy explanation is that a school is a place of learning. But the text itself is a learning experience—you will learn about the compelling struggles of students, teachers, parents, and staff. You will learn that public schools are a daily work place for teachers-- but also a place of hope for inner city kids who need a break, a refuge, from sometimes very tough family lives. I loved the school restroom conversations among teachers (do you suppose real strategic planning and-team building takes place in the lounge and restrooms?) and the snippets of their personal- life dilemmas. The appendix with school recipes is wonderful. But I think my favorite parts were the sections describing   former students who returned to their schools to check in and share their successes since moving on into adulthood.  Teachers are so important in their students’ lives. In many ways, teachers are the unrecognized front-line guardians of our society’s future—not just in academics, but in character development as well. This should be required reading in teacher preparation classes. It is easy to read, fair, and heartwarming.

TAGLINE

This tell-all book about teaching relates triumphant stories of kids achieving against all odds and staff members who refuse to give up on their students.

BLURB

Imagine what it would be like if you could see everything that goes on during one teacher’s day. A Place of Learning: A Teacher's Story, a fictionalized account based on my experiences in three city high schools, spans three decades. Those who have read the book tell me the anecdotes are outrageous, poignant, funny, and sad all at the same time. Best of all, the book comes off as wild and quirky. Events similar to those in my story continue to play out every day in urban classrooms across the nation. The players are different, but the events remain the same: violence, teenage pregnancy, drug addiction, and rampant academic failure due to lack of school funding, pervasive poverty, and dysfunctional families.

EXCERPT

There's a picture on my wall, faded now, of my students marching down the aisle of our city's largest university's auditorium where our local high schools stage their graduations. Parents, grandparents, and children wave lollipop colored balloons in the bleachers. Sophomores and juniors jump up and shout out names of seniors as they enter the massive hall in their blue and gold robes. "Sheree, Willie, Jonette..."

The graduates march slowly down the aisle, right foot first, then the left foot meeting the right, then the left again, like a quaint wedding march. Mendelssohn isn't playing. Instead, it's the Sounds of Blackness singing "Optimistic."

Dr. Leeds strides up to the podium. He doesn't shout out his usual, "Looking good, feeling good, and smelling good." Instead, he tells the graduates how he knows many of them are the first in their families to earn a high school diploma and that the act of their coming to school each day in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, such as teen parenthood, poverty, violence, and drug addiction, is an act of profound courage on their part.

"So, stand up now and applaud yourselves." He is openly crying and gesturing with open arms to the audience. "Applaud each other."

The crowd waves banners and balloons in a flurry of crayon colors. Restless babies squirm in their mothers' arms and cry out for it to be over. Weary grandparents fan themselves. Dr. Leeds calls the graduates up one by one. He tries to say something personal to each one as he hands them their diplomas.

"Anna, you come back and see me when you finish community college. Maybe we'll have a job for you here."

"Demetrius, if I ever need a lawyer, I'll be sure and look you up." He smiles and whispers. "First, you need to go get a new haircut, and get rid of those ugly plaid shirts."

Demetrius smiles widely. He is proud to be valedictorian.

Next Dr. Leeds moves toward Samuel, who beat up Mr. Parks, the security guard. He speaks in a low voice so the audience can barely hear. "Personally, I don't believe you deserve to graduate, but I'm sending you off anyway. Got no choice. Others need to take your place, but if I see you anywhere near this building, I'll take care of you myself. You hear?"

Dr. Leeds ambles back to his seat, his red velvet-stole draped over his black doctoral robes. Miss Janel, the choir director, approaches the dais. Mothers rub their babies' backs to keep them from crying. Sisters and brothers stop waving their balloons. Relatives stop calling out names of their graduates. Their voices trail off. "Terrelle, Rosita, Malik..."

Miss Janel's lone alto voice resonates through the hall. "When you walk through the storm, hold your head up high. And don't be afraid of the dark..."

Everyone stands. We join hands and sing along with her. Dr. Leeds gives the signal, and the graduates begin to stride slowly down the center aisle.

No pomp and circumstance. No hoots and hollers, merely the hushed bustle of shoes brushing the glossy hardwood floors and voices in synchrony singing "You'll Never Walk Alone.".

