Sunday, April 19, 2015
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
End All To Be All Book Trailer Has Been Uploaded To YouTube
My website is now live and you can check it out and let me know what you think. I'd appreciate hearing some feedback . . . or not if it doesn't interest you.
www.onyzproductions.com
Friday, January 2, 2015
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Feliz Navidad: Joyeux Noël : Joyeux Noël : Joyeux Noël : 聖誕快樂 :Joyeux Noël : 메리 크리스마스 : Linksmų Kalėdų : Sarbatori fericite : Весели Коледни празници : God Jul : Счастливого Рождества : स य़९समस : รื่นเริงวันคริสต์มาส : Riang Gembira Krismas : Joyeux Noël : Frohe Weihnachten : Na Vianoce : Buon Natale : Joyeux Noël : Giáng sinh vui vẻ : Καλά Χριστούγεννα : Nafay Ciida Kristmaska : メリークリスマス : Veselé vánoce : З Різдвом Христовим
For those I missed in language, please forgive me.
I extend a heartfelt wish for a Merry Christmas to ALL my brothers & sisters around the world for peace, love, & joy!
Monday, December 15, 2014
EXCERPTS for BTRTG and EATBA
BTRTG - BORN TO RETURN THE GIFT
That morning when she made her fast exit, she purchased a newspaper to check out jobs and apartments. Even though she had gone to see the room in East Oakland the night before, she couldn’t commit, pondering if that was really the best she could do. An advertisement for a big job fair scheduled in San Jose caught her eye. Maybe it was time to leave Oakland – she thought. She gassed up and before hitting the freeway, stopped at the storage facility to pick out a suit and a pair of shoes meant to impress. Planning to avoid traffic, she figured since she did not have a place to stay yet she could drive down and already be there to get to the fair first thing in the morning.
Like any best-laid plan, it backfired. The drive took longer due to pre-rush traffic she had not anticipated. KBLX kept her company and eased the earlier event at ‘We Care Best’ out of her mind as she sang to the music to relieve her stress. She located the address where the fair was being promoted, and from there looked for a motel. On a strip of motels nearby, she observed too many seemingly idle people loitering in close proximity. Intent on avoiding being caught up around drug/prostitution activities; she asked to see rooms before registering. Each time the proprietor studied her license and then treated her suspiciously for making such a request. And each time her inspection revealed numerous peepholes in walls, loose plaster, funky air, and burn stains everywhere so she refused to commit to being on their premises after dark.
After inspecting the third motel, she headed back in the direction she had come from. While sitting at a light she noticed a police cruiser speeding down the other side of the boulevard. She was even more alert when it crossed the meridian and stopped behind her. When the light turned green she proceeded forward and then immediately responded to the cruiser’s sudden flashing lights by pulling over, thinking they wanted her out of the way. To her amazement, the cruiser pulled over behind her and two officers jumped out of the vehicle brandishing their weapons as they approached both sides of her car with their guns drawn.
“Turn off the ignition and get out of the vehicle,” the officer demanded, as he shoved his gun in her face.
She turned the car off and intuitively anticipating a reaction, the officer warned, “Don’t say a word and get out of the vehicle with your hands up. NOW!”
Nyima complied, and with her hands in the air, the officer further instructed her to move to the rear of the vehicle as both officers put their guns back in their holsters, and the officer on the passenger side began searching her car.
“Let me see your license and registration,” the officer beside her demanded.
“The registration is in the flap on the visor,” she responded, as she retrieved her license from her purse. Knowing she was legal and hadn’t committed a moving violation, she asked, “Officer what’s going on,” as she handed him her license,
“Miss, I said no talking.”
Sensing that the situation could easily escalate into something serious, she kept her cool. Some young boys stopped and stood nearby watching with excitement. When the officer completed his search of her vehicle, he joined them and they took turns interrogating her.
“Is this you in this photograph?”
“When is your birthday?
“What are you doing in San Jose?”
“Why did you cut your hair?”
And so many more inane questions made her head spin as she wondered what they were hoping to discover with their probing.
They detained her for twenty or so minutes longer, until she let a lie slip through her lips about having a brother with the State Police. When the officer gave her back her license and registration, he told her she was free to move on and simultaneously the young witnesses trudged up the road kicking dirt.
“Why was I stopped,” she boldly asked.
“Your lamp over your license plate isn’t working.”
There was no reason for it to be on because it was not even near dusk, but she was careful not to appear argumentative. “And why was my car searched?”
