James Allen Author- THE DREAMERS ARE THE SAVIORS OF THE WORLD

THE DREAMERS ARE THE SAVIORS OF THE WORLD

by James Allen

Can a book really allow someone to by-pass limitations?
Dreams have no limits and no weakness. This fact alone inspired James Allen to write,
“The dreamers are the saviors of the world.”

Have you ever been told you can’t do a thing?

We have all heard it before. Some of us may even believe it. I don’t. I will tell you why. I know this special young lady. I actually call her “My Angel”. Her name is Megan and she is the inspiration behind this book and for me to make her biggest dream to come true. Sometimes when you see a deep driving desire in someone, especially someone you love, you feel empowered to help it become.

What can I tell you? I was told she wouldn’t survive, she wouldn’t know she was alive, and then I was told she wouldn’t crawl, wouldn’t walk, wouldn’t talk, and wouldn’t be able to go to school. Well she is here today living and thriving, she knows who she is and proud of it, she learned to crawl, she learned to walk albeit with a walker and graduated from high school, that is why I know Megan has a totally different agenda, her very own! So when she says she is a writer…I don’t doubt it.
Neither will you.

Megan is my daughter. And she has shown me through her courageous journey from the crib to her workplace what dreams and heroes are made of. I realized from her smile that a hero dwells in each one of us, trapped in our mind covered with the fear of tomorrow, that dead time zone that never comes. The hero wants to come out and do its job.

So this book is not just about a young girl who grew into a young lady’s dream to write a book. It is as Megan always says “You can be anything you want to be” book. It is a way to create her own job, her own career, her own lifestyle free and independent of any hand outs or anyone feeling sorry for her or feeling pity.

It is about her deep driving desire that needs to be fulfilled, because that it is why we have those deep driving desires…to make them real.

Maybe it just may be a blue print for the rest of us.

James Allen

Visit http://www.megancrupi.com today
Feel inspired to tell your friends, your colleagues, your family and everybody special in your life to order their very own copy
today.

Just copy and paste http://www.megancrupi.com into your e-mail to them.

Don Crupi Promotions don@doncrupi.com

PS
$2.00 from the sale of each book is donated back into Megan’s Community for children and young adults with physical and mental challenges.

Jaime Kristine Author- OH, YOU HERO!

OH, YOU HERO!

by Jaime Kristine

Not only to dream …

… but to accomplish your dreams.

http://www.jaimekristine.com

Daniel T. Denman Author- GRISLY-BAR CROSSING

GRISLY-BAR CROSSING

by Daniel T. Denman

Never before had four, female, foreign operatives been kidnapped on American soil! And now, one by one, the attractive heroines were found dismembered at the Crossing. Several FBI teams were investigating these terrifying murders – copycat crimes of yesteryear. The killings were so foul, so grisly, the town had been named Grisly-Bar Crossing after these unspeakable, resurfacing murders!

Two FBI teams advanced on the mansion that held the abducted agents and their captors: a nearly mad woman seeking revenge and her crafty daughter. The villains planned to use the agents as bait. What they could not understand was why the military was so interested in the powerful force their heir had left behind – a force that would alter wars forever!

Prior to this vengeful plot, 6,000 Americans had received an unusual warning in the form an identical dream! All recorded and repeated the revelation verbatim and became known as the dream keepers. Some feared they would be labeled “insane,” but many were so disturbed by the dream, they contacted their doctors. A consortium of the medical field viewed so many people professing an identical dream as a real concern.

The dream keepers were trying desperately to convince the government and media to release their unified vision. One adamant psychologist (herself a dream keeper) told a newscaster, “It doesn’t make sense! To NOT warn others is . . . is ludicrous!” Miraculously, the scientific and religious communities were in agreement and were trying to discuss the implications of the common, shared dreams. Simplified, the dream claimed: every six months until America wakes up and realizes it was once a blessed nation, an increasing earthquake will ‘rock your very souls!’

Time was running out. There were only two weeks until the first predicted quake would take place. Who delivered this dream and how was it sent? Was this a grand hoax or were too many humans not interested enough to care? Moral decline caused greed and loss for millions, and hope seemed to be one of America’s old adages. There were those who saw this shared dream as revitalization of their once great country, and to the wise individuals, extraordinary achievements were possible. Key in avoiding disaster would be unified acceptance to change. The dream demanded change! Would American citizens see, understand, and accept the lesson?

Other Books by Daniel T. Denman
WEAVER’S BEAM

Buy paperback book — $12.99

Have a book you’d like to get published? Don’t put off getting started any longer. Amethyst Moon Publishing is here to help you! Contact us about our Formatting and Publishing services!