Purple and gold robes blur into sun and sky as the class of '93 marches out onto the city sidewalk and into the world.

AUTHOR BIO:

Catherine DePino, Ed.D, has published 15 books about bullying, grammar/writing, spirituality, and women’s issues. Her background includes a BS in English and Spanish education, a master’s in English education, and a doctorate in Curriculum Theory and Development and Educational Administration from Temple University. The author worked for many years as a teacher, department head, and disciplinarian in the Philadelphia School District. After this, she worked at Temple as an adjunct assistant professor and student teaching supervisor. Catherine has also written articles for national magazines, including The Christian Science Monitor and The Writer. Her self-help book, Fire Up Your Life in Retirement: 101 Ways for Women to Reinvent Themselves, recently appeared on the market. Cool Things to Do If a Bully's Bugging You, debuted in 2016. Visit her website and contact her at www.catherinedepino.com.

ROGUE'S ANGELS PRESENT: THE LAST GIG BY Norman Green

Please welcome Norman Green author of the Last Gig.

Norman will be awarding a digital copy of The Last Gig to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.

The Last Gig

by Norman Green

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GENRE: Mystery (detective)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BLURB:

A teenage runaway from the Brownsville projects, Alessandra Martillo lived with an indifferent aunt who had taken her in when her mother killed herself, and later, after more than a year on the streets, a caring uncle found her, took her in, and showed her she had a chance. That was many years ago, and now Alessandra’s all grown up, working for a sleazy P.I., repossessing cars, and trolling for waitstaff on the take. The cases aren’t glamorous, or interesting, but the work pays the bills. And she’s good at it---if there’s one thing she’s learned since leaving the streets, it’s how to take care of herself around life’s shadier elements.   

When an Irish mobster named Daniel “Mickey” Caughlan thinks someone on the inside of his shipping operation is trying to set him up for a fall, it’s Al he wants on the job. She’s to find the traitor and report back. But just a little digging shows it’s more complicated than a simple turncoat inside the family; Al’s barely started on the case when she runs into a few tough guys trying to warn her away. Fools. As if a little confrontation wouldn’t make her even more determined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT:

The things a girl’s gotta do to turn a buck . . .

Alessandra Martillo leaned across the pool table and lined up her shot. Black hair fell forward across her face and hung down over one eye. She knew Marty Stiles, the fat dude at the bar, was staring at the gap in her V-neck sweater, but she also knew that he couldn’t help himself. Her single unobscured eye flicked once in his direction, then back down at the table as she struck the cue ball softly. It rolled half the length of the table, knocked the last striped ball into a corner pocket, then caromed off the end bumper and rolled to a stop about a foot and a half behind the eight ball. She straightened back up, ignored Marty, tapped her stick on the other corner pocket. Her opponent, relegated to observer status since four shots after the break, stepped forward and laid a folded twenty on the table. “Forget it,” he said. “You’re out of my league.”

She shook her hair back out of her face and winked at him. “If that’s the way you feel about it, baby.” The guy walked off shaking his head.

She walked around the table and sank the rest of the balls.

Now that her game was over, she hammered them home one by one, almost violently. No one had yet come forward with the price of the next game. Stiles didn’t reach into his pocket, either. Marty never played anything, anywhere, unless he had an edge. Besides, when Al was dressed for the club, the guy could never think straight; all he could do was waste his time admiring her ass.

She knew she was no cover girl, but she was tall, dark, lean, fine enough in her own way. If you wanted a Barbie doll, she wasn’t for you, and she was comfortable with that. She was more like the kind of broad who could pitch a shutout against your softball team, hit one out herself, then drink you under the table after the game. There were certain guys who went crazy for that, and Marty Stiles was one of them. She knew it: when she stared at him she could turn his guts to water. Every time she wore a pair of low- rise jeans his tongue would hang out so far you could put a knot in it and call it a tie. He’d had it bad for her for a while. He’d given her his best shot: laid off the sauce, dropped about thirty pounds, got into some new clothes, sprang for a fifty- dollar haircut . . . But when he made his move, she laughed at him.