“It’s our prerogative. It’s legally called probable cause.”
Overtaken by rage as she walked to her car, she turned the key and flicked the lights before walking back to the rear of her vehicle. The lamp over her license was lit up, along with her other lights. Sitting in their cruiser, she observed the officers laughing hilariously as she glared back at them. Suddenly nervous about her own pugnaciousness, she got in her car and feigned talking on an exhausted cell phone as they drove off.
Nyima was shaking as she pulled into traffic going the opposite direction, and kept driving until she reached Santa Clara. Dusk was settling in as she stopped at another motel. The East Indian proprietors did not mind escorting her to a room next to the office; and in her relief, Nyima shared her ordeal as she filled out a registration card. Genuinely concerned, they suggested she park her car behind theirs in the attached carport instead of leaving it in the open lot, which she gladly did.
It was the first time she had been in a bed in months and she slept peacefully and undisturbed, well past check-out time. That morning, deciding that her ordeal was an omen, instead of attending the job fair she headed back to Oakland.
EATBA - END ALL TO BE ALL
Before the sun could rise a storm of chaos made the peace that prevailed hours ago a distant memory. Voices boomed and rumbled, and feet and fists stomped and punched as bodies were thrown against bed rails that echoed its disruption against the walls. Rolling off his bunk like a soldier awakened in the trenches by surprise fire, Turk instinctively grabbed a bat and ran upstairs in leaps and bounds, pushing his way through the witnesses cramming to get a closer view while betting on the outcome. All eyes reverted to Turk as he rushed into the room brandishing the bat as if it were a sword. Cook rushed in right behind him with another, poised as if ready to slug somebody’s head off for a homer out of a park. The violence stalled as Michael emerged into the room seconds later to witness Victor, a new face in the house, dangling in the air. He was kicking furiously as Jamal exercised a one hand chokehold around his neck. Gerard and Melvin had Charles pinned down in a corner.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Turk’s demand to know what started the chaos evoked a tirade of voices.
As even more shouting ensued, Cook smashed his bat against an iron bed rail to command silence.
“Dammit, you hoodlums better get in check before I slam this here bat upside a head or two,” he yelled.
“Jamal, let that asshole down before you choke him to death, but. get him down to the yard now,” Turk ordered.
On the other side of the room, Charles threw his arms up in the air to let Gerard and Melvin know he was cooperating. He led the way out of the room while Victor continued his attempt to scramble out of Jamal’s grip. Jamal effortlessly hauled him out the door, down the steps, and through the dining room and kitchen. Court was about to be in session and everyone was ready to bear witness, hoping to financially benefit from the outcome.
As soon as Jamal got Victor outside and let him loose Charles charged him, getting in a few good punches before Michael and Turk broke them up. Victor managed to slip out of Michael’s grip and ran for the stairs and Gerard ran after him. He caught him and they tumbled to the ground. Victor managed to roll over and knee Gerard in the stomach before Gerard grabbed him by his neck and pummeled a few good rights into his face. Everyone was quick to form a circle around them, still betting on who would prevail. Jamal took his time pushing through them, but when he did, he pushed Gerard off of Victor and then snatched Victor up off the ground like a piece of light weight trash. Turk maintained a firm grip on Charles’ arm, even though Charles made no attempt to get away.
“I caught that motherf~kin’ crack head in my shit,” Charles shouted at the top of his lungs, as Jamal approached holding Victor up so his feet barely touched the ground.
“You a goddamn lie! That mothaf~ka trippin’,” Victor yelled, in his own defense.
“He got my cig’retts,” Charles accused.
“Do not,” Victor shouted.
“Jamal search him,” Turk instructed.
Victor went wild but Jamal was not intimidated in the least by his paroxysmal shenanigans. Jamal slammed him on the ground and put a knee in his chest to hold him down as he checked his pockets. When he pulled a pant leg up, it exposed bulges in Victor’s sock. Turk slackened his grip and Charles was quick to stoop to recover the unopened packs of cigarettes.
“Them mine,” Victor protested, as Jamal took his knee out of his chest and pulled Victor up with him as he stood. Victor kept yelling that the cigarettes were his while frantically trying to get loose from Jamal’s grip.
“You ain’t had shit coming in. Been bumming since you got here punk,” Gerard spat out in Charles’ defense.
“He musta faked sleep whilst I checked my shit after lights out. When I come out the bathroom I found him messin’ in my crate.” Charles explained.
“Jamal go upstairs and get Victor’s crate,” Turk ordered.