Publishing With a Personal Touch™
Amethyst Moon Publishing and Services
P.O. Box 87885
Tucson, AZ 85754
ampubbooks@gmail.com
http://www.ampubbooks.com

One Choice Can Change a Life™
http://www.onechoicecanchangealife.com

Randy Ford Author- Revised THE GOOD OL’ BOYS 2nd Installment

Now go back and look at the pictures in the Mirage of ’38 and bask all over again in all of our high school years, when our motto was “to be rather than to seem.” If those carefree gay student days could be relived, and we had plenty off time on our hands, we’d be dreaming great dreams. On homecoming our queen would reign, and where at this junction our lives would be in flux, we would attributed it to our growin’ up too fast and to ambitions that far exceeded our prospects.

Now back then we was a small town, and our main street was no more than a block long. The post office sat on one end and a drugstore next to it. Our water tower located us. Noted for skunks, we was also known for football. Go gophers! It was with great satisfaction that we skunked our rivals.

Our dog was a collie. She loved to chase cars. She thought she was herding sheep instead of cars. Part collie, mostly mutt her features were more of a collie than any other breed. She exhibited next her speed. She’d follow me around all over town and chased cats and rabbits whenever she saw them. What name do you think we gave her? Bear! Bear! Come here, Bear! She had become unhappy and wouldn’t mind us. And loved the funeral blues. Mercy! We all loved the blues. And the most beautiful girls I knew got the blues sometimes. That didn’t mean they was unhappy. Bear! Come here! Bear! Fetch!

We thought when we was cruisin’ with the top down it was sweet. With nowhere in particular to go, we’d go sometimes as far out as California Crossing and sometimes out to the Little League field (and it was when we and they were seniors), which was sweet. At the same time our parents worried ‘bout us gittin’ mixed up with the wrong crowd but little did they know that Lucky and me was the wrong crowd. And we had our reputations to protect, so we’d sneak off, go to the Little League field, where I smoked my first cigarette and drank bathtub rum from a flask I kept hidden in a special place under the dash of my 1929 Ford convertible. And as I was tooling around in a dream, half-dozing as I drove, I thought I knew what the future held for me but I didn’t see how my small town would grow into a midsize city and how I could’ve taken advantage of it if I could’ve seen that far ahead. Jake! Jake! I couldn’t wait to git grown. With my spurs and deep base voice, I’d learn to ride a horse. Yes, this was before zoning came to my hometown. And way before television. And lo, when we boys was looking for somethin to do we’d drive down to the levy. Now, it was sweet to go fishin’; now who went fishin’ to catch fish. When look, we was boys and when boys was boys, I must admit that we liked to hunt. Ah, the unlimited space for chicken and cows and horses ‘till the town grew too big (that was my folks opinion, not mine ‘cause I had as much ambition as the next guy). Who would ever dream our little town would git so big? If we had, we would’ve bought up as much property as possible. Yes, we would’ve, that’s who. Blessed assurance and Jesus was mine, we was religious too. Yes, Lucky who so often held sway over me. Lucky, who often convinced me to do something wrong. Me! Me prompted by a pro. He in his beret and his old dark brown velvet coat, with fake fur trim, yes fur (remember it gits quite cold there in the winter), and he’d talk me into drivin’ north to the California Crossing Bridge and, after we crossed it, to the Bloody Bucket. Only we was too young to git in the Bloody Bucket. Oh, what a painful realization it was when we found out that we couldn’t git in the Bloody Bucket.

All of the horrible awful, awful poverty we all knew…por not like por kids these days (ah, then we had the Felicity Welfare Club, the Relief Cannery, and the WPA!) rather than (and the hundreds of thousands Hoover stocks daddy burnt, and Hoover steaks and Hoover pockets) have us thieve out of old man Baker’s apple orchard. Shame on us.

Those were the days!

Had I a dime for every complaint that I hear these days I dare say that I’d be a very rich man but back then we didn’t complain that much. Yet I thought that Lucky in his old dark brown velvet coat with fake fur trim, Lucky in his beret, (this during a time when most of us had to make do with clothes made from flour sacks, feed sacks, and three-year-old cotton gabardine) looked very sweet. Only problem was that he thought he looked sweet too. Now my mama wouldn’t have none of it. She was more down to earth ‘cause she canned, made jam and put up fruit, crocheted, darned, yarned, and knitted. And what we wore yesterday, we made do with for the whole year and the next. We kept chickens and cows in our backyard ‘cause there was no zoning then. Then in between butcherin’, milkin’, egg gatherin’, washin’, ironin’, neck wringin’, boilin’, pluckin’, there was housecleanin’ and managin’ of the household for her to do.

Randy Ford

R. S. Hunter Author- WHERE EAGLES FLY REMEMBER ME

WHERE EAGLES FLY REMEMBER ME

by R. S. Hunter

The story of a man who would stop at nothing to live his dream.

http://www.OneChoiceCanChangeALife.com

Amethyst Moon Publishing & Services

Publishing with a Personal Touch

Lauren B. Grossman Author- ONCE IN EVERY GENERATION

ONCE IN EVERY GENERATION

by Lauren B. Grossman

http://www.laurenbgrossman.com

Eleven-year-old Angelina Mariano’s spectacular singing voice was incomparable. But a traumatic incident created a debilitating phobia that destroyed any dream of pursuing her passion.