Not a chance, she told him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

AUTHOR Bio and Links:

Norman Green is the author of six crime novels, most recently Sick Like That. Born in Massachusetts, he now lives in New Jersey with his wife.

www.normgreenwriter.com

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GIVEAWAY INFORMATION and RAFFLECOPTER CODE

Norman will be awarding a digital copy of The Last Gig to 3 randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.

http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/28e4345f2298

EDITING BY ANGELS

Editing by Angels

Rogue’s Angels would like to help make the publishing process a little bit easier. We offer editing, proofreading, and covers at a reasonable price. 

Rogues Angels have years of editing experience, starting in the 90’s. Please check out resumes at the Rogue’s Angels blog: http://roguesangels.blogspot.com

Editing plus proofreading rates are:

$150 for under 50K words

$250 for 50K to 100K words

$350 for over 100K words.

Covers price varies. Once a cover is used it will not be used again. Check out pre-made covers at:

http://www.designsbymsg.com/SpreeSpecials.html and http://www.designsbymsg.com/FastTrackForSale.html

For more information contact Christine Young ~ achristay@aol.com

RECENT COVERS:

Write as if you are blind.

Hopefully, most of you are already using this technique, but if you aren't, try it. We writers have a tendency to get locked into our patterns when creating a new world. Whether we write historical or Science Fiction, we know what is expected and face standards set unrealistically high.

I usually keep my dictionary and thesaurus close to my desk along with numerous other word research-type books. But if I were to write as if I could not see the color of a tree or the sky, how would I describe a tree or the sky?

Go outside and find a spot to sit. Close your eyes and listen, really listen, to what is happening around you. Smell the air and earth. Has is rained recently? What fragrance do you detect first? Has the neighbor's dog been visiting your yard, or are the roses of the lady-on-the-corner's house enticing you to come visit?

Is the air heavy with humidity making you feel as though you are swimming through the atmosphere? My point is take the time to break out of the ruts you've set for yourself. Sit and plug your ears to experience the world as though deaf. We are blessed with so many senses, yet, we rely on only one or two.

I've been fortunate that when I write, it runs as a movie in my mind. Many of my readers tell me they feel the same way. For that, I'm VERY grateful.

Sable Angel

How much is too much?

I was always taught to give back. Nothing is more rewarding than helping another find what they are looking for. But I have a question to all of you. How much is too much? When does offering a helping hand become unpaid, unappreciated labor?

I've edited authors whose fundamental English skills were, basically, non-existent. This is not an issue because when they've been assigned to me, I'm aware I'll be receiving royalties agreed upon by the author, publisher and myself. A couple have gone on to become best sellers. Sometimes the story overcomes the details of grammar.

I understand the head scratching perplexity of the English language. You're going along just great until someone throws an 'exception' in your path. Terrific. I'll have to break out pen and paper to write this down because by the time I'm finished, the rule will change. I get it.

It's because of the frustrating, conglomerated tendency of the language we use, I offer assistance to others. I also hope my efforts will allow them to sail through some of the difficulties I encountered when I started as a new author; pass on the head banging that is beginning in an increasingly convoluted publishing landscape.

No, I don't expect remuneration, but I do hope those I help don't ASSUME my assistance is to go without any acknowledgement. A note at the beginning of a book in the dedication thanking me takes a little bit of time. A polite request worded as such will provide a better response than --

"If you can, like, check out my work on the website a couple times a week and correct it for me, I'd appreciate that."

Maybe it's the language issue again, but some form of recognition that what is being offered is a gift and not a requirement of being a published author would be welcomed. Do I ask too much?

Sable Angel

It's Check In and Share Day

It's Check In Day.

Let's Make Fireworks

Time to pay the piper! How did you do? How much did you write? Did words explode on your WIP?

This is the Rogue's Angels weekly check-in. Every Thursday we encourage the Angels and visitors to let us know how their writing is going.

How well are you doing?

Had problems this week? That's ok. Just sit down this coming week and write. Whatever you do, don't let difficulties from the week before get in your way this week.

Every word is one word closer to the finished product.

Since the first of May I've worked very little on this story. While I'm trying to get back into the game, I've had to take on additional editing duties for RPP.  I wrote about 500 words this week. I've reached a place where I stumped. Need to do some brainstorming and think about my book.

How was your week?