By then, all the occupants of the house were outside and as Jamal was coming back down the steps, Antoine came rushing into the yard, the belt to his robe flapping in the breeze. The front of his tee shirt did little to disguise the imprint of protection he had stuck in the inside of his pajama pants in case the situation got out of hand.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning and you assholes waking up the whole damn neighborhood. Give me that shit,” Antoine demanded as he reached out for the crate. “Victor I warned you. I told you to walk a thin line. Man what the f~k is wrong with you? I’m trying to help your stupid ass and within two days you doing crazy shit.” He dumped the contents of the crate on the ground and told Victor, “You’re out of here, now get!”
“Man you know I ain’t got no place to go,” Victor whimpered.
“I told you what the deal was when I met up with you and my cousin at your momma’s. I love my cousin, but I can’t have your trifling ass interfering with my business. Get your ass out of here before you get hurt.”
Everyone watched as Victor skulked out the yard leaving his soap, deodorant and washcloth in the dirt. His new Good Will suit of clothes still hung in the closet.
“I’m gonna get you mothaf~kers! All ya’ll gonna be sorry,” Victor yelled as he disappeared out of view.
“Alright everybody, show’s over. Go on about your business. Jamal throw this shit in the trash,” Antoine said, kicking the reminder of Victor’s presence. A used needle along with two unused ones fell out of the folded wash cloth.
“I’ll be damned,” Antoine remarked, as he stooped to pick them up with the cloth. “You see here. That dumb motherf~ker had no intention of getting clean. I knew he was going to be trouble. I keep trying to tell my cousin her man is a lost cause, but she just won’t listen. I’m going to keep this so I can show her how he blew this opportunity to get clean,” he said, as he rewrapped the used needle in the cloth.
Turk wasn’t the only one to notice when Antoine slipped the unused needles into his pocket. Michael didn’t comprehend why he’d seen Antoine’s actions as if in slow motion, and was struck by the disapproval etched on Cook’s face before he walked away. Restraining his curiosity, he refrained from asking the question on the tip of his tongue as Antoine beckoned him and Turk to walk with him. They huddled in a far corner out of hearing range of those who still lingered in the yard.
That morning when she made her fast exit, she purchased a newspaper to check out jobs and apartments. Even though she had gone to see the room in East Oakland the night before, she couldn’t commit, pondering if that was really the best she could do. An advertisement for a big job fair scheduled in San Jose caught her eye. Maybe it was time to leave Oakland – she thought. She gassed up and before hitting the freeway, stopped at the storage facility to pick out a suit and a pair of shoes meant to impress. Planning to avoid traffic, she figured since she did not have a place to stay yet she could drive down and already be there to get to the fair first thing in the morning.
Like any best-laid plan, it backfired. The drive took longer due to pre-rush traffic she had not anticipated. KBLX kept her company and eased the earlier event at ‘We Care Best’ out of her mind as she sang to the music to relieve her stress. She located the address where the fair was being promoted, and from there looked for a motel. On a strip of motels nearby, she observed too many seemingly idle people loitering in close proximity. Intent on avoiding being caught up around drug/prostitution activities; she asked to see rooms before registering. Each time the proprietor studied her license and then treated her suspiciously for making such a request. And each time her inspection revealed numerous peepholes in walls, loose plaster, funky air, and burn stains everywhere so she refused to commit to being on their premises after dark.
After inspecting the third motel, she headed back in the direction she had come from. While sitting at a light she noticed a police cruiser speeding down the other side of the boulevard. She was even more alert when it crossed the meridian and stopped behind her. When the light turned green she proceeded forward and then immediately responded to the cruiser’s sudden flashing lights by pulling over, thinking they wanted her out of the way. To her amazement, the cruiser pulled over behind her and two officers jumped out of the vehicle brandishing their weapons as they approached both sides of her car with their guns drawn.
“Turn off the ignition and get out of the vehicle,” the officer demanded, as he shoved his gun in her face.
She turned the car off and intuitively anticipating a reaction, the officer warned, “Don’t say a word and get out of the vehicle with your hands up. NOW!”
Nyima complied, and with her hands in the air, the officer further instructed her to move to the rear of the vehicle as both officers put their guns back in their holsters, and the officer on the passenger side began searching her car.
“Let me see your license and registration,” the officer beside her demanded.
“The registration is in the flap on the visor,” she responded, as she retrieved her license from her purse. Knowing she was legal and hadn’t committed a moving violation, she asked, “Officer what’s going on,” as she handed him her license,
“Miss, I said no talking.”