As an adult, Angelina teaches private voice lessons and takes on a student she recognizes as astonishing, one who possesses the career potential that eluded her. Lisa Forester is that student.

Relying on one another’s strength, both women will learn to face their own challenges. ONCE IN EVERY GENERATION is a story of relationships, courage, and dreams interrupted.

Now available for purchase at Amazon.com, BHN.com, Wheatmark.com/bookstore and many other fine booksellers, or by phone at 888-9354-0888 x 3

ISBN: 978-1-60494-025-1

Visit Lauren at http://www.laurenbgrossman.com

Randy Ford Author- LETTERS FROM ABROAD Fifth Novel 70th Installment

During the war Tom’s father was stationed in the South Pacific and sent many V-mail letters to his wife. “Well, I’m kinda disappointed to see our son with long curly locks. He looks like a girl. Get that boy a haircut! I’m glad though to at least get a picture of him. I’ve got it thumb-tacked to the wall behind my bunk. I can’t say where I am, or what we’re up to. I read each and every one of your letters a hundred times. I went to see a dentist this morning. That should tell you that I’m relatively safe, safe as you can be in a war. My best buddy is also from Oklahoma. He’s got a picture of his woman too. It sure helps when you’re half way around the world from home.”

Tom’s father departed from San Francisco for destinations unknown. Before then he’d never been out of the country. He’d just gotten married, disobeyed orders to get married, and the courtship was short and hurried, all because of the war. There were reasons to believe that Tom was conceived on the first night that his parents spent together. That was hurried too. They didn’t have much time together and would be separated for a very long time. These were experiences that would affect them for the rest of their lives.

And the friends they made then last for a lifetime. This amazed Tom, because he never expected to keep up with his friends in the same way. That proved true, but he never reconciled himself to how Elaine and Jim dropped him; a woman he thought he loved and a man he was attracted to. As he wrote in a letter to his friend Eddie, “It was something that I hadn’t expected.” This was the inexperienced Tom writing, the one who allowed himself to be entrapped. At the same time he felt guilty about what he and his childhood friend Bobby did. “Of course we didn’t know what we were doing. It just felt good.”

After the war Tom’s father brought his wife and son to Folks and invested in a filling station and a home. He wouldn’t think of retiring and selling the business until Tom left home. As a hard worker, he tried to set an example for his son. He went on to earn a reputation for honesty and showed himself to be a good Christian. His greatest disappointment in life became his son, which he blamed himself for. He was touchy and had a temper, and occasionally felt he had to spank Tom. The biggest spanking Tom ever got was when he threw a pencil at his mom and hit her in the face near her left eye. His father beat the tar out of him for it.

February 23, 1967
Dear Elaine,
Last night, a friend of mine, who you don’t know, called to tell me about a mutual friend who was sent to Vietnam, a draftee whose wife divorced him, which qualified him for the draft. It was very sad to hear that he was killed in action and left behind a kid, a girl, someone I never met. The last time I saw him was right before I left for college and the poor fellow just got married. Too bad it didn’t work out.

February 23, 1967
Amarillo
Dear Sport, I’ll be leaving Amarillo in about a week. I don’t yet quite know where I’m going, but will write you when I land somewhere. I just have to get out of Dodge. I haven’t saved as much money as I had hoped, so I’ll go as far as I can on a shoestring. I plan to hitchhike, and when I get to a crossroads, I’ll flip a coin. I’ll see how it goes. I’m not into starving, so I expect to work along the way.

Lately I have been absolutely in the dumps, but now that I’m leaving, I feel much better. I have never before felt so desperate…the chains were strong until I decided to do something about it. However, I know that I’ll make it, unless Uncle Sam gets me. By the way, what’s your draft status?

We have a lot in common, don’t we?

I still have my dreams. It’s a sad sack who doesn’t have them, a wealth of dreams you know, and besides health and peace, dreams. I’ve been writing my heart out. We’re all learners, I think. Give me credit: every once and while I get a good idea. So you see why I’ve got to get out of Amarillo before I’m total stifled. However, excuses shouldn’t be tolerated.

The road- the road- that’s for me. I’m ready for the next adventure, but it should be indulged in moderation, along with a desperate demand for sex. Right now I could screw anything in a skirt…only there are only so many women for any one man, and I’ve just struck out. Now that’s another story. Your friend, Shake Spear.

Write to me c/o General Delivery Albuquerque. That’s in New Mexico. Imagine New Mexico. I’m heading for New Mexico. Remember Albuquerque. I’ll get there eventually.

Randy Ford