Sensing that the situation could easily escalate into something serious, she kept her cool. Some young boys stopped and stood nearby watching with excitement. When the officer completed his search of her vehicle, he joined them and they took turns interrogating her.
“Is this you in this photograph?”
“When is your birthday?
“What are you doing in San Jose?”
“Why did you cut your hair?”
And so many more inane questions made her head spin as she wondered what they were hoping to discover with their probing.
They detained her for twenty or so minutes longer, until she let a lie slip through her lips about having a brother with the State Police. When the officer gave her back her license and registration, he told her she was free to move on and simultaneously the young witnesses trudged up the road kicking dirt.
“Why was I stopped,” she boldly asked.
“Your lamp over your license plate isn’t working.”
There was no reason for it to be on because it was not even near dusk, but she was careful not to appear argumentative. “And why was my car searched?”
“It’s our prerogative. It’s legally called probable cause.”
Overtaken by rage as she walked to her car, she turned the key and flicked the lights before walking back to the rear of her vehicle. The lamp over her license was lit up, along with her other lights. Sitting in their cruiser, she observed the officers laughing hilariously as she glared back at them. Suddenly nervous about her own pugnaciousness, she got in her car and feigned talking on an exhausted cell phone as they drove off.
Nyima was shaking as she pulled into traffic going the opposite direction, and kept driving until she reached Santa Clara. Dusk was settling in as she stopped at another motel. The East Indian proprietors did not mind escorting her to a room next to the office; and in her relief, Nyima shared her ordeal as she filled out a registration card. Genuinely concerned, they suggested she park her car behind theirs in the attached carport instead of leaving it in the open lot, which she gladly did.
It was the first time she had been in a bed in months and she slept peacefully and undisturbed, well past check-out time. That morning, deciding that her ordeal was an omen, instead of attending the job fair she headed back to Oakland.
EATBA - END ALL TO BE ALL
Before the sun could rise a storm of chaos made the peace that prevailed hours ago a distant memory. Voices boomed and rumbled, and feet and fists stomped and punched as bodies were thrown against bed rails that echoed its disruption against the walls. Rolling off his bunk like a soldier awakened in the trenches by surprise fire, Turk instinctively grabbed a bat and ran upstairs in leaps and bounds, pushing his way through the witnesses cramming to get a closer view while betting on the outcome. All eyes reverted to Turk as he rushed into the room brandishing the bat as if it were a sword. Cook rushed in right behind him with another, poised as if ready to slug somebody’s head off for a homer out of a park. The violence stalled as Michael emerged into the room seconds later to witness Victor, a new face in the house, dangling in the air. He was kicking furiously as Jamal exercised a one hand chokehold around his neck. Gerard and Melvin had Charles pinned down in a corner.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Turk’s demand to know what started the chaos evoked a tirade of voices.
As even more shouting ensued, Cook smashed his bat against an iron bed rail to command silence.
“Dammit, you hoodlums better get in check before I slam this here bat upside a head or two,” he yelled.
“Jamal, let that asshole down before you choke him to death, but. get him down to the yard now,” Turk ordered.
On the other side of the room, Charles threw his arms up in the air to let Gerard and Melvin know he was cooperating. He led the way out of the room while Victor continued his attempt to scramble out of Jamal’s grip. Jamal effortlessly hauled him out the door, down the steps, and through the dining room and kitchen. Court was about to be in session and everyone was ready to bear witness, hoping to financially benefit from the outcome.
As soon as Jamal got Victor outside and let him loose Charles charged him, getting in a few good punches before Michael and Turk broke them up. Victor managed to slip out of Michael’s grip and ran for the stairs and Gerard ran after him. He caught him and they tumbled to the ground. Victor managed to roll over and knee Gerard in the stomach before Gerard grabbed him by his neck and pummeled a few good rights into his face. Everyone was quick to form a circle around them, still betting on who would prevail. Jamal took his time pushing through them, but when he did, he pushed Gerard off of Victor and then snatched Victor up off the ground like a piece of light weight trash. Turk maintained a firm grip on Charles’ arm, even though Charles made no attempt to get away.
“I caught that motherf~kin’ crack head in my shit,” Charles shouted at the top of his lungs, as Jamal approached holding Victor up so his feet barely touched the ground.
“You a goddamn lie! That mothaf~ka trippin’,” Victor yelled, in his own defense.
“He got my cig’retts,” Charles accused.
“Do not,” Victor shouted.
“Jamal search him,” Turk instructed.
Victor went wild but Jamal was not intimidated in the least by his paroxysmal shenanigans. Jamal slammed him on the ground and put a knee in his chest to hold him down as he checked his pockets. When he pulled a pant leg up, it exposed bulges in Victor’s sock. Turk slackened his grip and Charles was quick to stoop to recover the unopened packs of cigarettes.
“Them mine,” Victor protested, as Jamal took his knee out of his chest and pulled Victor up with him as he stood. Victor kept yelling that the cigarettes were his while frantically trying to get loose from Jamal’s grip.
“You ain’t had shit coming in. Been bumming since you got here punk,” Gerard spat out in Charles’ defense.
“He musta faked sleep whilst I checked my shit after lights out. When I come out the bathroom I found him messin’ in my crate.” Charles explained.
“Jamal go upstairs and get Victor’s crate,” Turk ordered.
By then, all the occupants of the house were outside and as Jamal was coming back down the steps, Antoine came rushing into the yard, the belt to his robe flapping in the breeze. The front of his tee shirt did little to disguise the imprint of protection he had stuck in the inside of his pajama pants in case the situation got out of hand.
“It’s three o’clock in the morning and you assholes waking up the whole damn neighborhood. Give me that shit,” Antoine demanded as he reached out for the crate. “Victor I warned you. I told you to walk a thin line. Man what the f~k is wrong with you? I’m trying to help your stupid ass and within two days you doing crazy shit.” He dumped the contents of the crate on the ground and told Victor, “You’re out of here, now get!”
“Man you know I ain’t got no place to go,” Victor whimpered.
“I told you what the deal was when I met up with you and my cousin at your momma’s. I love my cousin, but I can’t have your trifling ass interfering with my business. Get your ass out of here before you get hurt.”
Everyone watched as Victor skulked out the yard leaving his soap, deodorant and washcloth in the dirt. His new Good Will suit of clothes still hung in the closet.
“I’m gonna get you mothaf~kers! All ya’ll gonna be sorry,” Victor yelled as he disappeared out of view.
“Alright everybody, show’s over. Go on about your business. Jamal throw this shit in the trash,” Antoine said, kicking the reminder of Victor’s presence. A used needle along with two unused ones fell out of the folded wash cloth.
“I’ll be damned,” Antoine remarked, as he stooped to pick them up with the cloth. “You see here. That dumb motherf~ker had no intention of getting clean. I knew he was going to be trouble. I keep trying to tell my cousin her man is a lost cause, but she just won’t listen. I’m going to keep this so I can show her how he blew this opportunity to get clean,” he said, as he rewrapped the used needle in the cloth.
Turk wasn’t the only one to notice when Antoine slipped the unused needles into his pocket. Michael didn’t comprehend why he’d seen Antoine’s actions as if in slow motion, and was struck by the disapproval etched on Cook’s face before he walked away. Restraining his curiosity, he refrained from asking the question on the tip of his tongue as Antoine beckoned him and Turk to walk with him. They huddled in a far corner out of hearing range of those who still lingered in the yard.
Thursday, December 4, 2014
Novel Relevancy in Today's Changing World
'Born To Return The Gift' depicts the struggles of a woman who reaches the half century mark and wonders if 'This is all life is?' Forced to address a fragmented past of domestic abuse after years of instinctively hiding her internal psychological battle as if she is to blame, she collapses in faith.
In 'End All To Be All', beyond the beginning love story, socio-economic disparity is evident as individuals faced with dual diagnosis of substance abuse (use and sale) and the mental illness perpetuated in a world of survival of the fittest by any means necessary collide.
In today's world the struggle for survival is promoting new adversities among a diverse culture which will affect the up and coming generation.
Although these novels are suggested for those over seventeen, you may want to encourage your teenagers to read them. I remember choosing to read 'Waiting To Exhale' with my fifteen year old daughter. Although we shared the same book, we read at our own pace and were both finished by the time the movie came out. We saw it together and my empowered daughter provoked a discussion that went beyond the general 'facts of life'. Today I am proud she has phenomenal insight in her decision making process.
These days it is fruitless to attempt to shelter our young, particularly those old enough to think for themselves, from life's reality. Regardless of their upbringing, chances are they will come in contact with others who have seen it, been there, and done that, and could benefit from pondering . . . 'Heaven forbid, what would I do if . . .'?
In 'End All To Be All', beyond the beginning love story, socio-economic disparity is evident as individuals faced with dual diagnosis of substance abuse (use and sale) and the mental illness perpetuated in a world of survival of the fittest by any means necessary collide.
In today's world the struggle for survival is promoting new adversities among a diverse culture which will affect the up and coming generation.
Although these novels are suggested for those over seventeen, you may want to encourage your teenagers to read them. I remember choosing to read 'Waiting To Exhale' with my fifteen year old daughter. Although we shared the same book, we read at our own pace and were both finished by the time the movie came out. We saw it together and my empowered daughter provoked a discussion that went beyond the general 'facts of life'. Today I am proud she has phenomenal insight in her decision making process.
These days it is fruitless to attempt to shelter our young, particularly those old enough to think for themselves, from life's reality. Regardless of their upbringing, chances are they will come in contact with others who have seen it, been there, and done that, and could benefit from pondering . . . 'Heaven forbid, what would I do if . . .'?
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Review Posted on Women and LifeStyle
lifestyle-womenstyle.blogspot.com/2011/01/born-to-return-gift.html
Born to Return the Gift
Catherine
E. Johnson has created a faith based, fictional novel that deals with
very heavy issues in a very caring way. "Born to Return the Gift"
follows the life of Nyima. As a young girl, Nyima has seen the outcome
of addiction and bad choices, but unfortunately, her life follows the
same pattern. She begins by choosing the wrong man, over and over. She
is abused, put down and led to believe she is worth nothing. She drinks
to avoid thinking about what has become of her life. She knows she
wants more but can't seem to find it as her choices always seem to be
the wrong ones. She attempts a major move to California, to start over,
but the same issues arise and her depression grows. She can't break
the cycle. She can't get her much needed fresh start.
Nyima is a character that all readers
can relate to. We have all made choices that have put us in positions
we did not expect. Nyima's journey is hard. She is constantly
struggling between the physical and spiritual. She knows that there is a
higher being, and that she can lead a better life. She also knows that
everyone has constantly put her down; her mother, her cousin and
society. She is clinically depressed and just doesn't know how to get
out of her situation so she can lead a better life. The author does a
wonderful job showing this conflict and struggle.
At
50, Nyima begins to make the change. This is a pivotal, inspiring
moment. If Nyima can find the good in her life, shouldn't anyone be
able to? The author delicately takes us through Nyima's transformation.
Her strength coming from her spiritual beliefs. Her trust that someone
does believe in her and that she can overcome her past. After so many
years, she realizes that she can be who she wants to be, who she always
wanted to be.
This novel is
uplifting and gives hope to those in similar situations. It is not
always pretty, there are very harsh scenes and disturbing language. The
author uses these scenes to show the change, the extreme turnaround.
As harsh as those scenes are, the ones at the end are touching and
inspiring. This author knows how to use language to emphasize her
points and succeeds in creating a novel that will leave the reader with
both points to ponder and a warm heart for Nyima.
Author Unknown
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Gifts for Readers with Inquiring Minds
Born To Return The Gift (BTRTG) and End All To Be All (EATBA) are novels which realistically address ALL the headlines in the side bar of this site.
- Depression
- PTSD
- Alcohol & Drug Abuse / Recovery
- Domestic Violence
- Discrimination / Racial & Sexual Profiling
- Faith & Spiritual Awakening
Both books would make perfect gifts for readers with inquiring minds.
* Not recommended for those under seventeen.
Nyima's world crumbles as she is diagnosed with clinical depression and post traumatic stress disorder. How can that be? She's never been to war or combat, she confides to psychiatrists. Warped in denial of a fragmented history selectively chosen for dismissal, she believes she's just burnt out from overwork and sleep deprivation . . . until the constant previews of a nightmare that's been haunting her for five years unfolds to reveal a childhood incident that has perpetuated her imprisonment to the past. Will the revelations free her to make a change for her future?
Michael's addiction to alcohol and pain pills lands him on skid row. After detox and checking into a male only safe house, he becomes involved in the development of a coed residential recovery facility. As the Program Director for End All To Be All, he has a new lease on life until the founder secretly begins frauding the court system for easy money. Despite the deceit and daily drama, Michael keeps things moving in the right direction until his estranged father passes away. As he tries to purge their resurrected history from his mind with alcohol, will he be able to drop kick his own demons while dealing with the demonic activity surrounding him?
Use the following discount codes when ordering paperback books from this site:
2WK9GR57 = $3.00 off single purchase
4NYQPRUE = 15% off bulk orders.
Links to purchase ebooks:
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Turning The Tide
Turning The Tide?,
This review is from: Born To Return The Gift (Paperback)
Born To Return The Gift by Catherine Johnson is a compelling, incisive novel focusing on a series of episodes in the life of a middle-aged mulatto woman facing the crossroads of her journey. The strains of Irish blood in her veins prove as difficult to redeem as her college education as she seems trapped in the ghetto existence she struggles desperately to transcend. The temptation of substance abuse lurks on every corner, threatening to engulf her at any given time, but the power of her spirit resonates with the message of Scripture as the author takes us along this rocky road of redemption.Nyima Robbins finds herself trying to free herself from the mire represented by the Oasis Hotel in California, her place of refuge from the chaos of the Oakland suburbs. She is enrolled at City College where she finds difficulty in relating to students half her age, fighting battles over which she long prevailed. Her spirit is exhausted by watching the next generation wading through issues of race and class, though it seems that she is being forced to walk that road over and again. She ends up taking a job at Platinum Financial, a check-cashing company that caters to the type of clientele that she needs desperately to avoid. Johnson provides us with a vivid account of how someone with the maturity, education and best intentions can still be trapped beneath the glass ceiling in a clinging, suppressive environment.
The author's work is reminiscent of Toni Morrison in bringing us into the black experience of ghetto life with an authentic narrative. Nyima's relations with Steffon, a philandering manipulator, demonstrate a need for companionship and to establish a social network. Yet she realizes that it is her dark side that is attracting the kind of people who dragged her into this very quagmire. The storyline eventually brings us into a segue towards the ontological discussion as Nyima experiences an epiphany during a nightmare sequence. A demonic figure appears to her, using the very `hunh hunh' idiosyncracy of speech that we find throughout Steffon's dialogues with Nyima. The demon tells her there is no way out, that the negative energy of her life serves to enhance the ontology of the ghetto experience. She is suddenly able to see the `lines formulating between the dots of her life', and how the events of her life have led her to this time of reckoning with the dark forces absorbing her very spirit.
Johnson's work is an essential piece of black literature that may well act as a guidepost for the next generation of African-Americans struggling with racial and economic issues in finding their own place in today's society. This glimpse into a visceral environment and the story of one woman's battle to transcend it is both uplifting and inspirational. Born To Return The Gift by Catherine Johnson is a modern-day parable you won't soon forget.
An Insightful Work of Christian Fiction
5 Stars out of 5 Stars
‘End All To Be All‘ by Catherine E. Johnson is an insightful work of Christian fiction providing a revealing look into the world of substance abuse and the rehabilitation process. Unlike most of works within the genre, Johnson takes a realistic approach in ripping away the insulation that often compromises the validity of such novels. We are left with an unblinking look at the lives of patients in the Antoine Reed Alcohol and Drug Foundation, and their personal conflicts in navigating along that crossroad in their lives.
Michael, the major protagonist, is a college-educated upwardly mobile black man whose life is turned upside down after a car accident that results in a car wreck that costs the life of his girlfriend. He is sent to the facility at the behest of Turk, a close associate realizing that Michael is in need of help. It is discovered that Michael has developed an addiction to Demerol over the years after an old neck injury grew aggravated over time. Michael, like a significant percentage of the population, is in denial but soon realizes there is a problem that must be resolved.
The author’s insertion of Scripture at the beginning of chapters is a clever reminder that the answers to our problem is often in plain sight. It would be very interesting to conduct an exit poll to see how many readers in her audience are skipping over the passages, just like the characters in the novel. Most Scripture is based on common sense and Divine logic, and we often circumvent the argument to rationalize our actions and justify our mistakes. Michael meets Antoine and Jerry, two fellow shooters who personify the internal conflict facing him. Antoine is reassessing the value of the connections being brought in off the street, while Jerry remains dedicated to slamming the front door on them. Michael eventually turns to Jerry in rejecting his past, and Jerry becomes a beacon of hope in helping Michael find a way out of the abyss.
Johnson’s story winds along a rocky road of hard knocks as Michael eventually begins a relationship with Nyima, a borderline alcoholic. She realizes that the success of their friendship will depend largely on their ability to slay the dragons in their life. When she learns of the circumstances surrounding the death of Michael’s fiancee in the fatal car crash, it helps forge a bond of trust that helps them find resolution over a three-year struggle.
The themes of perseverance and redemption resonate throughout the novel, and End All To Be All reminds us that God is always there to pick up those who are willing to get back on their feet.
by John R. Dizon (Author of ‘The Standard‘)
Monday, September 22, 2014
BACK IN THE SADDLE
I have learned quite a bit since I published my first book, and even more since the second. I thank those who have helped me with information and opinions, especially when I was so defensively protecting my right to a different opinion. Now, I hope my query about the men on the cover of 'End All To Be All' isn't taken out of context. I changed the cover of my first book after too many people commented that they thought it was a horror tale. ~ lol
Recently I was asked why I chose to put split faces on the cover of 'End All To Be All'. After acknowledging that I realize some people are of the notion that cover design should be left to the 'professionals', I commented that as a child I always enjoyed book covers that seemed to tell a story and liked the suspense of reading to discover if my perception was on point. I understand this is not a quality everyone appreciates, so I'm curious. ~ What was your first reaction to seeing the cover of 'End All to Be All'? Did you think one side was the face of a Black man, and the other the face of a White man?
Anyway, after more commentary I gave this explanation. "The split face is actually facets of the same man. On the left his face is beaten by addiction and his heart is filled with darkness. On the other side he is clean, groomed and healthy. His heart is a lighter shade to depict the peace that comes with restoration."
I didn't bother to offer more, but for the sake of this conversation with you, although this story is about an African American male, ~ Spoiler alert ~ he is a product of Black parents who posed and passed as Caucasian while he was growing up. BUT the story doesn't revolve around this per se. It revolves around life circumstances - love, pain, economic struggle, and the how and why some people succumb to addiction. The focal point of the story is how despite every negative aspect of life, people can and do pick themselves up to start again.
This person's next comment raked my nerves and I realized I'm still not ready for a book signing or interview. She snootily said, "Don't you think the title is somewhat too preachy?" I countered with what she perceived as belligerence. "Perception is not always reality, and sometimes comprehension is even further from it. Although 'End All To Be All' doesn't fit the paradigm of someone thinking they are the 'end all to be all' in a given situation, in order to be all one can be, sometimes one has to end all that one is doing. When I wrote the book the name seemed to fit the billing for a residential recovery facility filled with drug addicts."
Hopefully my public etiquette will be improved by the time I release my third novel, 'Sienna'. ~ lol
In the meantime, you can help. Both novels - Born To Return The Gift and End All To Be All are available for free through Amazon's Kindle Prime Program. Check them out and voice your opinions with a review. I can stand the heat. ~ Thank You!
Recently I was asked why I chose to put split faces on the cover of 'End All To Be All'. After acknowledging that I realize some people are of the notion that cover design should be left to the 'professionals', I commented that as a child I always enjoyed book covers that seemed to tell a story and liked the suspense of reading to discover if my perception was on point. I understand this is not a quality everyone appreciates, so I'm curious. ~ What was your first reaction to seeing the cover of 'End All to Be All'? Did you think one side was the face of a Black man, and the other the face of a White man?
Anyway, after more commentary I gave this explanation. "The split face is actually facets of the same man. On the left his face is beaten by addiction and his heart is filled with darkness. On the other side he is clean, groomed and healthy. His heart is a lighter shade to depict the peace that comes with restoration."
I didn't bother to offer more, but for the sake of this conversation with you, although this story is about an African American male, ~ Spoiler alert ~ he is a product of Black parents who posed and passed as Caucasian while he was growing up. BUT the story doesn't revolve around this per se. It revolves around life circumstances - love, pain, economic struggle, and the how and why some people succumb to addiction. The focal point of the story is how despite every negative aspect of life, people can and do pick themselves up to start again.
This person's next comment raked my nerves and I realized I'm still not ready for a book signing or interview. She snootily said, "Don't you think the title is somewhat too preachy?" I countered with what she perceived as belligerence. "Perception is not always reality, and sometimes comprehension is even further from it. Although 'End All To Be All' doesn't fit the paradigm of someone thinking they are the 'end all to be all' in a given situation, in order to be all one can be, sometimes one has to end all that one is doing. When I wrote the book the name seemed to fit the billing for a residential recovery facility filled with drug addicts."
Hopefully my public etiquette will be improved by the time I release my third novel, 'Sienna'. ~ lol
In the meantime, you can help. Both novels - Born To Return The Gift and End All To Be All are available for free through Amazon's Kindle Prime Program. Check them out and voice your opinions with a review. I can stand the heat. ~ Thank You!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
